Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Does she protect her club or her love? #eroticromance #newrelease @daryldevore Darien's Desire

DARIEN'S DESIRE
Two Hearts ~ One Love series, book 2
by Daryl Devoré

Genre: Contemporary Romance *heat level hot*


It's complicated is not only her relationship status, but the definition of Erika Bailey's life. She loves managing her drag queen club in Bangkok, Thailand, but her rock star boyfriend resides in North Carolina. And to top it off, her father threatens she must stay away from Darien or lose the Pink Flamingo. Does she protect her club or her love?

Darien Scott, Grammy award winning international superstar, wants nothing more than to wake up in the arms of Erika, the woman he loves, but contractual obligations force him to exotic video shoots and an isolated movie set with one of Hollywood's sexiest stars.

With the feeding frenzy of social media trending every aspect of Darien's life—real or not—it's hard for Erika to know the truth. Will she be able to see through the lies and trust Darien? Or will evidence from damaging Internet rumors condemn their relationship?


Erika rubbed her palms on her thighs. "Darien went out with his friends and they got a little drunk. Then some girls came over and started chatting."

"Bitches." Sandee pursed his lips.

"Oh, I haven't got to the bitch yet."

"What?" Sandee pressed his hand on his chest.

"Her name's Savannah and she's an ex."

His eyes widen. "Oh. No. He didn't. I will bitch slap that boy the next time I see him." He chuckled. "I think I just channeled Ra-chell."

"She kissed him. Twice. Then suggested they leave for somewhere more private."

He placed his hands over his ears. "La la la. I'm not listening."

Erika laughed and pulled his hands down. "He didn't go with her. He went home."

Sandee scratched his head. "So why are you so sad?"

"He almost did. What if he had?" Her voice broke on the last word.

"Look on the bright side. He didn't cheat on you." Sandee held out his hands palm up. "Think of it this way. He went to the donut store. He had a choice between a chocolate covered donut or a bagel." He lifted his left hand. "Donut." Then his right hand. "Bagel. The donut has sprinkles. Sprinkles will get a man every time. I outta know, I'm awesome with sprinkles." He fanned himself.

"Trust me Sandee, there is no one as fab-U-lous as you."

"I know. But back to Darien. Darien wants the donut. He lusts after the donut. His groin is on fire for the sprinkles."

Erika waved her hand in front of her face. "I'm getting the picture."

"But did he eat the donut?" Sandee shook his head. "No. He tossed the donut on her ass." He flipped his left hand with a pompous sneer.

"Which leaves me being the bagel." She raised an eyebrow.






Erika Bailey, owner/manager of a drag queen club in Bangkok, Thailand has happily settled into all aspects of her new life, except for her lack of a love life. When a new diva auditions, Erika is bewildered over her instant attraction to the blond God, Apollo. 

Darien Scott is on vacation after a world tour and mistakenly figures the safest place to be is at The Black Dragon with the head of a Triad. When the club is hit, Darien is the only person to get out alive. Now he's running from the police and a Triad. Mistake number 1.

Disguised as a drag queen, he's hired by Erika, but falls hard for his new boss, then struggles with not coming clean with her. Mistake number 2.

Can he fix his mistakes and find a life filled with love or is he headed straight for mistake number 3?



Daryl Devore (@darydevore) lives in an in old farmhouse in Ontario, Canada, with her husband, a large salt water aquarium full of fish, a black cat named Licorice and some house ghosts. Her daughter is grown and has flown the nest. Daryl loves to take long walks up her quiet country road, or snow shoe across the back acres and in the summer, kayak along the St. Lawrence River. She has touched a moon rock, a mammoth and a meteorite. She's been deep in the ocean in a submarine, flown high over Niagara Falls in a helicopter and used the ladies room in a royal palace. Life's an adventure and Daryl's having fun living it.

