Title: Forgotten
Series: Surrender Series #3
Author: Rachel Madbury
Genre: Adult Romantic Suspense
Release Date: May 26, 2016
There was a time when Graciella Snow didn’t know what she wanted from life. Growing up without her mother had left her directionless and apathetic, her anger and resentment closing her off from everyone around her.
But that was before… After following in her mother’s footsteps to the coast of Maine she’s finally getting a sense for who she is and what she wants from life, but at what cost?
Falling in love with Alexander has opened her up in ways she never dreamed of, and now that love is on the line. Even with all of Alexander’s attempts to protect her, Grace finds herself in more danger than ever before as they learn the terrifying truth about her mother’s past, and come face to face with a darkness that refuses to be forgotten.
I can’t breathe. Everything is black and I’m choking, tight bands around my lungs keeping them from pulling in enough oxygen, stars alighting at the edges of my vision, blurring with the smoke wafting by.
But they’re not bands around my chest… They’re arms. A desperate, rigid grasp that holds me back from running headlong into the roaring fire that’s consuming my home. My life is in that fire. My history and my future. I rail against my captor, making out faint, gentle whispers in my ear, “No, Grace, no.”
Max, a member of the security team that my boyfriend Alexander brought in to protect me while they find whoever has been terrorizing us, is following the order his boss, Pauley, gave just before running into the burning building to look for Alex. His counterpart, Freddie, is next to me sagging against the hood of the car as savage coughs rack his body. Freddie’s brother, Jake, is off in the woods somewhere, searching for whoever he saw when he and Alex arrived to check on the alarm. They’d thought it was malfunctioning, having been unreliable in all the tests this week… they were wrong.
Months ago when I’d come to this house I’d expected to hate it. My mother had lived here for 15 years…without me. My dad had raised me in New Jersey while she’d stayed up here by herself. Her life was a mystery to me right up until she died last year. When she left me this house in her will I was confused, both with what I should do with it, and why she’d left me anything at all. We’d barely spoken, and I hadn’t seen her in years. My father had never stopped loving her. I, on the other hand, had just been angry. But as I spent more time here, supervising the renovations Alexander and his team were doing to the house so I could rent it out as a vacation home, my feelings started to shift. Being in her space, seeing what her life might have looked like, had started to take the sting out of her deserting us. When we’d found out that she had reported strange occurrences at the house, feeling like someone was watching her, I began to really worry about what had happened here, and why she’d stayed. Having come home to a houseful of broken windows a few months ago, and then waking up to two dozen murdered gulls, one in my kitchen sink, had seemed to link my mother’s time in this house with mine. But I never thought it would come to this. While proximity to her home and her life had helped shift perceptions, what had impacted me the most was something I never saw coming… or perhaps I should say someone. Alexander was the first man I’d ever gotten close to, the first one to ever touch a part of me I didn’t know was there. He’d had to face down his own demons to be with me, and he thought I was worth the pain that caused him. No one had ever done something like that for me before... We were only just beginning to discover each other, and ourselves. The shockingly brutal fear of losing the chance to continue on that journey with him is what seized my heart now as I watched in stunned horror as the house he’d painstakingly redone for me was reduced to nothing, and he was nowhere to be found. “He should have come out by now,” Freddie grunts, pushing off the car and heading around the side of the house. “Fred!” Max calls, but Freddie doesn’t turn around. “We have to find them!” I shout at him, pulling again on his hold, slamming my hands into his chest. Max is the youngest of the crew and up until now I had underestimated his strength. Feeling the full weight of his body used against me I can’t move an inch. “Goddamn it!” he curses, running after Freddie. We’re running around the side of the house toward the beach and rocky shore behind it. Even from a distance I can feel the searing heat of the fire. My eyes catch a quick, devastating glimpse of flames licking up the whitewashed pine walls before I’m jerked forward. Over the roar of the inferno I hear shouting in the darkness, and we follow it, nearly crashing into Freddie as he hauls Pauley’s limp body toward the sand. Max lets me go, taking Pauley’s other shoulder and carefully setting him down. They check his pulse and breathing, finding a deep gash on the side of his head. He’s alive. “What happened? Where was he?” My voice comes out panicked and desperate. “Damn porch collapsed on him,” Freddie snaps, checking the rest of him over for injuries while bending under his own hacking coughs. “Where’s Alex!” I scream at them, both their eyes flying to mine with anguished uncertainty. Freddie shakes his head. This can’t be happening.
Rachel Madbury is a writer of sexy romances whose alter ego rocks a classic 9-to-5 in the beautiful city of Boston. A life long New Englander who loves to travel she was slow to admit to being the romantic-at-heart that she is. Though she went to college for writing, she only recently began dabbling in the addictive world of romantic fiction…
It’s safe to say, she’s hooked.
With the help of plenty of Red Bull and late nights she explores the worlds of her characters, relishing the ride they take her on, and falling in love right beside them.
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by Michael Weekly Genre: YA/NA Urban Fantasy Release Date: December 8th 2015 Limitless Publishing Summary from Goodreads:
When Eliza Rose found out she was a witch, she thought sheâd be casting spellsâ¦
However, it turns out Eliza is on her way to becoming a mystical assassin. But first she has to start college with her best friend Dawn Roberts and her feline familiar Jared. If you think college is stressful, try finding your best friend being seducedânearly to deathâby a venomous fairy. Something is horribly wrong, and Eliza must find out what it is.
Knowing whoâs who in the Mystical world can be a burdenâor save her lifeâ¦
Murderous mermaids, seductive fairies, and manipulative elves are terrifying enough, but pure witches can become corruptâ¦and theyâre the most dangerous creatures of all. Eliza struggles to discover the source of this chaos, but is repeatedly attackedâand saved by a shadowy figure. On a very personal note, Eliza must learn whether corruption is beginning to claim her mother.
