Sunday, July 28, 2019

Available NOW! #singledadseries #newrelease #singledadsofseattle #giveaway

Title: Saved With the Single Dad
Series: The Single Dads of Seattle
Author: Whitley Cox
Genre: Erotic Contemporary Romance/Single Dad
Release Date: July 27, 2019


Loving yourself is the first step on the road to healing.


Welcome to Seattle, the Emerald City and home to The Single Dads of Seattle. Ten sexy single fathers who play poker every Saturday night, have each other's backs, love their children without quarter, and hope to one day find love again.
This is Mitch's story ...
Single dad of Seattle, Mitch Benson can't move, can't blink, can't think, let alone do his job and photograph the woman on stage. Every fiber of his body wakes up when Paige McPherson starts to dance. She pours out her heart, bares her grief and pain for the world to see--the same grief and pain that has ruled his every waking moment since his wife passed and left him to raise their daughter alone. Paige is dancing his truth, and in that moment, Mitch knows his life is going to change.
Paige never thought she'd notice a man again, but there's no ignoring Mitch--or the message in the photographs he takes. Learning to dance has reignited her passion for life and shattered the protective shell she's built around her heart. That's not good--no matter what anyone else says, it's her fault she lost her son, and while she's on the healing path, it's a long journey and one she's determined to take alone.
Mitch knows Paige thinks she doesn't deserve a second chance at love, but he can't bear to back away from the one woman who makes him feel alive again. He's willing to fight for their future, whatever it takes.
Paige can't deny her attraction for Mitch, but moving forward means betraying her past. Now she's faced with a new dilemma--quit her job as the head pastry chef at a very prestigious Seattle restaurant and strike off on her own, or stay working for the boss from hell. Paige isn't sure she's ready for all the changes. Can the single dad save her in time? Or will grief and indecision swallow her whole?
**Note: This book can be read as a standalone. It includes lots of steamy scenes, cursing, and of course as with all my books, this has an HEA and no cliffhanger or cheating. If you like single dads who take charge, this book is for you.

5-Star ReviewJust when you think you know how this story will end it changes, or at least it did for me. What I loved is it touches on some very emotional issues that SO many women face...and often others don’t understand. Brought tears to my eyes several times! ~ @help_me_35180 (Bookbub Review)
5-Star ReviewA must-read story that is heartrending and heartwarming.It reaches into your heart, squeezes it multiple times and leaves you in tears. This author is very skilled at putting into words the emotions and psychological status surrounding all types/stages of grief. ~Marti (Amazon Review)
5-Star ReviewAbsolutely loved this book! Mitch and Paige had me hooked from the very beginning. Whitley is my favorite new writer! I can't get enough of her books! ~Mrs.Taz (Amazon Review)
Her lips were soft, and she tasted like sparkling wine as he swept his tongue inside. A moan rose up from the back of her throat. He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming up her back and into the wild curls on the top of her head. He pulled the hair elastic free and threaded his fingers into the dark, tight waves. His blood began to race south and pool between his legs. Undoubtedly, she could probably feel it against her lower belly. 
She pushed her hips against his. 
Oh yeah, she felt it. 
He also knew he wasn’t ready to take it any further than a kiss. 
For one, he didn’t have any condoms on him. 
Two, just last week, Paige had wanted nothing to do with him. If he wanted things between them to be real, which he did, they needed to take things slow.
He’d promised himself that they would go at Paige’s speed, and he intended to keep that promise, no matter how much his balls protested otherwise. 
And three, he knew he was ready to pursue something with Paige, but he also hadn’t dated in years. How did people do it anymore? How did thirty-somethings date? Did people date? Or was it like his mother said, people just jumped into bed with one another and figured out the rest later? There was no wooing, no courting, no getting to know the person before you stripped down in front of them and showed them all your freckles.
He wanted to woo Paige. He wanted to court her and date her and find out exactly what made her tick. They’d both been through a hell of a lot in the last couple of years, and she deserved respect for all that she’d overcome. 
He broke the kiss but held her against him. Both of their chests heaved, and warm puffs of air from her mouth hit his face.
“We’re taking this slow, baby,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I really like you, and I don’t want to push. Don’t want to rush things.”
He heard her swallow and felt her nod. His fingers were still threaded in her hair, his palm against the back of her head. 
“I like you too,” she whispered. 
Mitch’s heart skipped a beat, and his smile hurt his face. He pulled her away just enough so he could look into her eyes. “Well, that’s just about the best news I’ve heard all day. Possibly all year.”
She worried her plump bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m okay taking it slow … but … ”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Hmm?”
“Can we do that again? I forgot how much I love just kissing.”
Mitch groaned, and his cock lurched against her thigh in protest. “Baby, we can kiss all night if you want to.” Then he dipped his head and took her mouth again, reveling in her little moans and whimpers as she fit perfectly into his arms. 
As if she were meant to be there all along.