Facebook ✯ Website ✯ Twitter ✯ Goodreads ✯ Amazon ✯ Google+ ✯ LinkedIn ✯ Pinterest

Monday, June 26, 2017

Can we learn from our ancestors? #historicalromance #giveaway tour stop @SarahMallery1

UNEXPECTED GIFTS
by S.R. Mallery

Genre: Historical Romantic Fiction with Family Saga elements


A TRUE AMERICAN FAMILY SAGA: Can we learn from our ancestors? Do our relatives’ behaviors help shape our own?

In "Unexpected Gifts" that is precisely what happens to Sonia, a confused college student, heading for addictions and forever choosing the wrong man. Searching for answers, she begins to read her family’s diaries and journals from America’s past: the Vietnam War, Woodstock, and Timothy Leary era; Tupperware parties, McCarthyism, and Black Power; the Great Depression, dance marathons, and Eleanor Roosevelt; the immigrant experience and the Suffragists. Back and forth the book journeys, linking yesteryear with modern life until finally, by understanding her ancestors' hardships and faults, she gains enough clarity to make some right choices.


SONIA’S paraplegic Father --CHAPTER 2: Sam––Living With Fear

“First thing I killed was no kind of thing at all. It was an enemy
soldier, which was a hell of a lot easier to say than the first thing I ever killed was a man.”
--Steve Mason

“...Nearing the village, we passed women in their beige tunics, black pants, and Sampan hats, shouldering thick bamboo rods weighted down by buckets of water. Most kept their heads lowered as they walked, but the few who didn’t, stared up at us with dead, black-brown eyes and pressed lips. The afternoon was drawing to a close by the time we reached a village compound that reeked of nuoc maum rotten fish sauce and animal dung. An old, leathery woman, squatting by her hooch was our welcoming committee, but once she saw us shuffle by, she scurried back into her hut, clacking loudly in Vietnamese as chickens pecked at rice granules, bobbing their heads up and down in 2/4 time.

Carbini cut to the chase. “First, pull every one of those gooks outta their hooches, then line them up here,” he barked.

I watched my troop comb each thatched home, rounding up families of all ages and herding them out into the open like a cattle drive in Oklahoma. I, too, started the mission and stooping into one of the huts, saw a young woman sitting on a straw mat, eating some rice in a black bowl, a young child at her side.

She was exquisite—the best possible combination of French and Chinese ancestry, with such delicate features, she made my heart ache. My immediate instincts were to protect her and her son from Carbini and this horrendous war, but she just gazed up at me, emotionless.

I could hear Carbini yelling orders to get a move-on, and I signaled this girl, this treasure, to follow me. She shook her head vehemently, and curled her legs around her son. I motioned again, but still, she refused. I froze, unable to think, but when Carbini popped his head in the doorway and snarled, “Weylan!” she got the message and followed me out.

Whimpering slightly, she joined her fellow villagers, gripping her child’s hand and wiping off a tear that had slid halfway down her cheek. I suddenly pictured slave owners in pre-Civil War days and felt my lunch rise up in my throat.

“Now, get your Zippos ready, men.” As Carbini’s face flushed red, I sucked in my breath. He caught sight of my reaction and came over. “Weylan here doesn’t like my orders. Anyone else here who doesn’t like my orders?” Nobody spoke up.

He opened up one of my backpack pockets, yanked out my Zippo lighter, and shoved it into my face. Immediately, you could hear the snap of pockets opening and boots shifting. We were getting ready to Rock ‘n Roll.

Carbini was first. He marched over to a hooch, flipped on his Zippo, and carefully lit the underbelly of its thatched roof. It smoldered for a few seconds, a thin, rising wisp of smoke twisting in the tropical air. From that, a flame grew, nibbling at the straw with a low, blue heat before suddenly bursting into a torch, arcing up towards the sky in a yellow-hot blaze.

