Seneca Rebel
by Rayya Deeb Genre: YA Release Date: June 1st 2016 ATM Publishing Summary from Goodreads: What if your one chance to change the world means you have to leave everything you love behind? In the not-too-distant future, math genius Doro Campbell is introduced to the Seneca Society: a secretive, technologically-advanced subterranean utopia dedicated to inventing and perfecting the most effective ways to benefit our planet. But thereâs a hitch. Like all that have come before her, Doro is given the ultimatum: Stay in Seneca forever, or leave now with no memory of the place, its goals, and its inhabitants. She stays. Her ideals are shattered when, together with biotechnology whiz, Dominic Ambrosia, Doro uncovers profound deceptions beneath the surface of this all too-perfect community. Will one teenage girl have what it takes to go up against swarms of drones, psychological manipulation and biological attacks, to uncover the truth and change the trajectory of the world?
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Explore Seneca: www.SenecaSociety.com
Read the first few chapters for FREE:
"Seneca Rebel by Rayya Deeb is one of those rare books where all the elements come together to form a work of near perfection." Elisha Jachetti, YA Books Central
About the Author
Rayya Deeb is a Virginia Tech Hokie, born in London, England and raised in Northern Virginia. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two daughters. She has worked in television production and film development, but her true passion is writing. She has spent over a decade screenwriting, collaborating with some seriously incredible, world-renowned directors, actors and top-notch producers. Most recently she wrote her first novel, Seneca Rebel.
Rayya grew up on fresh Mediterranean food and an eclectic palette of music. 90âs hip-hop will always hold a special place in her heart, and her parentsâ LP collection that includes the Stones, Beatles and Dylan is one of her most valued possessions. She loves exploring the world, breaking bread with family and friends, and binge-watching shows like âHouse of Cardsâ and âThe Leftovers.â Rayya spends an absurd amount of time thinking about all things culinary, but considers it well worth it.
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Title: His Boy
Author: Bink Cummings
Genre: M/M Romance Novella
Release Date: May 25, 2016
For years, I lived with him as roommates. Then, one fateful night, things changed. We became more. So much more. The sex was out of this world. Being his boy was the highlight of my day. Until feelings started to creep in and sex wasn't enough for me. Afraid of losing him, I kept quiet and hoped for a miracle... Could my Daddy love me, too? Or would I continue to be his boy… his play toy?
Warning: Contains shameless adult sexual M/M content, adult language, taboo elements including those of consensual Daddy/Boy (non-incest) relationships, and whatever else that makes it unsuitable for anyone under the age of 18. Long 39K Standalone Steamy Novella - See some of your favorite characters from the Corrupt Chaos MC series and meet new Characters to be seen in the upcoming Crimson Outlaws MC series.
Author Bink Cummings was born and raised part of a biker family. Upon the incessant coercion from her sacred sisters, she has begun her newest journey in life--writing. When she's not shacked up in her home writing at all hours of the night, Bink enjoys riding motorcycles, taking care of her family, reading, and cooking huge meals--Especially her infamous chocolate chip cookies.
Maybe Never
Grab your copy today for only 99 cents! -- EXCERPT: Kinsley bites her lip. “I used to hate you but now I realize who I should be hating.” I stick my hands in my pocket to keep me from doing something stupid. “And now?” “Now I sorta love you.” I grin and do something stupid – despite trying as hard as I can to keep my hands firmly in my pockets, they fly out and grab Kinsley. One hand tangles in her newly cut hair that is still wet from being out in the rain too long. The other wraps around her waist where I can see her skin through the see-through portion of her dress in the middle, but I can’t touch her skin. And my lips touch her soft lips while my tongue tangles with hers in a desperate kiss. A kiss that I was afraid I would never get again. I thought she would still hate me. I thought she wouldn’t believe me, but somehow she did. Now I just have to protect her from the truth I just discovered. A truth that is a million times more hideous then what either of us knew to be true. But before I figure out how to protect her I have to have her. I can’t stand that I left her when she wasn’t safe. I can’t stand that I left her feeling like I didn’t love her. I can’t stand that I hurt her and I can’t stand that my cock isn’t already buried inside her within a minute of seeing her because I need to feel close to her. I need to forget what I just learned. I need to forget that if I choose to be with her past tonight I’m jeopardizing a career that I’ve worked my ass off for over ten years. “Excuse me ma’am. Would you like another glass of the Bordeaux you were drinking?” the cocktail waitress asks Kinsley. Kinsley reluctantly pulls her lips away from me. “No thanks.” “Sir?” I smile seeing that Kinsley ordered the first drink I ever got her. “No. I’m good.” Kinsley grabs her glass of wine behind her and finishes the last sip off before handing the empty glass to the waitress. “Thank you,” she says her eyes trained on my lips. Before the waitress even leaves, her soft plump lips are on mine, torturing me, knowing that I can kiss, but I can’t get what I want right now no matter how hard I get for her. I press my cock against her stomach to show her how much I need her. Her eyes open and are filled with her own need. She needs me. Now. I pull away so my lips are just resting on her. “Fuck, that look is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” She grins. “You haven’t seen sexy yet.” She grabs my hand and then we are walking instead of kissing. I let her lead me a few feet when I tug hard on her hand until she is spinning back toward me. I grab hold of her neck and kiss her again. She gives into the kiss as I sweep my tongue into her mouth. She moans just a little and then pushes me away laughing. “You have to stop that if you want more than just a kiss.” “What?” my eyes widen at her words. She leans forward until her mouth is at my neck. “If you want to fuck me, you have to stop kissing me so I can take you somewhere that is not swarming with people.” And then she sucks my neck before pulling away. I’ve taught her well. She grabs my hand again and then she’s leading me off the casino floor. I frown though when she doesn’t lead me to the lobby to get a room. “Where are we going? Shouldn’t we head to the lobby to get a room?” She bites her lip as she flashes me a wicked grin. “I can’t wait that long. Can you?” she cocks her head to the side and I realize I was wrong. This is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. She pulls on my hand again and we are walking faster down a long hallway and then another. I have no idea how she knows where she is going, but she does. She slows when she gets to the end of a hallway and then is pushing me into a bathroom. I grin. “You naughty girl.” Her tongue slips inside my mouth as her arms go around my neck hungrily. It’s the most desperate kiss I’ve ever felt from her and I match her hunger kiss for kiss. “God, I want you.” “Then take me.”