Her strongest ally might be handsome, enigmatic Donovanâbut he is hiding a shocking secretâ¦
Donovan wants nothing to do with his old gangânot after the things theyâd made him do. But when he meets Eliza, heâs both frustrated by her amateur skills and impressed by her emerging strength, and he feels compelled to help her grow into the assassin sheâs meant to be.
Every answer has a price, and there are beings born to corrupt the pure.
Eliza fights to master her skills before itâs too late, while Donovan must determine whether Eliza can be savedâ¦or if she must die to keep her out of the hands of those who would use her powers to reign over all of Mystical.
About the Author
Michael Weekly is a professional writer known for his ability to construct detailed, believable worlds and then to inject them with captivating stories and relatable characters. His big break came three years ago when he started writing on a site called Wattpad. Prior to that, he had written mainly as a hobby and as an exercise in relaxation and meditation, using writing as an escape out of the world and into his own mind.
Writing in the genres of Urban Fantasy, Dystopian YA, and NA, Michael is the author of Mystical, which has earned a ton of positive feedback. Mystical was picked up by Limitless Publishing in 2015, and since then, Michael has been working on additional entries to the series. When he is not writing, Michael also enjoys playing video games such as League of Legends and World of Warcraft. He enjoys being a shopaholic and a professional foodie. He lives in Virginia with his imaginary fury companion CoCo, where the two live happily. Author Links:
Title: Unrequited
Series: Fallen Aces MC #1
Author: Max Henry
Genre: MC Romance
Release: February 16, 2016
She was, still is, and will never be anything but my everything. Our love was all consuming, passionate, and forbidden. We took risks to be together, carrying on an affair for months before her psychotic drug lord husband found the truth behind the lies. She barely escaped with her life … and that of my son. My club president told me that our love was no longer worth the risk, gave me a choice, and loyalty to the club being what it is, I walked away from her. I left behind the only thing I’ve ever wanted more than life itself and remained the dutiful soldier to a corrupt leader. Six years and a promotion to club president later, it’s time the lies stopped. She IS worth the risk, I’ve NEVER gone a day without thinking about her OR my son, and I know underneath it all she DOES still love me. She just won’t admit it … yet.
Max is the author of dark, and highly emotional romance. Her Butcher Boys series is centered around a group of ex-street kids who have teamed up with an indebted motorcycle club to take down a notorious drug lord. And her new series, the Fallen Aces MC, is a spin-off from this dark and dangerous world. Her writing has been described as 'gripping', and 'addictive', taking you on an 'emotional roller coaster ride'. Originally born and bred in New Zealand, Max now resides with her family in beautiful and sunny Queensland, Australia. Life with two young children can be hectic at times, and although she may not write as often as she would like, Max wouldn't change a thing. When she's not engrossed in her dark and twisted fictional worlds, she can be found enjoying the outdoors while 4wd-ing with her family.
Only 99c for a limited time My name is Quinn Blackwood: By day, I'm a billionaire CEO. Rich. Entitled.By night, I'm the exclusive porn star only known as Q.Why? Because I love women. If I believed in an almighty being, I'd thank him for creating them. They're by far his most perfect creation… especially when I'm fucking one of them. Oh, did I mention I'm an asshole? Fuck yeah. According to my shrink, I'm one twisted motherfucker. And that's just the way I like it. Until she walks into my life… My name is Elyse Gilbert, nicknamed ‘Lucky' because according to my dad, I'm the unluckiest person alive, and I'll die the same way I came into the world: naked, screaming, and dirt poor. Yeah, my life is a twisted, seething mess. But that life changed the day I met HIM.He made me forget the cameras.He made me forget I was doing this for the money.He made me forget my shame.He made me forget everything. I was consumed by him. Only him. But now my past has caught up with me. I turn to the last screen. Her eyes are downcast. Her lashes are long enough to make me wonder if I have another fake on my hands. I sigh, then take in the rest of her face. No makeup, or barely any if she made the effort. Her lips are plump, lightly glossed. I use the controls on the remote to zoom in. There’s a tiny mole on the left side of her face, right above her upper lip. Not fake. I zoom out, examine the rest of her that I can see. Her grey T-shirt is worn to the point of threadbare, and her collarbones are a little too pronounced. Malnourishment wouldn’t be a crowd-pleaser, but that problem can be easily taken care of. Beneath the T-shirt, her chest rises and falls in steady breathing, although the pulse hammering at her throat gives her away. I zoom in on the pulse. The skin overlaying it is smooth, almost silky, with the faintest wisps of caramel blonde hair feathering it. Something about her draws me forward to the edge of my seat. I like her pretended composure. Most people fidget under the glare of a camera. My gaze flicks to her skeleton bio. “Lucky.” Slowly, she raises her head. Her eyelids flick up. Her eyes are a cross between green and hazel with a natural dark rim that pronounces its vividness. I can’t pinpoint it exactly, but something about that look in her eye sparks my interest. Hell, if I had a heart, I’d swear it just missed a beat. “Is that your real name?” She shrugs. “It might as well be,” she murmurs. Fuck, I have another liar on my hands. “Cryptic may be sexy if you’re auditioning to be the next Bond Girl. It’s not going to work here. Tell me your real name. Or leave.” “No.” Her voice is a sexy husk, enough to distract me for a second before her answer sinks in. “No?” “With respect, you’re tucked away behind a camera issuing orders. I get that you hold the cards in this little shindig. But I’m not going to show you all of mine right from the start. My name, for the purposes of this interview, is Lucky. It may not officially be on my birth certificate, but I’ve responded to it since I was fifteen years old. That’s all you need to know.” Well…fuck. I note with detached surprise that I’m almost within a whisker of cracking a smile. I rub my gloved finger over my mouth, torn between