Coming July 10th

Pre-order exclusively on iBooks HERE

Add to your Goodreads shelf now.

Being the only woman working for a professional baseball team isn’t easy. As the San Diego Shock’s newest athletic trainer, Allie knows all about long hours, endless travel, and warding off players’ advances. Given she’s already the subject of a handful of rumors about how “lucky” she was to have earned such a coveted position, she can’t so much as flutter an eyelash a player’s way if she wants to be taken seriously.

But number eleven is doing more than fluttering eyelashes Allie’s way. Far more. Luke Archer is at the top of his game and doesn’t let the fear of striking out keep him from swinging. This is a motto he applies both on and off the field, but Allie appears immune, seeming to view Luke as nothing more than caution tape on legs.

He’s a player, and in Allie’s experience, they’re all the same. She won’t risk her job or her heart to another one, no matter how different this one claims to be. But as Allie gets to know him, she discovers the number eleven the public thinks they know is very different from the real Luke Archer. He seems too good to be true.

And maybe he is.

Allie will have to confront the stories attached to a player of Luke Archer’s stature and decide who she’ll put her faith in—The man she’s falling for? Or the rumors?

“Hey.” Archer slid next to me on the bench after jogging into the dugout.

           “Hey,” I replied, trying to ignore that same mix of sweat and man closing in around me when he slid closer. Along with it came the hint of grass and leather. It should have been offensive, but it was the opposite. I loved this sport and everything that came with it—the scents included.

           “So how do you like playing football?” I asked, keeping a straight face.

           “Please, football players have it easy with all that padding and protection. I’m going to look like I got tuned up by a tire iron tomorrow.” He turned his forearms over, and I could already make out a few bruises breaking to the surface.

           “You want something for the pain?” I reached down for my duffel bag.

           “Do I ever want something for the pain?”

           “Fine.” I tucked the bag back under the bench. The bruises weren’t bad—he’d survive.

           “But I wouldn’t mind a nice deep-tissue massage later. Let’s say ten o’clock. My room. Clothing optional.” He kept his voice quiet, smirking at the field as the Rays threw a few warm-up balls.

           “No pressure,” I said under my breath.

           His smirk grew. “No pressure.”

           When Coach paced down the dugout past us, Archer casually shifted farther down the bench from me, his smirk fading.

           “I want to steal home.” Archer scooted back closer to me once Coach’s and the other players’ attention was on Hernandez stepping up to the plate.

“No one steals home anymore.”

“Doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

His arm was brushing against mine, messing with my head. “Doesn’t mean it should be done either.”

“We need a run. We need a big play.” He sucked in a breath when Hernandez swung at the pitch . . . and missed. Strike one. “If Hernandez and Garfield can get on base and I hit a double or a triple, we’ll be in good shape.”

“Or you could just hit one of those homerun things you’re setting records for. That could work.” I glanced at him from the corners of my eyes.

He shook his head at me.

“Stealing home plate?” I repeated, realizing he was serious. “It’s like a one-in-a-thousand shot you’ll pull it off.”

“Never tell me the odds. It only makes me want to do it more.” His jaw ground when Hernandez chalked up another swing and a miss.

“Play it safe. I know you’re favoring your right leg.” My gaze dropped to his leg running down the length of mine. “I don’t know what you did to it, but I know it’s hurting. Don’t risk injuring it any more.” When his jaw set a little, I sighed. “Am I going to have to tell Coach?”

“I just twisted it weird. It’s fine. A little ice and rest and I’ll be good.”

“Is this when you tell me you’re going to walk it off?”

It wasn’t affecting his performance much, but he’d need speed and luck to steal home. With the way he was favoring his leg, speed was not in his corner tonight.

“No. This is when I show you I’m going to walk it off. Right after I add another point to our side of the scoreboard when I steal home.”

When Shepherd glanced down the bench, I reached into my duffel so it looked like I had a reason to be having a conversation with the star player. Instead of the real reason we were having a conversation.

“Don’t steal home,” I said once Shepherd’s attention went back to the game. When Archer sighed, I added, “Not as in not ever. Just wait until the time’s right. When you know you’ll be successful.”