A Canadian West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart, and together they have two beautiful daughters and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn't end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it's not quite wine o'clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.
A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With single dads, firefighters, Navy SEALs, mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role-playing, these books have everything we need to satisfy the curious kink in all of us.
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Saturday, July 27, 2019

#NewRelease #SingleDadRomance #TheSingleDadsofSeattle #Book3 #Excerpt




SAVED BY THE SINGLE DAD
WHITLEY COX


⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️


5-Star Review
Just when you think you know how this story will end it changes, or at least it did for me. What I loved is it touches on some very emotional issues that SO many women face...and often others don’t understand. Brought tears to my eyes several times! ~ @help_me_35180 (Bookbub Review)

5-Star Review
A must-read story that is heartrending and heartwarming.
It reaches into your heart, squeezes it multiple times and leaves you in tears. This author is very skilled at putting into words the emotions and psychological status surrounding all types/stages of grief. ~Marti (Amazon Review)


5-Star Review
Absolutely loved this book! Mitch and Paige had me hooked from the very beginning. Whitley is my favorite new writer! I can't get enough of her books! 
~Mrs.Taz (Amazon Review)





Genre: Steamy contemporary erotic romance. Single dad rom-com
Available: Amazon and Free in KU
Release Day: July 27, 2019
Series: The Single Dads of Seattle
Volume: 3
Links

Blurb:
Loving yourself is the first step on the road to healing.

Welcome to Seattle, the Emerald City and home to The Single Dads of Seattle. Ten sexy single fathers who play poker every Saturday night, have each other's backs, love their children without quarter, and hope to one day find love again.
This is Mitch's story ...


Single dad of Seattle, Mitch Benson can't move, can't blink, can't think, let alone do his job and photograph the woman on stage. Every fiber of his body wakes up when Paige McPherson starts to dance. She pours out her heart, bares her grief and pain for the world to see--the same grief and pain that has ruled his every waking moment since his wife passed and left him to raise their daughter alone. Paige is dancing his truth, and in that moment, Mitch knows his life is going to change.

Paige never thought she'd notice a man again, but there's no ignoring Mitch--or the message in the photographs he takes. Learning to dance has reignited her passion for life and shattered the protective shell she's built around her heart. That's not good--no matter what anyone else says, it's her fault she lost her son, and while she's on the healing path, it's a long journey and one she's determined to take alone.

Mitch knows Paige thinks she doesn't deserve a second chance at love, but he can't bear to back away from the one woman who makes him feel alive again. He's willing to fight for their future, whatever it takes.

Paige can't deny her attraction for Mitch, but moving forward means betraying her past. Now she's faced with a new dilemma--quit her job as the head pastry chef at a very prestigious Seattle restaurant and strike off on her own, or stay working for the boss from hell. Paige isn't sure she's ready for all the changes. Can the single dad save her in time? Or will grief and indecision swallow her whole?

**Note: This book can be read as a standalone. It includes lots of steamy scenes, cursing, and of course as with all my books, this has an HEA and no cliffhanger or cheating. If you like single dads who take charge, this book is for you.