Carbini turned to us and nodded, his eyes glazed. This was our cue, yet I spun around to search for the girl, who was at the back of the pack, crying softly as she hugged her son. I glanced over at some of the other men, their hands jammed deep into their pockets, and decided to follow their lead. The fire was raging full force on each hooch now, the thatch and bamboo crackling like a 4th of July fireworks display, leaving its reflections in the villagers’ eyes and turning the sky dark with thick, bulbous smoke.




S.R. Mallery, Gold Medalist winner of the 2016 READER'S FAVORITE Book Awards for Anthologies, has been labeled nothing short of 'eclectic'. She has been a singer, a calligrapher, a quilt designer, and an ESL teacher. As a writer, History is her focus and is woven into her stories with a delicate thread. When people talk about the news of the day, or listen to music, Sarah's imagination likens the story to a similar kind of news in the past and is conjuring up scenes between characters she has yet to meet.

 Interested in learning more about S.R.'s love for history. Visit her website and travel through her passions of the past.

Friday, June 23, 2017

Release day #MMromance 'Given Time' @evernightpub and E.D.Parr #gayromance #GLBT Love is Love

From Evernight Publishing and E.D.Parr, a gay romance, a love story with a difference ... 

Given Time
Music video maker, Angel Starc is about to board a plane to Paris when he receives some sudden sad news. It takes him hurrying back to his childhood home after two years away, estranged from his older brother, Rory.
Angel is amazed and filled with guilt when that night he meets the only man he’s found romantically attractive in a long time. How can it be right? He should only be filled with sorrow, but gorgeous, caring Matt Loewe wraps him in a blanket of comfort and love that heals Angel’s troubled soul. 
Delectable, artist, Matt Loewe, follows his hunches and his heart. He’s been looking for love and Angel ignites an addictive passion in him.
As the two men fall deep in love they provide each other with the care needed to come to terms with their past anxieties. 

(Contains anal M/M sex, frottage, gay partner oral sex, masturbation)

BUY the book:
On release discount at Evernight Publishing 
http://www.evernightpublishing.com/given-time-by-e-d-parr/
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0734WFZ69
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0734WFZ69
http://www.bookstrand.com/given-time-mm





Be teased
He kissed Matt, gently, soaking up the feel of Matt’s skin against his nose. He thrust his hips so that his lower body crushed on Matt’s and the unmistakable shape of Matt’s cock, hard and bulging in his pants met Angel’s cock. A low groan escaped Angel and he deepened the kiss, clinging to Matt, as his legs weakened and his heart pounded.

Matt pushed his arms around Angel’s neck, and Angel’s hands fell away from the grip on his shoulders. Matt’s murmur penetrated Angel’s haze of pleasure. “I can’t even think straight, but I know I want you naked in my arms.” He rained kisses on Angel’s mouth.

Angel pushed his hands between their bodies. He traced Matt’s erection with his fingertips and then cupped it in his palm, pressing against the fabric of Matt’s pants.


Matt’s groan on Angel’s lips sent a shock of desire through his balls.

Copyright E.D.Parr 2017 Evernight Publishing 




Thursday, June 22, 2017

Peaceful Slumber #chapter #PNR tour stop @nikkilynnbarrett

PEACEFUL SLUMBER
part of the Mystic Passions boxset
by Nikki Lynn Barrett

Genre: Paranormal Romantic Suspense

Scott
I was somewhat normal once.
Until I died.
It was only for a few minutes, but ever since then, I can see ghosts.
The first time I see her is in the cemetery, wearing a blood stained wedding dress. 
No one else knows she exists.
I have no idea how to help her or why I chose to, but she's here now.
The one person who makes me feel alive for the first time in ages is a spirit trapped in her own version of hell with no recollection of her life or death.

Zelda
It sounds like the start of a horror novel or something.
I'm the amnesiac ghost bride who wakes up with no memory of my life or death. 
Only one person can see me.
With no clues as to who I am or how I wound up in this predicament, Scott is my only chance of helping to unlock my memories. 
It's not easy. He's sarcastic and jaded.
But he's the only link I have to the living world.



Prologue

I remember nothing.