letting her get away with mouthing off to me this way, and sending her packing. Sure, she intrigues me. And whatever relevant truth I need would be dug out before she signs on the dotted line, should it come to that. But for this to work, she needs to obey my commands, no questions asked. “Stand up. Move away from the camera until you reach the wall.” She rises without question, restoring a little goodwill in her favor. Moving the chair out of her way, she backs up slowly. The hem of her loose T-shirt rests on top of faded jeans. Even before she’s fully exposed to the camera, I catch my first glimpse of the hourglass figure wrapped in the petite frame. She’s a fifties pinup girl dressed in cheap clothes. Her breasts are full but not quite double Ds, her thighs and calves shapely enough to stop traffic, with a naturally golden skin tone denoting a possible mid-west upbringing. She’s knock-out potential—subject to several nourishing meals. But I’ve seen enough and done enough in this twisted life of mine to know her body isn’t what would draw attention. It’s the look in her eyes. The secrets and shadows she is trying hard to batten down. They’re almost eating her alive. I don’t really give a shit what those secrets are. But the chance to fuck them…to fuck with them, expose them to my cameras, sparks a sinister flame inside me. “Turn around, let your hair down.” Her fingers twitch at her sides for a second before she faces the wall. One hand reaches up and pulls the band securing the loose knot on top of her head. Caramel and gold tresses cascade down her back. Thick enough to swallow my hands, her wavy hair reaches past her waist, the tapered ends brushing the top of her perfectly rounded ass. I watch her for a few minutes, then speak into the mic distorting my voice. “Do you have any distinguishing birth marks I should know about, Lucky?” The question sinks in. Her back goes rigid for a second before she forces herself to relax. “Yes.” “Where?” “At the top of my thigh,” she responds. “Show me,” I reply, although I don’t really need to see it. My carefully selected stylists can disguise any unseemly marks. Slowly, she turns around. I expect her gaze to drop or a touch of embarrassment to show, but she stares straight into the camera as her fingers tackle the buttons of her jeans. The zipper comes down and she shimmies the denim over her hips. Her white cotton panties are plain and the last word in unsexy. All the same, my eyes are drawn to the snug material framing her pussy lips. I also see the hint of bush pressed behind the cotton. I shift in my seat, but don’t reach for the hardness springing to life behind my fly. Hand jobs are a waste of my time. I either fuck or I don’t. It’s that simple. She lowers the jeans to knee-level and twists her right leg outward. The round red disk just on the inside of her thigh is distinctive enough to need covering up. I make a mental note. “Thank you, Lucky. You may put your clothes back on.” A hint of surprise crosses her face, but she quickly adjusts her clothing. When she’s done, her hands return to her sides. “It’s time for your screen test. Sweep your hair to one side and come closer. Place your hands flat on the desk, bend forward, but don’t sit down.” She follows my instructions to the letter. I adjust the camera so it’s angled up to capture her face. “Are you ready?” She gives a small nod. “You’ve just walked into a bar. You don’t know me. But you see me, the guy in the corner, nursing a bourbon. And I see you. All of you. Every fantasy you’ve ever had. I want to give it to you. You’ve found me, Lucky, the guy who wants to fuck you more than he wants his next breath. Do you see me?” Her nostrils quiver slightly. “Yes.” “Good. Look into the camera. Don’t blink. Show me what I want to see. Convince me that you’re worth fucking. Convince me you’re worth dying for.” Her lids lower, her face contemplative, but she doesn’t blink or lose focus. Slowly, her expression drifts from disinterested to captivated. Her lids lift and she’s a green-eyed siren. Her attention is rapt, unwavering. Her bruised-rose lips part, but she doesn’t swirl her tongue over her lips as I expect. She just…breathes. In. Out. She swallows, a slow movement that draws attention to her neck, then lower to her breasts. Mesmerized against my will, I watch her nipples harden against the thin material of her top. Her fingers gradually curl into the hard wood and every inhalation and exhalation becomes a silent demand. In…fuck…out…me… In. Fuck. Out. Me. I remain still, even though my fingers itch to twitch and my muscles burn with a restlessness I haven’t felt in a long time. I watch her command the camera, her body rigid with lustful tension. Her eyes widen with the need to blink, but she doesn’t. She stays still, hands curl into fists and she just breathes sex. Her eyes water and a tear slips down one cheek. The sight of it is curiously cathartic, a tiny climax. I subside into my seat. “That was convincing enough. You may sit down, Lucky.” She blinks rapidly before she sinks into the chair. A quick swipe and the tear never existed. Neither does the promise of the fuck of a lifetime that was on her face a moment ago. Her acting skills are remarkable. For a second, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I don’t want her to be too polished. I dismiss the notion and glance down at her notes. “You list your address as a motel?” The address in Queens is unfamiliar to me, but the motel chain is notorious for being exceptionally bad. I hide my distaste and wait for her answer. “I arrived in town recently. I don’t have a permanent address yet.” The secrets in her eyes, the threadbare clothes, the unkempt hair and unshaven pussy begin to tell their own story. She may be brave enough to sass me when she risks losing a job that promises a once in a lifetime payday, but she’s also desperate. How desperate is the question. “Are you currently working?” She nods. “I work on and off for a catering service. But it’s nothing I can’t work around, if needed.” “So you’ll be free to do this if I want you?” The desperation escalates, then a hint of anger flashes through her eyes. “If? You mean I did all of this for nothing?” I give a low laugh at her gumption. “You didn’t seriously think you’d waltz your way into a million dollars on a simple three-minute screen test, did you?” The anger flees from her eyes, although her mouth tightens for a moment before she speaks. “So it’s true? It’s not a con? This job really pays a million dollars? For…sex?” she rasps. “You think I’d admit it if it was a con?” Her delicate jaw