Excerpt:
Her lips were soft, and she tasted like sparkling wine as he swept his tongue inside. A moan rose up from the back of her throat. He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming up her back and into the wild curls on the top of her head. He pulled the hair elastic free and threaded his fingers into the dark, tight waves. His blood began to race south and pool between his legs. Undoubtedly, she could probably feel it against her lower belly.
She pushed her hips against his.
Oh yeah, she felt it.
He also knew he wasn’t ready to take it any further than a kiss.
For one, he didn’t have any condoms on him.
Two, just last week, Paige had wanted nothing to do with him. If he wanted things between them to be real, which he did, they needed to take things slow.
He’d promised himself that they would go at Paige’s speed, and he intended to keep that promise, no matter how much his balls protested otherwise.
And three, he knew he was ready to pursue something with Paige, but he also hadn’t dated in years. How did people do it anymore? How did thirty-somethings date? Did people date? Or was it like his mother said, people just jumped into bed with one another and figured out the rest later? There was no wooing, no courting, no getting to know the person before you stripped down in front of them and showed them all your freckles.
He wanted to woo Paige. He wanted to court her and date her and find out exactly what made her tick. They’d both been through a hell of a lot in the last couple of years, and she deserved respect for all that she’d overcome.
He broke the kiss but held her against him. Both of their chests heaved, and warm puffs of air from her mouth hit his face.
“We’re taking this slow, baby,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I really like you, and I don’t want to push. Don’t want to rush things.”
He heard her swallow and felt her nod. His fingers were still threaded in her hair, his palm against the back of her head.
“I like you too,” she whispered.
Mitch’s heart skipped a beat, and his smile hurt his face. He pulled her away just enough so he could look into her eyes. “Well, that’s just about the best news I’ve heard all day. Possibly all year.”
She worried her plump bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m okay taking it slow … but … ”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Hmm?”
“Can we do that again? I forgot how much I love just kissing.”
Mitch groaned, and his cock lurched against her thigh in protest. “Baby, we can kiss all night if you want to.” Then he dipped his head and took her mouth again, reveling in her little moans and whimpers as she fit perfectly into his arms.
As if she were meant to be there all along.












Thursday, July 25, 2019

#NewRelease: Defying Gravity by K.K. Allen #ContemporaryRomance #Giveaway


Defying Gravity
K.K. Allen
Publication date: July 25th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Our greatest risk was the one we never took …
It was an accidental spring fling three years ago—one week spent in the mountains of Big Sur and no one was the wiser. Ignore the fact that Tobias James was my neighbor and my best friend’s older brother. Or that upon our return his hoop dreams were waiting for him, robbing us of any potential future we could have shared.
Now, I’m fulfilling my own dreams in L.A. and my biggest dream of all is about to come true. The last thing I expected was for my past and my present to collide.
Not now. Not here. Not him.
But he struts back into my life like he never even left. Unfortunately, I’ll never forget what happened after he did.
The ball is in my court, but Tobias isn’t below stealing—my power, my resolve, my heart… When he wants a second chance to reignite our connection, my answer is simple. We can’t.
Not unless we defy the rules our dreams were built on and risk everything.
*Defying Gravity is a STANDALONE sports romance in an interconnected series. You can check out Center of Gravity here ➞ smarturl.it/centerofgravity
You can also grab the prequel
Falling From Gravity
for FREE!
EXCERPT:
We pulled off the Pacific Coast Highway and drove into the small parking lot of a private entrance near Topanga Beach. It was a smaller surfing spot than our peers would normally venture to, with a slim chance of being seen by anyone we knew. Still, I couldn’t help the anxiety that flitted around my insides as I hopped out of the truck.
Tobias grabbed our boards, and I stripped down to my light-blue two-piece, leaving my white board shorts on. He’d already pulled his shirt off and stood there in his black-and-white-striped suit, grinning at me. “Why do you always wear those things?”
I looked at my short-shorts and shrugged. Heat rose in my neck and up my cheeks as I ran a hand down my sides. Would it be awful to admit that while I love my stomach and all my curves, I hate my thighs?
He eyed me for a second then leaned our boards against the side of his truck. After stepping forward, he placed his hands on my waist and pulled me close, so my chest was flush under his. “You don’t have to hide your body from me, Amelia.” He tipped my chin, his gaze burning into mine. “I’ve seen you naked.” My face caught fire at his words. Then the hand at my waist slid over my navel and down to where my shorts were tied. They unknotted with one pull. “And I love every sexy inch.”
My eyes held his as I swallowed and took a step back. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone swimming without the comfort of cloth wrapping my thighs, but I knew I had nothing to worry about with Tobias. He’d only ever appreciated my body—with his hands, with his mouth, with his words.
Like ripping off a bandage, I pushed down my shorts and tossed them in the bed of the truck.
“That’s my girl.” He held my board out to me with a grin. When I grabbed it, he dipped his head low, touching his lips to mine.
Despite the warmth of the sun, chills broke out over my skin. He pulled back, winking and taking my hand in his. “Let’s go catch some waves.”
By the time we reached the shoreline, my nerves had dissolved completely. I was thankful that he’d taken me to a spot private enough that we were the only two in the area. We swam out to the break, lifted ourselves onto our boards, and sat side by side in opposite directions, in no hurry to rush for a swell. The sun had started to dip in the horizon, painting the sky with a yellow to orange to blue gradient. And while there was a flurry of action around us, I focused on Tobias’s silence that spoke volumes.
“You were quiet on the way here.” My voice was so soft against the beating waves, I worried he didn’t hear me. But after a moment, he nodded, then his eyes flickered to me.
“I called social services.”
My chest squeezed at the frustration in his tone. I hated that he was getting doors slammed from everyone he approached for help. No wonder he felt like his life had been a lie. Without knowing where he came from, he would always feel there was a piece of himself missing. To Tobias, that piece was massive. “Did they tell you anything new?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. Except that another letter went out requesting consent from my biological parents. I just want to find them, you know. I have so many questions, and my parents refuse to tell me anything more than what they already have.”
“They refuse? Seriously?”
He shrugged. “They say they don’t know anything more. That it was a closed, private adoption through an agency in LA and there’s nothing they can do.”
Frustration brewed inside me as I thought about his parents. I’d lived next door to them most of my life, but I hadn’t realized how selfish they were until Tobias told me about their reaction to him finding the adoption papers. That they cared more about carrying on with the lie than they did about the son they swore they were only trying to protect. Tobias was certain the lie was more to protect their appearance of being the perfect family, and that killed me inside. “I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is.” He reached a hand out to play with a strand of wet hair that had fallen over my shoulders. “I don’t want to think about any of that when I’m with you, though.”
I tilted my head and smiled softly. Something about having the attention of Malibu’s once-golden boy all to myself lit my insides. I’d always been so focused on dance that I rarely dated in high school. And when I did, no one could hold my attention the same way that Tobias did. I loved being with him. I loved the way he made me feel. I hated that it wouldn’t last.
“C’mere,” he said with a tilt of his lips.
We leaned into each other, but the reach was too far, causing our boards to sway. I giggled as he growled and slapped the water. “Fuck it.”
Before I knew it, Tobias was slipping off his board and onto mine. He shook his head, sending water droplets all around us. Then he leaned forward again, this time with a glint of mischief in his gorgeous blue eyes. “Much better.”
He kissed me with saltwater lips, drinking me in like a starved man lost at sea. I wanted to be his life raft, to save him from his suffering and bring him safely ashore. But the tide was coming. The winds were unpredictable. And the eye of the storm was quickly approaching.