A cold blanket of fog surrounds me as I sit up from the hard surface I must have been sleeping on, wearing a wedding gown, once white, now stained in red. My mind races a mile a minute, scrambling to retrieve a memory of what happened, like a dog scampering for his ball, but I come up empty.

Who the hell am I?

Where am I?

What happened to me?

Why is no one here?

Another thing that catches my attention right away is the fact that I look like death, but I feel nothing. Based on the condition of the wedding dress, whatever happened must have been brutal.

Nothing at all. No aches. No pains.

Okay, fine. Maybe the blood isn't mine, but that means it's someone else's, and I have no idea who, what, when....

I'm repeating myself.

Rather easy to do when I am trying to piece together the missing fragments that make up my life.

I stand with ease and interpret my surroundings. It's dark and foggy. Cold winds snap in my face. Shivers slam my body relentlessly. Maybe that's shock, though. How can I feel a chill when there's pretty much no other feeling?

Not that I expect an answer, but I call out, “Someone help me!” My voice brings no recognition. Not even a spark of who I am.

Panic settles over me.

My mind is blank. Empty.

How do I not have any memories? Did I fall? Crash? Hit my head? There's no pain, but that doesn't mean anything. Maybe shock has taken away the ability to feel pain. But I'm cold. So that's something.

Next step, check my body for wounds. My hands travel up and down my torso, searching for any tender spots or any blood seeping from an open injury. There's nothing. Absolutely nothing. This isn't promising. It doesn't calm my chaotic mind.

Before I go into a full blown panic meltdown, I stop and listen. There are voices. People talking. 
This is my chance!

“Hey! Can anyone hear me?” I scream into the foggy abyss.

No one responds, at least, not to me. The talking continues. Someone is sobbing hysterically, and it's most definitely not me.

I can't see them, and I don't think they can see me. Still, I scream and cry, running frantically until I can find someone.

I shouldn't be able to move this easily. I shouldn't feel nothing. Not with blood on my dress. One would think I rolled around in a pool of it. This isn't a few drops, I look like I bathed in it.

There's a crowd of people huddled together, surrounding something. And they're crying. Bowed heads, gut wrenching sobs.

I'm in a graveyard.

In front of the crowd of people is a coffin.

Is that me in there? Am I dead? Is that why I'm here?

I run … well, I don't even know if I'm running, because hell, I don't know if I'm alive, to the crowd. I'm like an animal ready to pounce at the first sight of a person.

“Somebody! Please tell me you can see me!” I scream, waving my hands.

No one turns my way. No one flinches. It's as if I'm invisible, which I think is becoming more and more likely. Because I'm dead. I have to be. It's the only explanation I can come up with, not that it's an option I'm happy to think about. I don't know who I am. How did I get here? Why does it seem like my memories are wiped clean?

How did I die?

Chapter 1

Scott

Why do people say rest in peace to the dead? They don't rest in peace. How do I know? Because I can fucking see ghosts. The ghosts who seek me out aren't at peace. It takes time and a willing human to help them find that peace. I'm not willing, but they don't leave me alone. I've never been a big people person, and I'm sure as hell not a 'ghost' person, but does that stop them? Nope. Not in the least.

It hasn't always been this way. Only in the past three years have I been able to see the dead.


I blame it on the fact that I died once. For ten minutes, until doctors managed to resuscitate my sorry ass.

Today is the day we're burying my uncle Floyd. It's cloudy, and a slight drizzle is spraying us with a light mist.

There are ghosts everywhere.

I've learned to ignore them, for the most part. They find me no matter where I go. I can't even take a shit without a ghost appearing, frantic for help because they eventually know I can see them. That stupid split second where I let my weakness show, and they descend upon me like a vulture chasing its prey.

Not only have I come back from the dead, but the dead want me. Sure, fine. Why not? No one else does. Not for me, anyway. My parents ignore me until they see fit to have their son at all of their important events. Other than that, I'm an outcast. Pretty much used to it. They throw money at me and tell me to have a good day.