flexes for a second. “I guess not. So…assuming it’s not a con, how will this work, then?” “If you pass the next few tests, and I decide you’re a good fit, you get the gig. You’ll receive one hundred thousand dollars with each performance.” “So…ten performances…over how long a period?” “Depending on how many takes are needed, anywhere between three weeks and a month. But I should warn you, it’s hard work, Lucky. If you think you’re just going to lie back and recite the Star Spangled Banner in your head, think again.” Her fingers drum on the table, the first sign of nerves she’s exhibited. “I…I won’t be doing anything…skanky, will I?” “Define skanky.” “This is going to be straight up sex. No other…bodily stuff? Because that would a firm no for me.” My mouth attempts another twitch. “No water works, waste matter or bestiality will be involved in the performances.” Her fingers stop drumming. “Okay.” She waits a beat, stares straight into the camera. “So when will I know?” I hear the barely disguised urgency and I rub my finger over my lip again. “Soon. I’ll be in touch within the week.” I’m not sure exactly why I want to toy with her. But I sense that having her on edge would add another layer of excitement I badly need. When she opens her mouth, I interrupt. “Goodbye, Lucky.” A passing thought about the origin of her name is crushed into oblivion. I press the remote to summon the bodyguard to escort her out, and I leave the room. In my study a few minutes later, I bring up the screen on my desk and activate the encrypted service I need. I open the application and within minutes, the members of my exclusive gentlemen’s club are logging in. My email is short and succinct. The next Q Production is scheduled for release on 20 May 2015. Limited to ten members. Bidding starts in fifteen minutes. Zara Cox has been writing for almost twenty-five years but it wasn't until seven years ago that she decided to share her love of writing sexy, gritty stories with anyone but her close family (the over 18s anyway!). The Indigo Lounge Series is Zara's next step in her erotic romance writing journey and she'd love to hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading her stories! Author Links Facebook Twitter Web Goodreads Amazon Page Instagram
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Koda's found his sister, Winnie, and now he's made a life for himself in Gray Ridge, Colorado. As a bear shifter, he's naturally a loner, and with so few females around, he's resigned to never finding his mate. But when he stumbles upon a woman in the woods, his whole world changes. Snow's been on the run and has made a makeshift family with a band of seven wanderers. While resting in the woods and waiting for them to come back, something big finds her. When Koda and Snow collide, they realize their stories are woven together more tightly than they could have imagined. Will the truth break their mates bond? Or will it bind them closer together? Warning: This fairy-tale shifter story is full of alpha sweetness with a side of growly bear. What's not to love?! If you love a classic story with a dirty twist, then get your click on!
(A taste) It’s still dark when I wake up with a jolt, the cold sweat covering my naked body. It takes me a moment, like it always does, to remember where I am and that I’m safe. The seconds tick by, and my breathing evens out. Rubbing my hands against my eyes, I remind myself that I’m not in a cage. I give up on sleep and get up from the bed. I make my way to the bathroom, turn on the shower, and get in before the water has a chance to warm up. I’m used to cold showers after being denied the luxury of hot water for so long and then having to bathe in rivers when I escaped. I soap up and try not to think about my past, but it always comes flooding back after a nightmare. I can’t seem to stop it, so I just have to ride it out until all the feelings pass. This dream was like so many before, most of it exactly the same, but sometimes my mind likes to add in details that weren’t there, just to fuck with me. This time when I was dreaming, I was in the cage again. The one they kept me locked in unless they were running tests. They had a theory that if shifters were kept in small places, they would be less likely, or unable, to shift. In this dream, I was in the cage, and I could hear Winnie crying. I know this didn’t happen because Winnie was never captured with me. She got away. I always have to remind myself of that. We were young when we were caught, but she fought and was able to get free. I was too drugged up to know what happened, and all I could remember was waking up in a cell without her. I'd learned over the years that we were taken by a company that was doing research on shifters. They kept us as if we were animals in a lab. It was a horrible time in my life, and ever since I broke free, my only goal was finding my sister. When I found her, it was only to see that she had amnesia and was being cared for here in Gray Ridge. Winnie had gotten lucky, and Alpha Stone had taken her into the pack and kept her safe. When I found her, and when her memories came back, I felt like my journey had finally come to an end. Only it didn’t. I’m a bear shifter, and there aren’t as many of us as there are of other species. Even fewer bear shifter females exist. When Winnie mated with Alpha Stone, I could have left, but I didn’t want to. Bears aren’t normally pack animals, but they are close to their families. I couldn’t move away from Winnie after finally finding her, even though she was mated. Thankfully, Alpha Stone welcomed me into the pack and gave me some land. Xavier, one of the wolf shifters, and I built my cabin out here to give me some space away from the pack and also to have a way to stay close to Winnie. I’d been in captivity for so long that I was worried I wouldn’t be able to adjust to pack life. But Xavier had gone through some trauma before he met his mate, and he was able to give me some advice to help me cope. When we built the house, he helped me put in extra security measures so that I could feel safe again. My nightmares used to be a lot worse, and I think he knew it. So to help, we installed bolted locks both inside and outside the entry points of the house. The locks are in place in a way that no one is going in or out of my home without my permission. The extra security helps me sleep. As long as the nightmares don’t creep in. When I’ve finished showering, I make myself breakfast and have coffee. My life is very quiet, and I don’t have many friends—just the Gray Ridge pack people who Winnie makes me