Author Bio:
K.K. Allen is a USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author who writes heartfelt and inspirational Contemporary Romance stories focused on "capturing the edge of innocence." K.K. graduated from the University of Washington with an Interdisciplinary Arts and Sciences degree. She currently resides in central Florida, works full time as a Digital Producer for a leading online educational institution, and is the mother to a ridiculously handsome little dude who owns her heart.
K.K.'s publishing journey began in June 2014 with the YA Contemporary Fantasy trilogy, The Summer Solstice. In 2016, K.K. published her first Contemporary Romance, Up in the Treehouse, which went on to win the Romantic Times 2016 Reviewers' Choice Award for Best New Adult Book of the Year. With K.K.'s love for inspirational and coming of age stories involving heartfelt narratives and honest emotions, you can be assured to always be surprised by what K.K. releases next.
Stay tuned for more information about upcoming projects by connecting with K.K. in all the social media spaces. Or find out first, here --> smarturl.it/KK_MailList

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Saturday, July 20, 2019

#Giveaway: LINEAGE by C. Vonzale Lewis #Fantasy #NewRelease


Lineage
C. Vonzale Lewis
Publication date: July 16th 2019
Genres: Adult, Fantasy
Smart-mouthed Nicole Fontane has a way of getting herself into trouble. She’s been fired from every job she’s had but still refuses to work in her father’s apothecary shop because of his practice of Earth Magick. On Tulare Island where Nicole grew up, Magick has always been a way of life—one she’s determined to avoid at all costs.
With less than two hundred dollars in the bank and rent due, Nicole is forced to take a job at Tribec Insurance as a last resort. Little does she realize, the moment she sets foot inside the building, she becomes a pawn. A sinister force has set its sights on her and will stop at nothing to use her in a sadistic game.
Tribec’s proprietors, the Stewart family, are curiously preoccupied with the Naqada, the mysterious pre-dynastic Egyptian society. Nicole finds it creepy, but on the bright side, the job reconnects her with her estranged friend, Marta. Yet the eerie atmosphere, disappearing Magick wards, and the smell of blood inside Tribec bring Nicole to a startling conclusion—the Stewarts are practicing Blood Magick, the deadliest of the Five Principles. By the time Nicole uncovers the truth, Marta and her four children have gone missing, and all signs implicate the Stewarts and an archaic blood ritual to an Old One, a Naqada god imprisoned on Tulare Island.
Battling the evil of Blood Magick will demand Nicole to confront a hidden past and unlock the Magick buried within. But can she set aside her deep-rooted fears to work with a team of vigilante Mages? Or will the clock run out on Marta and her children—and on Nicole?
CHAPTER ONE:
Looking for bright, responsible, career-oriented, self-motivated individuals who have excellent people skills and are able to take high volumes of calls while maintaining a positive attitude. Ability to work with others is a must.
I glanced down at the advertisement in my hand. I had none of those qualifications according to my last employer—and pretty much all my other previous ones as well. I was, however, a “foul-mouthed, bad-tempered, under-performing”—still didn’t understand that one—“sarcastic, waste of space.” Although, to be fair, only one of the previous employers actually called me a waste of space, and that was because I had stopped sleeping with him.
This unfortunate lack of options was the reason I stood in the parking lot of Tribec Insurance, smoking the last of my apple-flavored cigars—a habit I learned from my father—wearing a cream-colored dress suit and a pair of matching pumps. I couldn’t afford either of them, and I really hated pumps. But I needed the job, so I dressed the part of the career-oriented, self-motivated candidate the ad was searching for.
Most of the jobs in the area required a college degree, or at least several years of experience. I had no college degree, and the longest I’d ever been employed at one job was six months. Thankfully, Tribec Insurance was always hiring and had no such requirements—a rarity in the uptight community of Alice where Tribec was located.
Through a ring of cigar smoke, I took in the phallic structure that was Tribec Insurance. My eyes landed on the small, stone, pyramid-like shape at the top of the building. It reminded me of an Egyptian Obelisk—a symbol to the god Ra. The Egyptian word for it, “Tejen,” meant “protection” or “defense.”
Why would the occupants of Tribec Insurance erect a symbol of protection or defense on top of the building?
A slight breeze blew over my bare arms, carrying the salty scent of the ocean and stirring the beads of sweat that had formed on them. My new blouse had molded to my back, and my feet had started to sweat. I was generally used to Tulare Island’s oppressive heat, but the anxious jitters in my stomach had caused my skin to flush.
I tried to dispel the nervousness in my stomach. Despite the obvious, I didn’t want to show that I was desperate. My best friend Kara spent most of last night trying to prep me for the interview. She advised me to not ask annoying questions, make sarcastic comments, or let my disgruntled attitude show.
Essentially, she advised me to not be myself. There was a message in there somewhere, but I was choosing to ignore it.