I thought when I died and had my life flash before my eyes, it would change. It did for a little while. Then they went back to normal. Work, work, work. At least, for Dad, that was the case. Mom did her little parties and women's charities and pretended like she gave a shit about all of it.

She goes to the bar and screws the bartender. Dad pretends not to notice.

Want to know how they gain sympathy?

By using me.

“My son Scott has a hard time of it. I think he's gone a little crazy.” I heard my mother tell someone this a few months ago. I'll never confront her on it. What the hell is the point?

Living with this shit is crappy, but it is what it is. One day soon, I'll blow out of town and make a new life. Maybe I'll even be famous and my parents will come begging for my forgiveness.

Doubtful.

Aunt Sara steps forward and places a rose on Uncle Floyd's casket. She's sobbing hard. Together for thirty-nine years, his sudden death is devastating on all of us. Floyd was the only one who gave a rat's ass about me. We always did stuff together. He gave me my first cigar, and we got drunk together once when I was seventeen.

It dawns on me then. Why don't I see his spirit?

I finally look around, knowing all too well these other spirits are gonna have a field day with this. I'm not about to make myself look crazy in front of family and friends. Not today, of all days.

Shudders ripple through my body. Damn, some of these deaths were gruesome. Not only can I see the ghosts, but I see them in their death form.

Blood. Torn skin. I won't go on. The visuals churn acid in my stomach. Gotta give credit to doctors. I couldn't do it. I'm not even good with scary movies. They make me want to hurl.

Trying to stay casual, I scan the cemetery for any signs of my uncle. There are none. Disappointment settles in the core of my soul. I have this 'gift' of being able to see spirits, but the one I would actually love to see, I don't get to.

There's a young woman in a blood stained wedding dress, and she's waving her hands frantically. Why this one grabs my attention over all the others is beyond me, but she does. I can't tear my eyes away from her.

She notices that I see her, and relief floods her eyes.

Before she can get to me, a hand lands on my shoulder. “You all right, son?” Dad's concern is almost genuinely touching. Too bad I call bullshit. It's all for show.

“You know the answer to that,” I snap as I jerk my shoulder away. Too much crap within the last few years has left me jaded. It can't even be denied.

Dad gives me a cold look, like he can't even believe I got upset at him. Instead of arguing, he pivots and storms off. What does he expect? Seriously!

Whatever. Let them go off. I came in my own car, and I don't have to answer to anyone.

The woman spirit is still there, frozen in the same place. I only have eyes for her. Her mouth opens in shock as I strut toward her. “Y-You can see me?”

Ah, a first timer. She has no idea where she is or what's happened. Confusion taunts her pretty green eyes.

“Wish I couldn't, but yes.”

She frowns. “Does that mean I'm dead? No one else can see me.”

“Fraid so.” No point in beating around the bush.

“That funeral over there isn't mine, is it?” she whispers.

“No. It's for my uncle.” Back at the grave site, most of my family has already left. The empty spot and the coffin ready to be lowered in the ground breaks me a little more inside. At least Uncle Floyd lived a damn good life. I loved his stories. If my aunt knew half the shit he did even while married, she'd have a stroke.

The more I think about it, the more it seems the ghosts who come to me have unfinished business. That show Ghost Whisperer comes to mind, except it's been recent for me to be able to see them.

“Why can you see me?”

Ha! I've only been asking that question since the first ghost. “You tell me.”
She narrows her eyes. “You're not very nice.”

I'm not nice? That's my uncle buried over there, and I'm talking to a ghost. Wanna try that again?” Frustration pumps through my body.

“At least you aren't dead! I don't even know who I am!” she shoots back.

Touche. Despite my irritation, Ghost Bride makes a valid point.

“You put things into perspective for me there,” I admit, scratching at the back of my neck. The rain doesn't hold off. Too much more of this and I'll have to leave. What's stopping me from doing so already? Why does this one ghost gravitate toward me above all others today? “You don't remember anything about who you are and how you died?”