hang out with. I look over at the counter and see an invitation to a kid’s birthday party at Xavier and Gwen’s home. I know I should want to go and be around everyone, but I feel myself getting tired and wanting to hibernate. I let out a long sigh and try to shake off the dark mood. Internally, I know that I’m safe and everything is okay. I’m just getting used to the world again. Also being around a lot of happy mated couples can start to wear on any single shifter after a while. There’s a longing that comes with wanting to find your mate, and knowing I probably never will sends another wave of sadness over me. Closing my eyes, I see dark hair and blue eyes. I try to grab on to the image, but it’s gone like smoke through my fingers. I think of the image every time I think about finding my mate. I don’t even know where the image is from or how I remember it, but something about it is familiar. I push away from the table and clean up the kitchen. When I finish, I look outside. The sun has come up and it’s starting to snow a bit. I love this time of year. The cool air and the clean smells of the forest calm my bear. I feel him stir inside me, and I decide he could use a walk in the woods. Bears aren’t much for running or spending energy when they don’t have to. Our shifters are usually really big and solidly built. I lost a lot of weight when I was being held captive, but in the time since, I’ve put on a lot of weight. It feels good to have the extra layers of thick muscle and even a little extra around my mid-section. We’re pretty hairy, too, and I definitely meet that type. My long beard and chest hair help keep me warm when it's cold out. So even though it’s snowing, I don’t need much coverage. I’ve got on a long-sleeved, cream-colored thermal shirt and jeans. I go over to the door, pull on my boots, and then go about unlocking the door. I walk outside and turn, locking the cabin back up. The woods are quiet, and my bear is enjoying the peace. He likes being outside, but a lot of times my fear overrides his need and we stay indoors. This is good for both of us, at least for a little while. I walk for a few miles and come through the clearing next to the lake. I don’t usually venture to this side of the protected lands, but I just need a change today. New scenery. Something inside me is telling me this will be best for me and my bear. That we need a new direction and something different to see today. Looking off in the distance, I see a dark figure on the ground. My bear is instantly alert, and I widen my stance, preparing for danger. I raise my nose, trying to catch a scent, but the wind is at my back. Slowly and silently, I walk around the edge of the lake, looking for danger from every direction. My bear is pacing, trying to get out, but I want to be able to hold my skin. I’m always terrified that someone will try to take me again after getting captured the last time, so I’m being extra cautious. I don’t know what possesses me to even want to investigate the dark figure. Normally, I would just turn and run. But something’s pulling me in that direction, and I need to see what it is. As I step closer, I see the dark figure take shape. The scent still hasn’t come my way, but I can make out that it’s a person lying in the snow. My steps are tentative and slow, and I move closer and closer. When I realize it’s a woman, my heart starts to beat faster and my steps quicken. What if she’s a shifter in trouble? I don’t know everyone in the pack yet, so this could be a member in distress. Moving close, I see that her eyes are closed and she’s lying on her back with her arms outstretched. She must not have been here long because not much snow has fallen on her. It’s starting to come down heavier now, and she’s getting a small dusting on her face and body. She’s got thick black hair and skin the color of cream. Her lips are blood red, and something inside of me is pulling me towards her. I can’t explain the force that makes me go to her, but something inside me knows that I must help her. Something inside me needs to kiss her. Taste her… Brand her. I kneel down beside her, and the sound wakes her. Her big eyes pop open, and the blue there strikes me right in the chest. Her eyes are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I want to get lost in them and let them carry me away. There’s something about them that’s familiar and safe, but also terrifying and confusing. A heartbeat passes between us, and for a second I’m pulled back in time to a place I thought I’d left. Fear grips me, but then the woman smiles up at me, and all of that melts away. “Hi,” she whispers, and I light up at the word. I start to say something back, but at that moment her scent hits me, and I my throat nearly closes up. She’s human. Rage pulses through me, and I start to stand. I want to get away from this human as fast as I can, but suddenly I’m dizzy with need. I inhale again, and I feel my bear trying to take over. He’s clawing inside me to get out to roar, but I hold him tight, trying to catch my brain up to my body. Mate, my bear growls over and over, and I realize that this human is my mate. A human. The one thing in this world that I not only fear but never want to be near again is my mate. I growl long and low, but the human doesn’t look surprised. She sits up and pushes back from me, but I reach out, snatching her ankle before she can get away. “Mine,” I say through gritted teeth. I didn’t want this, not like this. But my body has no choice. “Let me go.” I look into her eyes to see panic there. “Don’t, please. My brothers will worry. I know what you are, please don’t do this.” The plea for her family pulls at my heart. How many times had I begged to be let free to find my family? How many times had I begged for news of my sister? I feel sadness for her, but then it’s followed by anger. Her kind are the ones that kept me from Winnie. This human is my mate. I have every right to take her from her human people. “You’re mine now,” I say, pulling her off the ground and throwing her over my shoulder. “Please let me go. I swear I won’t come back. I’ll never tell anyone.” As the snow comes down heavier and heavier, I carry her back to my cabin. Our tracks are covered and no one will be able to find us. I’m taking my mate home, and she will get used to it. “You can’t do this. You can’t take me.” There is so much panic in her voice that I nearly stop and go back, not wanting to upset her. “I will treat you kindly and no harm will ever come to you as long as I live.” I take a breath and keep walking. “It’s more than your kind ever gave me.”