He looked ready to argue when pitch number three sailed at Hernandez and he connected with the ball, sending a whizzing line-drive into left field. Hernandez turned on the jets and hauled to first base, making it right before the ball smacked into the first baseman’s glove.

The dugout let loose with a round of whistles and cheers.

“I’m on deck.”

“Good luck.” I nudged his leg with mine as he stood.

“Hey, I’ve got my lucky shirt on. I’m all set.” He slid off his ball cap and sailed it into my lap.

“Yeah, but it’s been washed a few times since I was in it. Not sure how much luck’s left in it.”

           “I’m feeling pretty damn lucky.” He pinched at the shirt before slipping a batting helmet onto his head. “But don’t worry. I fully plan on having my jersey draped around your body again soon.”

My eyes wandered down the dugout. No one was watching—they were too busy holding their breaths as Garfield sauntered up to the plate.

“Don’t steal home.”

“Make me a better offer, and I’ll consider it.” He paused for a heartbeat, challenging me with his eyes. When my lips stayed sealed, he climbed the steps out of the dugout. “Home plate it is.”

Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.

Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.

Website   Facebook  Twitter  Blog  Instagram

 

 

Zero
by Morgan Dark
Release Date: June 28th 2016
Rubiños 1860

Lavender in Bloom
Lily Velez
Publication date: July 25th 2016
Genres: Historical, Romance, Young Adult

It’s the year 1802 in Avignon, France…

Noah Capet has spent most of his young life living simple and unvaried days in the hushed countryside of southern France. Quiet, reserved, and diffident, his preference for existing is to do so in solitude, keeping to himself both in town and on his family’s farm—a predilection that’s altogether disrupted when a newcomer to town by the name of Jeremie Perreault begins an unremitting quest to befriend him.

Jeremie is everything Noah is not. Charismatic and gregarious, he leaves a trail of charmed admirers in his wake wherever he goes. Expressive and idealistic, he talks without end about his deep love for old books and his spirited dream to one day travel the world on a literary pilgrimage.

Over the course of a single summer, the two form an unlikely friendship, but just as quickly as it develops, it soon entirely dissolves as they’re forced to face the truth of what has unexpectedly emerged between them.

Lavender in Bloom is a tender and tragic coming-of-age story about first love and self-discovery, and a poignant reminder that time is fleeting and always takes with it the choices we’re too afraid to make.

Add to Goodreads

Author Bio:

Lily Velez has been writing stories since she was six years old. Not much has changed since then. She still prefers the written word and her overactive imagination over the 'real world' (though to be fair, her stories no longer feature talking dinosaurs). A graduate of Rollins College and a Florida native, when she's not reading or writing, she spends most of her days wrangling up her pit bulls Noah and Luna, planning exciting travel adventures, and nursing her addiction to cheese. All this when she isn't participating in the extreme sport known as napping. You can learn more about Lily and her books at www.lilyvelezbooks.com.

Website / Goodreads / Twitter

GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by:

 

Coming June 30th

Add to your Goodreads shelf now.

What happens when an unrepentant Cleat Chaser meets the player of her dreams?

Nikki Graves has a history of going through the baseball roster with an eye for talent--the kind of talent that keeps things spicy between the sheets. But, once she meets Braden Bradford, catcher for the Ravens, her talent scout days are done. He's the one.

Braden has never met a woman like Nikki, and he can't get enough of her smart mouth and big heart. But life isn't always as direct and certain as the connection between Braden and Nikki. When family objections and career trajectories begin to crowd the plate, will Braden be able to keep his catch of a lifetime?

Celia Aaron

Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.

Author Links

Twitter  Facebook  Web  Goodreads  Amazon page   Instagram

Sloane Howell

Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.

Visit his web page www.sloanehowell.com to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.