She shakes her head. “I woke up in a foggy abyss. I don't feel pain, even though it looks like I died in a horrible way. I wonder where my husband or husband-to-be is.”

My gaze flits to her left hand. No ring. Hmm. Interesting. “You don't even have an engagement ring on your hand.”

She gasps and raises her hand. “You're right. So maybe I ran from him.”

“A paranormal version of runaway bride? Hmm.” The words tumble from my lips before I can even think about how callous I'm being.

“Ugh. You're not one to hold back, are you?” Ghost Bride mutters in disgust.

“I'm talking to a ghost. Do you expect me to be a perfect gentleman?” I retort.

“I guess not,” she relents.

“You're going to follow me if I leave, aren't you?” Most of them do. Why bother asking?

“I- I don't know. Can I even do that?”

Newbie ghost problems. “Wouldn't be the first. I can't speak from a ghost perspective, but they never leave me alone.”

“Have you always been able to see us?”

There we go. The loaded question. Man, spirits are damn talkative. “Nope. Just a couple years.”

Wait for it....

Holy hell. She's silent. Ghost Bride doesn't ask me why it's only been recent.

I'm impressed.

My next words surprise me. Damn, I'm a sucker. “I don't want to get drenched, but I'm not about to leave you here alone and confused. You can go home with me, and we'll figure out who you are and how to get you to wherever it is you need to go.”

Her eyes light up. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” And then she tries to hug me. Ghost Bride's hands go right through me. I'm used to it, but she isn't.

She gasps, stepping back. “Okay, that's weird.”

“Right, so...let's go.” I gesture to the parking lot, which is fairly empty now.

“Umm...” Ghost Bride hesitates. “How exactly do I do this?”

Another sigh escapes me. Newbie ghost problems, and it's like I have the answers. Why do I do this to myself?



Interested in reading this book when the entire boxset releases in July?


BE IN THE KNOW



No matter where she goes, USA Today Bestselling author Nikki Lynn Barrett hears voices in her head. Instead of calling her crazy and locking her up, her family realizes it's just a product of being an author and allows her to write the stories so that the voices shut up.

But they don't. And probably never will. There's no need to lock her up, Nikki knows she'll never escape the voices, not until each and every last story is written. And for every story she writes, about ten or more ideas pop up.

When she isn't slaving away at her computer writing books that will probably make you cry and keep you in suspense, Nikki plots to take over the world one book at a time. What? It's a sickness. One she can't escape!

Books aren't her only addiction, though. Nikki can be found making up parodies to drive her son crazy, and bantering back and forth with her husband, who somehow manages to steal her away from the fictional world she lives in all the time.

Nikki lives in Arizona with her husband and son, where she can be found using every creativity outlet she can find through music, photography, handcrafted things, and random interests that she may pick up from time to time.

If you want to learn more about the author who makes people cry for a living, check out her website.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

A fling might be just the thing #romance tour stop and #giveaway @MHarte_Author

JUST THE THING
The Donnigans series, book 2
by Marie Harte

Genre: Spicy Contemporary Romance



A FLING MIGHT BE JUST THE THING...

Gavin Donnigan left the Marine Corps a shell of a man, hounded by guilt for deaths he couldn't prevent. But teaching a self-defense class at the local gym brings some stability to his life―along with a gorgeous woman who won't give him the time of day.

Zoe York lost her twin sister to a freak car accident a few months ago. She's been struggling to bury her grief, but it isn't until she signs up for a self-defense class with its distractingly hot instructor that she begins to come out of her shell again. With the memory of her sister telling her to live a little, Zoe decides a fling with buns-of-steel Gavin Donnigan might be just the thing.

Soon they're sparring both in and out of the gym. And for the first time in a long time, each is looking forward to tomorrow.




It had been one helluva day already, and it hadn’t even reached six yet. He’d secretly called dibs on the last remaining treadmill, needing to run out some kinks.