Alexa Riley is two sassy friends who got together and wrote some dirty books. They are both married moms of two who love football, donuts, and obsessed book heroes. They specialize in insta-love, over-the-top, sweet, and cheesy love stories that don’t take all year to read. If you want something SAFE, short, and always with a happily ever after, then Alexa Riley is for you! Author Links Twitter FacebookWebsite Goodreads Amazon Page Instagram
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On sale for only 99 CENTS today! You can also pre-order book 2 – Friday: -- Sneak a peek at Wednesday: Aria: One day each week. Four days each month. Twelve days over the summer… if the arrangement would even last that long. He looks at me and the disdain in his eyes has disappeared. Now they warm for me. No. Burn. They burn for me and through me. Could I do this? Should I? “Well, Aria,” he purrs in a voice I don’t recognize. “What do you think? Forget it all and become mine for one day?” My brain tries to make sense of the sinful offer, but my body is already in motion – making my way to the man I once knew. His eyes delight with each step I take toward him. His stance somehow opens for me. When I stop, however, to meet his scorching gaze, a wave of confusion washes over his face and gives him away. He’s not as confident as he lets on. But when I answer his offer with my lips, it’s the last time I see any kind of trepidation. No, at that point I know – he will be in control from here on out. And in a place very deep inside, I am relieved. Tristan: Tonight’s the deadline for her decision. Seven o’clock, only twenty minutes from now. Aria said she’d consider my offer, but I’m not sure I can trust her. Still, I light the candles, straighten the bed, and hope. And it’s excruciating. Whoever said anticipation is half the fun is a moron. I need to show her what she missed when she left with him all those years ago. It was my fault, I know that now. I waited too long, and when I finally got the balls to do something about it, I was too late. That’s when I learned that nice guys finish last. Always. Forget the chick flicks where the nerd triumphs and gets the girl – all that Michael Cera bullshit. Doesn’t happen. Unless you’re Mark Zuckerberg or Jack Dorsey, and are on your way to making billions. I’m ashamed to admit that’s where my motivation came from. I thought I could erase Aria with another woman. But I knew I needed to make some serious changes to do that. It’s why I went to MIT. It’s also why I quit MIT to start my own company. And I why worked around the clock and spent every cent I had on my latest idea. For women. At least that’s how it started out. And it worked. Once I got out of Dodge, my lanky body filled out and I became confident and successful. Women were no longer an issue. Confidence? Out the window. Upper lip? Beaded in sweat. Nails? Chewed down to the quick. Hair? A big, kinky 1970s bush, after continuously running my hands through it. Balls? Blue, as they have been since she came back into town. Yep, in the span of ten minutes, I’ve gone from Magic Mike to Jonah Hill. Where are the assless chaps when you need them? Pacing around the room, I listen as the waves crash on the beach outside the door. The door I’m willing to open with my Jedi mind tricks. Forget everything I’ve done over the past three years: the start-ups; the research; the hours behind the computer. None of it matters now because I’ve become a pathetic shell of my former self, like the kid I was in high school. The dorky computer geek who always landed in the fucking friend zone. In less than a month, I’ve morphed back into that guy. Waiting on that girl. My mind races on an endless loop of insecurities. Will she do it again? Will she stand me up? Will she leave? I know I shouldn’t care. I have options a-plenty these days. Still, I want her. One day is all I’m asking for. It’s all we need. One day a week. Four days each month. Fifty-two goddamn times each year. On the other three-hundred-fourteen days, we could go back to business as usual. She would pretend not to notice me in town and I’d pretend that I hate her sweet little ass.
GIVEAWAY! Title: 1986 Author: Morgan Parker Genre: Romantic Suspense Release Date: June 13th Cover Design: Hang Le Synopsis
Allana Harrison wanted out. She wanted to escape her painful, broken past and enjoy a fresh start somewhere else. Anywhere else. And while all of the boys in high school and college promised to deliver that dream, only one man actually pulled through.
Now a young adult, Allana finds herself on the opposite side of the world, in a prosperous and rich town that's not only isolated from her past, but from the crime, grime and hustle of bigger cities, in a country where she doesn't understand the language or know anybody else except her husband. And that's how she likes it.
Until she meets Alex, another American who ends up being her only other friend, the one person who reminds her of what it's like to feel desired, wanted and hungered for.
Except Alex has motives. And Alex has questions -- about her husband's work at the world's most-advanced, leading-edge power station, questions he wants answered... and when Allana can no longer provide them, Alex threatens to reveal the secrets of their forbidden past, secrets that will destroy the man that saved her.
Caught between two men -- one she loves and the other she can't help but love -- Allana must deliberate the role she plays in the moments leading to humankind's greatest disaster... in 1986.
Pre order your copy today!
Excerpt
About Morgan Parker
Author Bio: As the author of the best-selling mystery romance, Surviving Goodbye, Morgan Parker has written several other novels under this pen name. In 2012 and 2013, he self-published Textual Encounters and Textual Encounters: 2, respectively. As a result of the interest in these two stories, he wrote non friction, an unconventional love story. That love story earned Mr. Parker a tremendous amount of attention and at the insistence of his readers, he followed it with Hope (a novella) and Sick Day. All three of those stories have spent time on Amazon best-seller lists. When not writing, Morgan likes to spend time gathering story material from his two young children, rereading books by Colin Harrison, and napping where he discovered the Type II Sleep State, which is the topic for an untitled trilogy to be released in late-2016.