Author Links

Twitter  Facebook  Web  Goodreads  Amazon page  Instagram

 

And She Called Him Romeo

by Santana Blair Paradise Cove #1 Publication Date: July 5, 2016 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

When you think you might lose the one person that means everything to you, you learn to play harder… In the game of basketball Jayson Williams definitely knows how to play to win. With the same dedication he shows to the game, Jayson is focused on winning one more thing before leaving Paradise Cove, the heart of Brooke Thomas. However, that’s easier said than done. Brooke has become a master at playing defense when it comes to Jayson’s attempts to win her over. He might be a superstar on the court but when it comes to love, he’s a rookie. And he needs a whole new game plan. Brooke doesn’t have a clear vision of her future but when Jayson’s presence in her life seems to be unavoidable, she is thrown completely off. Her mind and heart are at odds with each other when it comes to the charms of Jayson. Somehow the one person she wanted nothing to do with becomes more important to her than she could ever imagine. As both Jayson and Brooke learn how to fight for what they want, life keeps testing the strength of their bond. Their love is fought hard for but Brooke and Jayson soon realize they will have to fight even harder to keep it.

About Santana Blair

Santana Blair lives in Connecticut with her husband and three kids. She enjoys long walks through bookstores and stationary aisles. Her personal philosophy is that rainy days are perfect for getting lost in a good book. She’s a sucker for a good love story. When she’s not reading or writing, she enjoys music, movies, and relaxing with family.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Newsletter | Instagram

a Rafflecopter giveaway

We are very excited to bring you the cover for the next book from Jade Sinner. CHERRY POPPER is the first book in the Reckless Series. All books are stand-alones with HEA's and guaranteed to make you melt.

        My best friend’s little sister. That’s all Emma Briggs is to me. I keep trying to convince myself that statement is true but it’s a lie. It’s her face I see every time I close my eyes. It’s her touch I yearn to feel. It’s her lips I long to kiss. It’s her cherry I want to pop. We were separated by time and distance, but now she’s back in my life. And everything has changed. Every. Thing. She’s no longer that kid tagging along behind me. The special bond I’ve shared with her—for as long as I can remember—has become something so different. Something so forbidden. Something so hot. Desire is telling me to do it—to pop her cherry. It would be so easy to give in and take her because she'll feel so good. My best friend’s little sister is all grown up. And I want her. She. Will. Be. Mine.   ADD TO GOODREADS        Jade Sinner is two friends, two New York Times bestselling authors, and two chicks with a secret. We like to write sexy, dirty books—the kind of books that would make both of our mothers blush. Since we don't want to see that across the Thanksgiving dinner table, we came together and created Jade. If you have a secret too—if you like to read books that make you not only blush but flush—if you like quick reads, hot guys, naughty love stories, super-steamy sex scenes, and the promise of always having an HEA (Happily Ever After) then we have the books for you. We won't tell your secret if you don't tell ours... Then again, if you like our books and you don't mind telling the world about our dirty little secret, by all means, please, share! We promise to keep writing until we have enough to keep you and your friends busy with bookgasms late into the night! You're welcome! FACEBOOK  

Today we are sharing chapter one from HIS by Brenda Rothert. This book is a contemporary romance title and currently up for pre-order. It will be released on June 28th!

 

HIS by Brenda Rothert

Releasing: June 28

PRE-ORDER IT NOW!

Amazon | iBooks

Book Blurb:

Quinn I’d say I’m down on my luck, but that’s an understatement. I’m flat on my ass. Homeless, hungry and in hiding with my little sister at the age of twenty-one, I’ve never been so desperate. I’ve hit rock bottom when I get an offer I can’t refuse. Sell my body to save my sister? There’s nothing I won’t do to keep her safe. I make the rules and I’m not afraid to defend myself if this rich guy crosses the line. But once I see beneath his cold, calculating façade, the lines aren’t so clear anymore.

Andrew She’s an intoxicating mix of tough and vulnerable I’ve never known before. This homeless woman who fits right into my upper-class world is running from someone powerful, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. But Quinn isn’t meant to be controlled, so I’m forced to choose between owning her and loving her. I’ve finally met my match, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make her truly mine.