Problem was, so had she—Pink Yoga Pants.

Gavin Donnigan locked gazes with her before eyeing the distance to the machine, then saw her doing the same. A gentleman would let her go first… While an enthralled man would stand back and watch her work those mag nificent glutes, those toned hamstrings and calves.

But Gavin was no gentleman, at least, not in the gym. His domain. His jungle. His—

“Dude, you’re blocking the Nautilus.”

“Oh, sorry.” He moved out of the no-neck’s path, now no longer able to see the treadmill. When he stepped around another idiot standing in the way, he saw her smirk at him as she stepped on the machine. She kept his gaze as she slowly warmed up, making a huge production out of stretching her arms up over her head, then grinning from ear to ear.

He frowned.

She gave him a mock salute—the sexy witch—then proceeded to ignore the holy hell out of him as she tuned out the rest of the world and ran. Not jogged, ran. That made half a dozen times she’d blown him off with that same smug expression. Then she’d pretend he didn’t exist. 

He’d like to throw her over his knee and spank the ever-loving—

“Gavin. Today, Bro. We have work to do before class.” 

He groaned, needing the stress relief from a good run. “But Landon, I need to work out first.” 

“Fine.” The dick wrapped a thick arm around Gavin’s neck and hauled him away in a headlock. “You want a workout? Let’s see if you can get out of this. Then I’ll throw you on the mat a few times and watch you flail as I beat your ass.” 

Gavin sputtered, trying to breathe as his behemoth brother dragged him down the hallway toward the self-defense classroom. 

Not cool to headlock a gym trainer in front of his many clients. Gavin tried not to wheeze as he fought Landon’s steel-hard muscles for breath. He glanced over and saw his nemesis laughing at him. Crap. The damage had been done. He heard snickers, mockery, and encouragement for Landon

Major Donnigan. What an asshole.

The former Marine choking him growled, “Now suck it up, princess, and let’s see your moves. If you can’t do it, you sure as shit can’t teach it.”






AmazonB&NiTunesKoboGoodreads






Meet the Donnigans

With the eldest Donnigan brothers adjusting to civilian life, their younger sister constantly in trouble, and their little brother clueless about life in general, falling in love is the last thing on anyone's mind...

Can this Bossy Badass Marine...

The Marine Corps was everything Landon Donnigan ever wanted in life...until a bullet sent him home with a medical discharge. Teaching a self-defense class at the gym is old-hat for a marine, but when he meets sexy Ava Rosenthal, his combat skills are useless for protecting his heart.

Be her Mr. Right?

Ava can take care of herself and likes quiet, bookish men-not muscular warriors who think women need to be coddled. But Landon is more than he seems, and when they come together, the results are explosive.




Caffeine addict, boy referee, and romance aficionado, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Marie Harte has over 100 books published with more constantly on the way. She’s a confessed bibliophile and devotee of action movies. Whether hiking in Central Oregon, biking around town, or hanging at the local tea shop, she’s constantly plotting to give everyone a happily ever after. Visit Marie's website and fall in love.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

He thought she was perfect, but she’s the broken doll on the shelf. #BDSM new release @ElyzabethVaLey @evernightpub




The monster lay dormant, until it saw her...

Every few years, the beast within Grisha Vasiliev rouses, clamoring for blood. When he sees Ayla Clark dancing, her movements exuding grace, passion and joy, he knows he must have her.

Grisha kidnaps Ayla expecting the usual: resistance, tears, pleas for mercy. But when Ayla breaks the mold, his whole world spirals out of control and feelings he thought he could never have again resurface.

He thought she was perfect, but she’s the broken doll on the shelf.

The last thing Ayla Clark remembers is celebrating her performance as Giselle and flirting with the handsome Grisha Vasiliev, the owner of one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the country. Now, she’s tied up and at his mercy, begging for more of his attention, while fighting to keep her own secrets buried in the dark.

Be Warned: BDSM, knife play, whipping

Available at:
And More!