Out of our original group in high school, Kara was the only one who was still in my life. The only one who actually gave a damn about me. Marta and I hadn’t spoken in years, and as for Steve… Well, it was a long time ago.
I glanced at my watch. Damn. I guess I had procrastinated long enough. I put out my cigar, grabbed my blazer from the front seat of my car, shoved the advertisement back in my overly large purse, and headed for the building. As I walked, I attempted to wrap my head around the fact that I was essentially asking Tribec Insurance to let me spend my days chained to a desk, listening to complaints from strangers.
Maybe I should look into prostitution. At least I’d enjoy the job.
Kara also told me to smile a lot, so I pasted one on, pulled open the glass door, and stepped inside. Only to stop dead in my tracks at the entrance.
The walls—painted a burnt gold color that reminded me of the sunset—were lined with Egyptian art. Four glass displays, filled with half-head replicas of deities and artifacts, sat in each corner of the room. Green foliage hung from black ceramic pots near the entrance and the elevator. Something was off about the elevator. It wasn’t stainless-steel. No, more like marble. Black marble with gold striations that, at first glance, appeared to be moving. Odd.
And everything, including the guard station—which sat sunken into the foundation in the middle of the floor—was set up in a spherical configuration. Directly behind the guard station was a set of mahogany double doors, with gold Egyptian hieroglyphs carved around the frame. They were also etched around the guard station.
Most people on Tulare Island either practiced one of the four principles of magick or knew someone who did. There was, however, a small group of people who, despite the evidence, still refused to believe in magick. They usually carried picket signs outside of herbal and occult shops, telling people they were going to burn in hell, not realizing they were actually practicing faith magick every time they went to church.
Judging from the set-up of the room, and even the obelisk on the top of the building outside, I could hazard a guess—more like an assumption—that the occupants of Tribec Insurance practiced magick.
Despite my assumption, I couldn’t figure out which of the four principles—earth, elemental, mind, or faith—the people at Tribec used. There was, however, a fifth principle—blood—that to my knowledge, no one practiced anymore. And sadly, I didn’t know enough about it to recognize any symbols associated with its practice. Yet, symbols from the other four were etched all over the walls. Odd. Especially since people only had the ability to practice one. Not all four.
If it was a job requirement for me to use magick, I was running the hell out of here. I would live in a cardboard box before I got involved with magick. And if I didn’t get a job soon, that was exactly where I’d be living. Especially since I refused to move back in with my parents. I had to grow the hell up sometime.
I moved farther into the lobby; the scent of desert sand wafted around me. It had that baked-on smell that emanated off the ground when the sun was at its peak. It was unusual, but the d├ęcor could explain the smell. Especially if they added sand to some of the displays for authenticity. The odor that was definitely out of place was the one directly underneath it.
Blood. It was faint. I could almost chalk it up to imagination. Almost. If it wasn’t so overpowering.
I moved forward cautiously, my heels clicking on the white-tiled floor, as I tried to pinpoint where the scent was coming from. But the farther away from the door I got, the less I smelled it. I turned and started back toward where I’d first detected the smell. A chair creaked, stopping me in my tracks. The space between my shoulder blades started to itch. I turned.
The guard behind the desk was watching me.
I stood there, debating whether or not I should just leave. Yes, I was desperate, but the smell of blood? Was I imagining it? I pulled in a deep breath, trying to find the scent again. Nothing.
Get it together, Nicole.
After a short pause, I shook myself mentally, and continued toward the guard station with the guard’s black eyes boring into me. Sizing me up.
“Can I help you, miss?” He rose to his feet and crossed his arms across his chest.
I placed him in his late twenties. He had a solid frame, close-cropped black hair, deep set black eyes, and no facial hair. The dark brown suit he wore looked as if it had been poured onto him. Had to be ex-military.
The gold tag on his shirt read “Oliver Strong.” It suited him.
“Yes, my name is Nicole Fontane, and I’m here for an interview with…” I set my purse on the counter, ignoring his pointed glare, and pulled out my tattered notebook. “…a Francine Delaporte at eleven.”
“Have a seat. I will call someone down to escort you.” He inclined his head in the direction of the red leather couch on the right.
“Okay, thanks,” I said as I mentally extended my middle finger. Everything about him rubbed me the wrong damn way.
I sat and placed my purse beside me on the couch—the damn thing weighed a ton—and picked up one of the brochures for Tribec Insurance. While I sat there leafing through it, another security guard walked up and blocked my view of the sun. Well, he would have if there had been one inside the building. This burly bastard had tree trunks for arms and a head that resembled a boulder. Did they chisel him from a mountain?