CHAPTER REVEAL

Prologue September 28, 2001 Andrew Seventeen days ago, my life caught fire. Two planes. Two towers. Nothing will ever be the same. The fire at Ground Zero is still burning, and somewhere inside the smoky piles of rubble is my father. Do I want them to find him? For the first week, I did. I stayed home from school every day and stared at the TV, praying I’d see them pull my dad from what’s left. I told myself over and over that he couldn’t be gone. David Wentworth was too strong to be taken down like that. He’d show them all. My dad would come crawling out of the pile of debris, still wearing his dark suit. He’d probably pull other people out, too. My dad is like that. He does things people say are impossible. But the second week, my mom said I had to go back to school. When I told her I wouldn’t go because I was waiting for my dad to be rescued, her shoulders fell. “He’s gone, Andrew.” “You don’t know that. Dad’s a fighter.” She shook her head. “I know it’s hard for a thirteen-year-old to wrap his head around. I know. You want him to be here, and I do, too. But he’s gone. It’s just you and me now.” I glared at her, my throat burning. How could she give up on him like that? I’d never give up on my dad. I went back to my spot in his favorite leather chair in our living room and turned up the news on TV. But after two weeks, my school counselor came to our house to see me. He frowned and told me no one could survive for two weeks in there. Then he gave me a pamphlet titled, “It’s Okay to Cry.” I crumpled up his advice on grieving and threw it in the trash. I wasn’t going to cry. My dad wouldn’t want that. He’d always told me a man’s true measure was his strength. “Chin up, Andrew. You’re a Wentworth. We’re made of steel.” Today we’re having a memorial service for him. My chin will stay up, and my back will stay straight. When I look at the family pictures of my parents and me on a long table at the funeral home and my eyes start to feel watery, I pinch my leg through the pocket of my suit pants. The burning sting in my thigh makes me angry instead of sad. Better. Dad used to yell at people from his company sometimes, so I know he wouldn’t mind me being angry. At night, when I’m staring up at the stars me and Dad stuck on my ceiling when I was little, my stomach twists and hurts with the anger I feel for the men who killed my dad. They murdered thousands of people. I’m not the only kid without a dad now. Everyone is scared. Nothing will ever be the same. My mom covers her mouth with her hand, crying as one of her friends squeezes her arm and talks to her. They did that, too. They made my mom cry. My dad wouldn’t stand for that. Since he’s gone, I have to be the strong one now. I have to take care of my mom like he would. I have to think about what dad would want for us. I have to hold on tight to my need for those men to pay for what they did to my dad. The firefighters will eventually extinguish the smoldering fire at Ground Zero, but the fire burning inside of me will never go out. Chapter One October 2015 Quinn There’s nothing good in Mauricio’s Dumpster tonight. Hard pieces of uneaten pizza crust and cold spaghetti covered in olive oil are the only edible things I’ve found so far. And it won’t get better if I dig further. So why am I still ripping open bags of trash on this cold fall evening? Because my little sister is hungry. I can still see the hope that was shining in her huge blue eyes when I left for a food run earlier. If we’ve learned only one thing in our four years on the streets of New York City, it’s that hunger and cold are realities, but facing them at the same time is a bitch. I climb up a pile of trash heaped at the end of the rusted Dumpster, bracing my foot on a stack of empty pizza boxes. My hair whips across my face when the chilly breeze catches it. Fall is my least favorite season now. I loved it when I was a kid and it meant hot, spicy cider, piles of crunchy leaves to plow through, and football games to cheer at. But now, fall means the dreaded, bitter winter is on its way. I’ll spend my days taking Bethy from one heated public place to another in an effort to stay warm. At night, we’ll sleep underground. The cold down there isn’t life threatening, but some of the people are. I’m so tired. It hits me all at once, and I sag against a filled plastic trash bag. Last night we got kicked out of the park and chased by a group of frat boys threatening to gang rape Bethy and me. If there hadn’t been nine of them, my friend Bean and I would’ve wiped the cocky grins off their faces. Fucking rich boys. Their sense of entitlement is staggering. I sigh and crawl back down the trash hill. The wail of a siren approaches as I fish a plastic bag out of my pocket and stuff the cold spaghetti noodles into it. It’s food, and Bethy won’t