Excerpt:
Ayla turned on her heel and raced out the door. Her bare feet slapped against the cool floor almost painfully. The glass shard cut into her hand but she didn’t dare release it yet. Lights blinked on as she ran down the hall and up a set of stairs. Tripping, she dropped her primitive weapon.
“Fuck.”
She didn’t stop to pick it up but continued until the top. She clutched her stomach. It couldn’t be. A thick metal door loomed before her. She lunged at it, screaming and crying, shouting for help, but it didn’t budge.
“Please,” she whimpered.
 “You’re going to hurt yourself. The door is pure steel, locked with a key and an electronic panel.”
She spun to face Grisha. He stood a few steps behind her, arms crossed over his chest, eyes gleaming with predatory intent. Her shoulders slumped. A lump formed in her throat.
“No. Please, Grisha. Let me go.”
 “I can’t do that.”
“Why? You’re rich, powerful. You can have anything you want. Why?” she insisted. “I swear I won’t say anything. This never happened.”
“That isn’t the way this works, sweetheart.”
“Please, Grisha.”
Her knees gave out and she slid to the floor. Her head spun. None of this made any sense. Grisha towered over her. Tears gathered behind her lids. She inched forward, hugging his left leg.
“I beg you.” 
Grisha lay his hand on her head. She looked up at him. The power of his gaze undid the well of emotions within her. She would never get out of here. Sobs racked her body. She clung to him, beseeching him.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
He settled on the floor next to her and pulled her onto his lap. Ayla’s arms wrapped around his neck naturally. He caressed her back in soothing circles. She burrowed her face into the collar of his shirt, his fresh, woodsy essence entering her system. Familiar. Welcoming. Slowly, her tears ebbed replaced by confusion. Why did he comfort her?
“What are you going to do to me?” she whispered.
He caught her chin. His gaze danced over her face for an instant. His brow furrowed. The blue in his eyes darkened to midnight depths. Then his lips were on her, pressing, claiming, sparking her body alive. Her brain shut down. His tongue met hers and she opened up, eager to taste more. He demanded and she willingly gave.
Ayla was his to do as he pleased. His hands touched her everywhere, leaving behind a trail of burning need. Liquid gathered at the apex between her thighs. Her clit throbbed.
Grisha cupped her swollen breast, squeezing the turgid nub between his fingers. She moaned. He bent his head and took her nipple in his mouth, hungrily sucking. She arched, whimpering. His heavy hand slid across her thigh to her pussy. Relentless fingers probed her entrance.
“You’re soaked.” He groaned.
She turned her head, embarrassed. Grisha thrust a digit into her. Ayla sucked in air.
“You like this. You want this,” he said, his voice husky and gritty.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You enjoy this,” he whispered, pushing another finger into her, slowly pumping them. She mewled.
“My sweet little dancer wants my cock in her cunt, doesn’t she?”
She shook her head.
“No? That’s not what this tells me.” He curled his finger across her G-spot and began to massage it. She shook from head to toe.
“Please.”
“What is it, sweetheart? Want more?”
Three fingers rubbed her. The pressure increased. Ayla threw back her head. Her hips swayed involuntarily. His strokes turned quick and short. Sweat trickled down her back.
“Grisha,” she panted.
“You’re going to come for me, Ayla, and you’re going to do it now.”




About Elyzabeth M. VaLey

Elyzabeth M. VaLey is a writer of sizzling, sexy romance who firmly believes in happy ever after.  From paranormal to contemporary, fantasy, or historical, she enjoys exploring her characters' darker side and writing stories about tortured heroes, strong heroines, and all that comes between them and their love. 


When she's not writing, she can be found walking in the Spanish countryside with her black Lab, exploring castles, or enjoying some tapas with her friends.  

Follow her at:
Blog
Website
Facebook

Twitter
Instagram (@elyzabethm.valey)

Goodreads
Pinterest  (Break Me has its own inspiration board)
Amazon