Giveaway
About the BookAuthor: Iyana Jenna Genre: GLBT Romance Blurb: As heir to Donahue Incorporated, Hunter Donahue had everything –looks, rich parents, cute boyfriend, you name it … before he lost it in an accident that left his face scarred and his boyfriend dead. With his life shattered, he retreats from society and hides away from the rest of the world. Until he meets Dr. Evan Saxton, a cosmetic surgeon, who looks so much like Hunter’s late boyfriend. In the past, Hunter’s always refused corrective surgery, but now he wants a reason to see Evan more closely, and one way to do that is by asking the doctor to operate on his scarred face. Has Hunter finally found someone new? Or will the procedure open up old wounds that haven’t completely healed? Author BioTeaching, writing, and writing are Iyana’s day to day activities. After years of writing, though, finally she braved herself to go the publishing way. Her MM stories have been published by JMS Books, Evernight Publishing, Torquere Publishing, Fireborn Publishing, and Leap of Faith Publishing. They are mostly short and sweet LGBT contemporary romance. Living in the busy city of Jakarta, Iyana also spends her time with some of her furry pals. Buy LinksJMS Books: JMS Books Iyana’s Links Facebook :: Twitter :: Amazon :: Goodreads :: All Romance Ebooks Play Your Heart Out
-- EXCERPT: My eyes find Pete’s. There’s an earnestness to his expression. I feel like I can trust him. Like I can talk to him. That might be worth lying to everyone else. His hand slides under my skirt. My thoughts fade away. My shoulders and back relax. I want to feel the way I did at the park, like there’s nothing in the world but the two of us. Sex first. Decision second. I lean in to whisper. “Do we have to stay to talk?” “Have to clear something with Aiden but I can do it after.” Mmm. After. I nod. “Yes please.” “Yes please, what?” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Yes, please… will you… Do I have to say it?” He chuckles. “I’ll get you there.” His fingertips skim my thighs as he pulls his hand back to his lap. He pulls back enough he can stare into my eyes. I still can’t figure out what the expression in his deep brown eyes means, but damn if I don’t like staring into them. They’re gorgeous eyes. That vulnerability returns. He blinks and it’s gone. I shift backwards, breaking his touch. But it’s too loud to think. Pete stands and pulls me to my feet. He nods goodbye to his friends then leads me to the back of the VIP area. There’s a roped off area with a NO ENTRANCE sign. He scans the room. A cocktail waitress has her eyes on us. More likely, she has her eyes on him. She licks her lips hungrily. He could easily take her home. But he looks at her with apathy. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want any of the gorgeous models in this place. He wants me. Pete leans in to whisper. “Wait for me on the balcony. I’ll lose her.” He motions to the closed door in the corner of the roped off area. He wants to do this on a balcony? Damn. First the bar bathroom then this. He has a thing for public sex. I should say no. I’m going to be a lawyer. I can’t get caught having sex in public. I try to force the word to my lips but it refuses. “What if we get caught?” “This is private property. They’ll ask to leave. That will be it.” His eyes meet mine. “We can hold off till we get back to your place.” I shake my head. I don’t want to hold off. I want him. Now. I trust his assessment of the situation. “No. Let’s do now,” I say. He nods. I wait for him to grab the waitress’s attention and I sneak past the velvet rope. The door to the balcony is frosted glass. You can’t see in or out. I turn the handle and check my footing. All good. We’re overlooking the alley. No one can see us, not from the street, not from the club. No one is going to catch us. Not on camera—it’s too dark for that. Thoughts swirl around my brain. I like Pete. Find him interesting. Hell, find him fascinating. Can I play his girlfriend without falling in love with him? I press my hands into the smooth metal railing. It’s the only cold thing here. The sounds of the street—conversations and cars—flow into my ears, competing with the music coming from the club. There’s only one thing I know: I can’t leave without being with him. Period.
GIVEAWAY! Shining Sea
EXCERPT: GOODBYE Tuneless humming is coming from the bedroom next to mine. I’ve always been the better singer, no secret. Even before I could talk, I sang. To me, singing feels like . . . flying. As a little kid I sang in the church choir, later on in the choruses at school, and about six months ago I started writing songs—not that I’d call myself a songwriter yet. My first gig was last week, down in the Mission District. Standing on the spotlit stage of the black box performance space, I played one long set—twelve tunes total—while hipsters watched with crossed arms. Performing in front of an audience is a good way to tell if your songs are finished. Or not. The song I’m trying to capture now definitely falls into the not category. I give the guitar a soft strum—a ghost of a chord slips out. Playing the haunting notes a little louder, I listen for the melody. It’ll come, eventually, but we’re leaving any minute. Not just leaving . . . moving. “Do you know,” I whisper sing, “where lost things go?” In the next room Lilah falls silent. The lyrics tangle in my throat. My fingers fumble, then jerk—playing a rhythmic pattern atop a single minor chord: one and two, one and two. Words tumble out of me. “Saint Anthony, can you come around? There’s something lost, and it can’t be found.” Saint Anthony—is he the one? A quick Google search on the laptop perched at the end of my bed tells me he is. Saint Anthony is invoked as the finder of lost things. Pulling my guitar closer, I play the line over and over. “Arion? You up there?” Dad. After shoving the laptop into my backpack, I shut the guitar in its case and head into the hall. Hands full, I stand in my sister’s doorway. She doesn’t see me. Even as thin as she is, even with the ever-present dark shadows beneath her eyes, Lilah is beautiful. Her features are regular and in proportion. Mine . . . are slightly exaggerated. Nose longer, lips fuller. Now, without music to distract me, the tears I’d vowed not to cry fill my eyes. Brown eyes. On a good day, they’re hazel. Maybe. There’s no mistaking the color of my sister’s eyes. Bright blue. Her hair is black and shiny, cut straight across her forehead and blunt at her shoulders in a way that has always made me think of Cleopatra, but especially since the accident, when she became a mystery to me. Lilah no longer tells me her every thought. She can’t. My sister blinks her bellflower eyes now, and for a split second— seems to focus on me. But the illusion vanishes just as quickly. I swallow around the lump in my throat, wondering for the millionth time if she has any idea what’s going on. Her bed is up against the window. In the distance—over a nearly invisible San Francisco Bay—the Golden Gate Bridge hovers in fog. Sitting down beside her on the bed, I lay a hand on one of her legs—feel bones, atrophied muscles. A raw feeling spreads through me, like a dull blade is scraping the underside of my skin. “So . . . guess it’s time for goodbye.” I take a deep breath in, let it out slowly—which doesn’t help at all. “I’ll see you in Rock Hook Harbor. Dad’s one-horse hometown . . . Sounds happening, huh?” My attempt at lightheartedness fails completely. The words drop like bricks. Leaning in, I kiss her