complain. We’ve both eaten worse to stave off hunger pangs. I close my eyes, pushing down the wave of anger welling inside me. The fatigue won’t go away if I sleep well tonight. It’s bone-deep. I’m tired of running. Tired of feeding my sister scraps of food other people threw away. Tired of wondering if the hell I saved her from is worse than the one I brought her into. Thinking about this will drain me. I force the thoughts away, wrap my hands around the edge of the Dumpster and swing my leg over. Two more years. That’s what I focus on instead. In a little over two years, Bethy will turn eighteen and we can have a real life. I’ll get a job, and she’ll go back to school. We’ll stop running and looking over our shoulders constantly. We won’t go to bed hungry or cold ever again. I’ll make sure of it. The alley is quiet. It’s just me and a chubby guy smoking a cigarette, the orange glow of its end bright in the blackness. I put my head down and stuff my hands in the pockets of my coat. “Hey.” The man’s voice is deep and insistent. I don’t look up at him. “Hey, I’m talkin’ to you.” This time, he grabs my upper arm. I shake myself out of his grasp and push off the ground to run away, but his arm locks around me. “What’s your fuckin’ problem?” His warm breath smells like cigarettes and garlic, and I turn away when it hits my face. I thrash, struggling to escape his hold. He laughs at me. “Tough girl, huh?” He’s bulky, and I can’t stop him from slamming my slight frame against a brick wall. The more I fight, the harder he laughs. “Let go,” I say in a level tone. He presses my upper arms against the cold stone so hard it burns, and he laughs some more. “You think you’re too good for me?” I kick him in the shin, and he pulls my arms forward and then slams me against the wall again. The impact rattles my teeth and knocks the wind out of me. And now I’m pissed. “Please don’t hurt me,” I say in a tiny voice. “Scared now, aren’t you?” The satisfaction in his tone sends my adrenaline racing. “You better be.” “I’ll do whatever you want. Just…please don’t hurt me.” My voice shakes, and he relaxes his grip on me. It takes me less than a second to knee him in the crotch and wrap my hand around the knife in my leg holster. In a move too fast for this lard-ass to see, let alone block, I pull it out and sink the blade into his gut. Underhanded—harder to block. If I wanted to kill him, I’d pull it out quickly and stab him again with the tight, quick jabs Bean taught me. But he’s not worth the trouble. There’s resistance from his flannel and his skin, but once I get past that, it’s a smooth trip through layers of fat. My arm muscles tingle as I hold the knife in place for a few seconds. I see the whites of his eyes get larger. His mouth drops open as he stares at me in disbelief. “You bitch,” he mutters. I’m not gentle when I pull out my knife. He cries out and puts his hands over the wound. I quickly wipe the two sides of my blade on his shirt to clean it. He reaches for my wrist, but I’m faster. I’ve landed a punch to his meaty face before he even realizes it’s coming. “Want some more?” I ask, flashing the business end of my blade. “No.” He backs up a few steps, shaking his head. I arch my brows at him. “Who’s scared now?” I don’t wait for an answer. Instead, I turn and head for the street, where sirens are once again wailing in the distance. My knife tucked safely away once again, I turn my thoughts back to Bethy and Bean. It’ll be cold tonight. Much as I hate to do it, it’s time for us to head back underground. *** Andrew It’s possibly the worst sales presentation I’ve ever seen. The guy trying to sell me his software company got Strike One when he didn’t introduce himself to me. And now he’s tapping his foot on the ground like he’s about to piss his pants or something. Strike Two. “This thing could be huge. You know what I’m saying, Mr. Wentworth?” he asks me, grinning. “Not at all.” His smile slides away, and he clears his throat. “Um, well…like I said, I’ve already made close to a million on it.” “How much have you made? Precisely?” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Seven hundred thousand or so…sir.” I lower my brows. “Seven hundred twenty-one thousand eleven dollars. That’s according to the paperwork your CPA prepared and forwarded to me at your request.” He nods. “Sounds about right.” “About right?” I hold back a sigh of disgust. “This is likely the biggest meeting of your life to date, and you don’t have the answer to that critical question prepared?” “Well, I…I knew it was in the papers, so…” “Seven hundred twenty-thousand is not close enough to a million to call ‘close to a million.’ Especially when you subtract your start-up expenses from that figure. Cash flow of this venture is nearly nonexistent at this point.” He silently concedes my point. “It’s still got a lot of potential.” I’m about to lay out the cold, hard truth when my secretary, Susan, opens the door. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Wentworth, but Preston McCoy is here and he says it’s urgent.” My stomach clenches into a knot of tension as I stand and button my suit coat. “Go ahead,” the nameless man offers, sitting down on the leather sofa in my office. “I’ll hang out here.” His suggestion that I’m going to step out of my own office while he “hangs out” here is Strike Three. “Thank you for your time,” I say, heading for the door. “Oh.” His expression is crestfallen. “We’re done, then?” “We’re done.” He stacks his poster boards in a pile and packs his laptop into its canvas bag covered with buttons advocating marijuana legalization. “So…when will you know?” he asks. I meet the gaze of one of my vice presidents, Carla, and I can tell she’s holding back a smile. “I’m not interested in purchasing your company,” I say, spelling it out. “Really?” Susan puts a hand on his shoulder and steers him from my office before I blow. “How the hell did he get this meeting?” I ask Carla. “His mother is a friend of your mother.” I just stare at her for a second. “My mother set this up?” “Well…she asked if you’d donate to the hospital league banquet, and then she told Susan she’d accept an hour of your time in place of the monetary donation.” My mother only accepts the word no when someone is saying, “No problem, Mrs. Wentworth.” I learned much of my tenacity from her, but I can’t have her using my time this way. I make a mental note to discuss this with her. Preston McCoy steps into my office, his gray comb-over sparser than the last time I saw him. “Andrew. Carla.” He shakes both our hands, and Carla steps out. Preston’s gaze stays fixed on her ass as she departs. The old perv isn’t even sly about it. “So,” he says, sitting down in one of the leather wingback chairs in front of my desk. I hold up a hand to stop him, walk over to my office door, and close it. Susan generally makes sure my door is closed for meetings, but she’s probably still getting rid of the pot proponent. Preston waits for me to unbutton my jacket and sit down. I meet his gaze, not letting on that my stomach is churning, ready to spill its contents. I know why he’s here. He has the answer I’ve been waiting seven long months for. “The paternity test results are in, and you are in no way related to Ms. Henley’s child.” My insides liquefy with relief. Thank fuck. I press my sweating palms to my thighs and wait for Preston to continue. “Ms. Henley has dropped her claim for child support. It’s over, Andrew.” I nod. “Good. Thank you for coming by with the news.” “Of course. I can file a claim for the ten thousand a month you provided as support during the pregnancy.” I can still see Amber Henley’s quaking lower lip when she told me in my kitchen that our one and only sexual encounter had gotten her pregnant, and there was no doubt I was the father of the baby she was carrying. The bottom of my world fell out that day. At age twenty-eight, I was just hitting my stride with my company. Not to mention she wasn’t someone I saw myself with long-term. I’d royally fucked that kid over before it was even born. Wasn’t in love with its mother and wasn’t ready to be a father. I’d spent a lot of the past seven months loathing myself over it. And after all that, Amber had been lying. I can’t even be angry about it because the relief overpowers everything else. “I don’t care about the money,” I tell Preston. “Like you said, it’s over.” He arches his brows in a judgmental glare. “Well, maybe this’ll be a lesson to you.” “I’m not paying you a thousand an hour for life lessons,” I say, my tone crisp. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” “Of course. I apologize.” He gets up and leaves my office, closing the door behind him. I turn my desk chair toward the window and look out at the expanse of stone on the building next door. It’s over. I didn’t wrong my unborn child. I don’t have to deal with gold-digging Amber anymore. If I ever cried, I’d weep with relief right now. Instead, I sigh deeply and run a hand over the light five-o’clock shadow coating my cheeks. Never again will I cede control of my life to a woman this way. I won’t give Preston the satisfaction of admitting this was a lesson to me. From now on, I hold all the cards.

---------------------

AUTHOR INFORMATION:

Brenda Rothert is an Illinois native who was a print journalist for nine years. She made the jump from fact to fiction in 2013 and never looked back. From new adult to steamy contemporary romance, Brenda creates fresh characters in every story she tells. She’s a lover of Diet Coke, chocolate, lazy weekends and happily ever afters.

AUTHOR LINKS:

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | | Wattpad | Amazon