GIVEAWAY!
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.
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: 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.
GIVEAWAY!: Sleeping Tom
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Book Depository Grab yours today for only 99cents (for a limited time only)! -- EXCERPT: “Don’t go.” He was creeping her out. She wanted to run and hide from him, but instead she held her ground and, as casually as she could, leaned into the doorframe. “It’s like three in the morning,” she reminded him, attempting a frown to hide her anxiety. “Do you want to play a game?” “What?” Caden asked, his voice once again making her unsure. A game? It sounded like something Sean would say. Caden shifted her weight, eyeing him warily. I can handle this. She let out a deep breath; if nothing else she could use this as an opportunity. Cleaning at three in the morning obviously hadn’t scored her enough Good Samaritan points. “Sure… We can play a game.” She wondered if her hesitation would make him angry, like she had when they had been in the car that afternoon. “First, you have to turn off the lights.” Caden’s hand shook. This didn’t feel right. “Okay,” She mumbled, attempting to seem unfazed, and she turned off the lights with a flick of her wrist. It took a few seconds for her eyes to readjust, and when they did she saw the boy leap back onto the bed, light and agile. She took an uneasy step back. Her chest constricted and her breath caught in her throat. Caden couldn’t deny being unsure of the situation, of this boy who somehow had to be the man she’d met earlier that day. His head moved from side to side, watching her as intently as she watched him. “What do you want to play?” he asked. Even then, with him in better visibility, Caden couldn’t tell if the boy was really Gabriel. It was the same voice she had heard earlier, but without the rough edge of his irritation it sounded much younger and innocent, like that of a child. “I don’t know…” “Oh, come on, think of something,” he said. When he didn’t move to grab her, she relaxed a little, her breath evening out once again. Caden could feel her confidence slowly building. Maybe he really just wants to play a game. “Aren’t you tired?” The boy’s shoulders and head dropped. “So you don’t want to play,” he confirmed dejectedly. She watched as he turned around on the empty bed, to face the other wall. Caden’s little sister Reese always used guilt to get what she wanted. She hadn’t known a guy her own age could make her feel just as guilty, if not worse. “No, no, I want to play. I do.” As long as you stay on that side of the room. Caden moved farther into the room but stayed a good six feet away. “What game? What game?” He bounced on the bed in his sitting position. “Do you have any cards?” She clutched the blanket tighter around her, but tried to keep her voice light and casual. “Cards?” The boy, who no longer seemed like Gabriel at all, stuck out his tongue. “Dumb. Something else.”
GIVEAWAY!
Author: Susan Renee
Genre: NA Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 22, 2016
DEVASTATION
Moving back home wasn't anything I ever wanted.
But after enduring the worst,
Going home was the only answer.
Being back is everything I thought it would be...
Awful, isolating, a constant reminder of what I lost.
And the last thing I need--or want--is another reminder of my past,
Especially Bryant Wood.
GUILT
That's all I feel--all I can see when I look at Savannah Turner.
I want to hold her, feel her, love her,
And thank her for what's she given me.
But I can't show her the gratitude.
The relief.
The gift she's given me.
I won't.
It'll ruin everything.
A secret I must keep--a secret that could break her.
Shatter her.
Destroy her.
All over again.
Susan Renee wants to live in a world where paint doesn’t smell, Hogwarts is open twenty-four/seven, and everything is covered in glitter. An indie romance author, Susan has written about everything from lawn mowers to thick colossal bottles of wine, and has won a Snuggle Buddy award for her nonfiction book, “The Hula Hoop Tester’s Guide to Jumping.” She lives in Ohio with her family and seven tiny donkeys. She’s a Pet Whispering major from OMGU with a Masters in medical care for inanimate objects (a la Doc McStuffins). Susan enjoys crab-walking through the Swiss Alps, drinking Muscle Milk, and doing the Care Bear stare with her closest friends.
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