“Ms. Fontane?” the guard grumbled. It sounded as if his voice came from a gut full of rocks.
I stood, which put me at eye level to his massive chest and the name tag pinned to his shirt that read “Duncan Glass.”
Maybe when they hired their guards, they assigned them names as well.
“Yes.” I tried to push myself up a few inches more. I was already wearing three-inch heels, bringing my total height to five nine, yet this massive behemoth still towered over me.
“Follow me.” He spun around abruptly and led the way to the elevator.
I was tempted to salute him, or give him the finger—the damn bossy bastard.
Calm down, Nicole. You need this job.
Duncan pulled a card from his pocket and inserted it into a slot located on the right side. I guess that answered my question about the oddity of the elevator. Besides the strange composition, they didn’t have a call button. They sure did have a high level of security for an insurance company. Maybe they denied more claims than they approved. Greedy bastards.
When the doors slid open, Duncan extended his arm out. “Ms. Fontane.”
I stepped inside.
Once the doors were closed, he inserted his card into another slot, and a display lit up with a list of floors.
The number thirteen was among them.
I had once read somewhere that all older buildings either omitted the thirteenth floor or renamed it. It all stemmed from a superstition that the thirteenth floor was unlucky. I wasn’t superstitious, but I did find it interesting they chose to include it.
“They have a thirteenth floor,” I said.
“It comes after twelve.”
While I was no stranger to snide comments I really didn’t like others using them on me. Bastard.
A few moments later, the elevator doors opened and, thankfully, deposited us on the seventeenth floor. I followed Duncan to a set of offices in the center of the floor. He stopped at the first door in a row of three that faced the elevators. The silver name plate affixed to it read: Francine Delaporte. After he rapped on it three times, he planted his feet a few inches apart and placed his hands behind his back.
Maybe Duncan thought he was still in the military.
I took in the room while I waited. Cameras inside small black orbs dotted the ceiling. A hazy gray tint covered the windows, allowing minimal light to filter into the room. Industrial gray walls sported a few framed “inspirational” quotes that referred to “teamwork” and “having a positive attitude.” They even had the stupid “Hang in There” poster with a cat hanging off a wire.
Even the partitions that divided the employees’ desks were gray. The only break up in the ashen color were the fake wood desks.
It reminded me of a mental asylum.
The majority of the people in the office were women, with a few men thrown in here and there. Did they believe women were more suited to talking on the phone? Either way, everyone in the room was pasty, their eyes sunken in, wearing expressions that suggested they had given up on life. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they were all former tenants of the asylum, dressed up in over-sized clothes and forced into the role of “employee.”
The fact that no one looked up when Duncan and I got off the elevator supported my theory. They just sat there in their little black chairs, talking into their headsets, all repeating what sounded like the same practiced spiel in monotonous tones, a few minutes behind one another. Like a rolling set of waves crashing against the most boring shore imaginable.
I turned back to Duncan. He still stood at ease in front of Francine Delaporte’s door. What the hell was taking this woman so long? My feet were killing me. Like an idiot, instead of breaking the shoes in after Kara left last night, I had curled up on the couch with a bottle of Samuel Adams, contemplating my limited options. My little pity party of one ended at midnight when I realized my only option was one I wasn’t willing to entertain.
As I switched my purse from my right shoulder to my left, I caught sight of a faint circular line drawn around the cubicles. I stared at the ground, unsure if I was seeing things, or if there really was a line drawn on the floor. I straightened and moved to the left, trying to follow it. As I stood there transfixed, someone brushed their frigid hand across my exposed neck.
Coldness raced down my spine, and the scent of sand filled my nostrils.
I whipped around.
Duncan was gone.
In his place stood a woman wearing a red paint suit. Given that she was at least five feet away from me with her hands down at her sides… Who the hell had touched my neck?
Francine extended her hand and smiled. “Hello. Ms. Fontane?”
I stepped forward, my legs suddenly weak, and took her hand. “Hi.” I cleared my throat. “Yes, I’m Nicole Fontane.”
“I’m Francine Delaporte. Let’s get started.” She let go of my hand and walked into her office.
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to warm the sudden chill that had settled there. I glanced around the room. The employees remained at their desks, staring rapt at their computer screens.
A cool breeze circled the room, pulling my gaze toward the ceiling. An air vent sat directly above me.
Before I entered Francine’s office, I glanced down at the floor. The markings were gone. Maybe I had imagined them. And maybe the air-conditioning explained the feeling of someone brushing their fingers across my neck.
Yes—for sanity’s sake, I was going to go with that.
Just my overactive imagination.