cheek. She turns away, as if looking toward the ghostly water. Or, is she looking at the water? Or just staring blankly? I so want it to be the former. The doctors say it’s the latter. In my chest, a hairline fissure I’ve fused together with lyrics and chords pops open. “I love you,” I choke out. She doesn’t answer. Of course she doesn’t. Biting down hard on my lip, I stand up, trying not to feel like I’m leaving my best friend stranded. But I am. She is. Stranded. She’s been stranded, for a year. Swiping at my eyes, I take a few steps down the hall—then turn suddenly into my parents’ room, which is mostly Mom’s room now. Dad spends the nights he’s here on the living room couch, where, after dinner—usually something complicated he’s cooked up involving lots of pots and pans—he falls asleep with the TV on. Blue screen to white noise; maybe the sound helps him. Music works better for me. Or, it used to. I used to lie in bed at night and sing. Lately, all I want to do is sleep. Like the rest of the house, my parents’ bedroom is crowded with canvases. Filled with slashes of color and geometric shapes, each paint- ing has the name “Cici” scrawled in large letters down in the right-hand corner. Mom’s pictures pulse with unfamiliar energy, and my nostrils flare at the scent of paint fumes as I move a half-finished piece—an abstract portrait of a girl, I think—that’s leaning up against the glass door. Slipping out onto the balcony, I clutch the cold railing and eye a moldering stack of Psychology Today magazines. Therapy is Mom’s religion. A pair of paint-splattered jeans hangs off a chair. A handful of paintbrushes soak in a bucket. There’s no sign of Dad. My parents are like a couple of unmoored boats. Drifting. One of the few things they agreed on this past year? The accident was Dad’s fault. A pretty stupid conclusion, really, considering he hadn’t even been on the boat. But he’s a ship’s captain. Lilah and I inherited our love of the water from him. Water. I hate it now. Because of the water, I’m on this balcony almost every day, drawn out here as if for a long-standing appointment, some prearranged meeting between me and my broken heart. I cry here; sometimes I yell. Sometimes I write, and one day, I nearly threw my guitar over the railing. Splintered wood, snapped strings, I’m interested in broken things. The circling song lyrics fade at the sound of Mom’s strained voice. “Arion, have you finished saying goodbye to Delilah? Your dad’s ready to go.” I stay another second, then scoop up a stray guitar pick from the terracotta tiles and head inside, not paying any attention to the paint- ings now, just intent on leaving before I get any more upset. But then I’m passing Lilah’s room—and I see it. The slim black notebook I’ve searched for probably a hundred times over the past year. Oh, I’ve seen the palm-size Moleskine with its curled cover, seen it clutched in Lilah’s fist, watched as she whisked the small black book beneath her quilt, or shoved it between her sheets. I just haven’t been able to get my hands on it, and I’ve wanted to, desperately. So many times I’ve seen her slip the notebook between the over- size pages of the art books that Mom insists on bringing home from the library. She’ll hug the book close then—her treasure safe inside— but she’ll never actually look at the glossy pages. Not like she looks at that notebook. She looks at that black book like it’s the only thing she recognizes. It’s definitely some kind of diary. Not that I ever see her writing in it, not since before. But she’s always got it on her. Only, she doesn’t have it on her now. Now, there it is, on the floor next to her bed. And Lilah, there she is, still looking but not looking out the window. Transfixed, it would seem, by the gray bay. As I watch, she lifts one hand, bringing her fingertips to the glass—as if there’s something out there she wants to touch. It’s kind of amazing how I do it, how I steal her most precious pos- session without breaking my stride. How I silently sweep into the room and, bending low, snatch it up—then keep on walking like nothing’s happened. Like I’m ten-year-old Lilah herself, that time at the rock and gem shop down near the beach, trying on one sterling silver ring, then another. I’ll never forget it, how she smiled at the shopkeeper—maybe even said thank you—then practically skipped out the door, still wear- ing at least one of the rings. Once outside, she tossed a half-dozen more rings onto the pebbles that served as the shop’s front yard, so that she could retrieve them that night when the gem shop was closed, so that we could retrieve them. Eight-year-old me, I’d held the flashlight for her. She’d given me one of the rings as my reward, but only one. I feel bad taking the book; if I could read it and leave it, I would. But there’s no time. Through the hall window I can see Dad standing down in the driveway by the old green Jeep Cherokee, the car that will be mine once we get to Maine. So I slide the notebook into the pocket of my backpack where it burns a hole so big I think it will surely fall out—pages fluttering like fiery wings—and slap the floor with a sound so sharp, Lilah will shud- der to life. She’ll spring up and shout at me, her old self at last. But nothing like this happens. Leaving Lilah. Taking the notebook. My skin ripples with guilt. But we have to go on ahead. School’s starting in a few weeks, plus Dad’s new job—they won’t hold it any longer. And really, I have to take the book. I need to know what happened. Out in the driveway, I crane my neck, trying to see if Lilah’s still at the window. “Hold on,” Mom shouts from the house, “I almost forgot!” Time seems suspended as Dad and I wait by the car, the limbo of the long ride already upon us . . . Mom reappears holding a square box wrapped in gold paper and a purple ribbon. Balanced on top is a fat cupcake with pink frosting. “Happy birthday, Arion.” Her flinty blue eyes soften. She hands me the awkward duo and gives me an equally awkward hug. “From both of us.” Dad smiles, shakes his head. “Seventeen.” He’s always been a man of few words. “Thanks, Mom. Dad.” Swallowing hard, I climb into the car with the gifts on my lap. Mom pecks Dad on the cheek, and he gets behind the wheel. As we pull away, she blows me a kiss. Twisting in my seat, I wave—then look up at the second story. No Lilah. My chest hurts so much—I actually glance down. But there’s nothing except a smear of pink icing on my shirt, where I’d leaned into the cupcake. We’ll fly back close to Thanksgiving, when Lilah is scheduled for the operation that my parents have finally decided is her best bet: a surgical procedure to implant a device in her brain. It’s not as sci-fi as it sounds. The battery-operated device is kind of like a pacemaker, only for your brain instead of your heart. This kind of surgery is used to treat a variety of disabling neurological symptoms, although I think whoever came up with DBS—deep brain stimulation—was thinking of people with Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s, not, well, whatever’s wrong with Lilah. Her case is—entirely different. I’m not going to pretend: I’m scared. But the plan is, we’ll all be together in Maine by Christmas, so that’s what I’m trying to focus on. I’ll miss Lilah. Mom too. But I’m glad to be leaving San Francisco. My life here . . . is on hold—except for my music. The rest is a waiting game. We’ve all been waiting for Lilah to find what she lost. As if she can look for it.
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