Author Bio:
My name is Carla Vonzale Lewis and I like my martini’s shaken…never stirred. I was born in Georgia but please don’t mistaken me for a Georgia peach. I’m more like a prickly pear. Speaking of being born, someone asked me recently if I remember my birth. And I have to say, yes, I do remember that handsy doctor pulling me out into the cold. Right Bastard!!!
Despite being born in the South, I grew up in the North. California to be exact. Every once in a great while we get to experience all four seasons. But mostly, it’s just heat. You should see our electric bill in the summer! I like the beaches, but not the sand. I enjoy being outside, but the sun gets on my nerves. Does it really need to send its death ray to a single spot on my skin! (I told you I was a prickly pear) And don’t get me started on the traffic.
The first part of my life, I worked in customer service. This line of work led to the discovery of my favorite drink, or, rather, several favorite drinks. I could list the many concoction but that would go on forever!
Needless to say, it wasn’t an easy job. But I did enjoy talking with people. And when it came time to develop my characters, I drew on those experiences.
I have a degree in Fashion Design. Don’t ask. The only thing I gained from those wasted two years of my life, is being introduced to the love of my life, Bobby. He is truly my rock.
Why do I write? Well my first book, LINEAGE, answered the question, “What does the big boss actually do all day?” I might have gone a little dark with my answer, but it was fun answering the question. But mainly, I love writing because it gives me power to create. And it also gives me the power to fix this broken world.
Truthfully, I’ve always loved the written word and the way a good book could take you to another place and time. Instead of hanging out in the lunchroom, I would go to the library and create stories or bury my head in a really good book.
I started writing my first novel in 2014 and 30 days later I had a collection of scenes that needed some serious revision. And that was where the fun came in. Over the course of several years my novel went through final draft after final draft until I finally came to…you guessed it, the final draft.
When I’m not writing, I enjoy reading, binge watching shows on Netflix, and trying to convince my husband that getting a dog is a wonderful idea.
And one day, I will discover how many licks it actually takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop.

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Friday, July 19, 2019

#Win a $50 #Amazon GC: Midnight’s End by Jill Ramsower #Fantasy #Romance #NewRelease


Midnight’s End
Jill Ramsower
(The Fae Games, #5)
Publication date: July 2nd 2019
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance
Sorceress, enchantress, deceiver, murderer—I’ve been called all those and more, some that might make you blush. Lucky for me, I couldn’t care less what people think about me. I’ve had my sights set on one thing for the last thousand years, and that’s all that matters. I’ll do whatever it takes to find the cauldron, even if it means taking on a partner. They call him a knight in shining armor. For me, he’s my golden ticket. He fell into my lap, quite literally, and now he’s going to help me get what I want.
I don’t play particularly well with others, but he’s the best shot I’ve got, so I’ll hop on that train and hope it gets me where I need to go. He thinks he’s going to crack my shell and see what’s on the inside, like maybe there’s a warm gooey center to make up for the hard exterior. He’s in for a world of disappointment. Everything soft and delicate about me became rough and hardened a long time ago. I’m Morgan Le Fay, and I’m the villain in this story.

Excerpt: 

“Don’t be absurd. I’m not having sex in Magda’s house, and I told you it wasn’t happening again, anyway. I only agreed to fuel your magic that one time, nothing more.” My smile died as the words came out, and Knight’s playful manner charged to something visceral.
The air in the room thickened, and my heartbeat hammered in my throat. Knight’s lips lifted seductively as he placed the pad of his thumb against the pulse point on my neck. 
“That’s not what this says. The thrumming of your heart tells me just the suggestion of having me inside you excites you. You want me as much as I want you. Lucky for you, I had no plans of ravaging you tonight. The noises you’ll make when I’m inside you would terrify poor Magda.”
I took in a steadying breath through my nose, trying not to broadcast how profoundly Knight’s words had affected me. 
“I don’t think we need to fear her, but I also don’t think she’s so meek as she would have us believe. She knew about you, that you had suffered. I have no doubt she knew plenty about me as well.”
His features hardened, jaw muscles contracting. “Even more reason to be on our guard. Now, get ready for bed—the sooner this is over, the sooner I can fuck you properly.” He spun me around and placed a sharp swat on my rear. 
I yipped in surprise and glowered at him, which only spurred him on. We washed up, and while I stayed in my clothes, Knight stripped to his underwear. Had he been any other man, I would have openly gawked without any problem. Considering our unique situation, I didn’t want to give him any ammunition to use against me. He already knew he affected me, the last thing I needed was for him to catch me openly ogling him.
Same as the night before, as soon as I crawled into bed, Knight yanked me against him. I glared back at him with as much annoyance as I could muster. 
“You know, not everyone likes to sleep all smashed together.”
“Whatever,” he murmured into my hair. “You slept so soundly in my arms last night, your snoring could have woken the dead. It was a miracle we survived at all.” 
I elbowed him in the gut with indignation. “I do not snore, you giant flea bag.”
Knight burst out laughing and pulled me in even tighter. His soft chuckle close to my ear made my skin prickle with awareness. I attempted to remain stiff and surly, but Knight had a way of withering away my resolve. With his thumb lazily stroking back and forth across my belly, he whispered to me softly. 
“Not only do you not snore, you’re even more beautiful when you sleep. I hadn’t thought it was possible, but when you are drifting at peace, you look like an angel.”
For so long, I had accepted my reputation and played my part well. I fed into the rumors, and people saw me as a heartless bitch, treating me as such. 
To some extent, I’d begun to believe it was true. 
Until I’d met Knight. 
He made me remember the person I used to be. Even more confusing, he made me wonder if I wanted to be her again. He made me think and feel a lot of things—all of them complex and terrifying. I wasn’t sure what to do with any of it. I certainly wasn’t ready to share those feelings—nor the tear that slipped from my eye at his words.



Author Bio:
Jill is a Texan, born and raised. She manages the hectic social calendars for her three active children and occasionally spends an evening with her dashing husband. Aside from being an author and a mom, she’s an attorney, travel junkie, and voracious reader.

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