He’s a monster -- a cybernetic freak feared by females. Until he finds her… New release #romance #scifi Read a #teaser from guest author @kitcatjms and @changelingpress

Saved by the Cyborg (Cy-Con #3)
Jessica Coulter Smith

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Karen Fox
Released May 2019

ABOUT THE BOOK

He’s a monster -- a cybernetic freak feared by females. Until he finds her…

Intimidating. Damaged. Unlovable.

Tark wanted a mate even before he joined the Cy-Con program. His sheer size made females fear him, and now that he’s been turned into a cybernetic freak they avoid him even more. When he finds a female being held in a brothel against her will, he knows that he can’t leave without her.

Tark means to take Suki home to his world, a place where she can heal and start a new life. He never realized she’d want to start that life with him, or that she’d insist on leaving the safety of Xpashta in an effort to rescue others like herself.

Brave. Fearless. Pregnant?

Tark saved the alluring human female once. When she’s captured during a dangerous mission, he knows he’ll have to do it again, and this time, he’s not letting her out of his sight -- especially when he finds out she’s pregnant with his child.

SNEAK PEEK

“Why is it hard for you to believe I would want to be with you?” she asked.

“Females don’t want me,” he said after a few minutes. “They never have. Even whores have run from me in fear. I’ve never…”

He looked away, but Suki could tell he was embarrassed. Was he trying to say he was a virgin? She couldn’t believe it. How could anyone turn him away? Tark was kind and protective. And he’d been gentle with her. Despite his mechanical arm, he hadn’t harmed her, not once. He was always careful when he reached for her, or carried her. She didn’t understand why women didn’t beg for his attention. On Earth, she’d been independent for the most part, hadn’t felt she needed a man for anything. She’d had boyfriends, but none that lasted longer than a month. But being a slave had taught her that out here in space, far from the world she’d called home, she did need a male, as long as it was the right one. She’d been too weak to fight them off, too weak to save herself and her sister. The thought of someone big and strong offering protection was tempting.

Suki stood and placed her hand on his bicep. He was so strong, so… He made her feel safe, and that was something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. If she could do anything, she wanted to make him realize that not all females feared him. She didn’t. If he claimed her as his mate, she would feel like the luckiest of women. She just didn’t know how to make Tark see that.

“I’m not running,” she said. “And I’m not afraid of you.”

He looked at her, his gaze holding hers.

 If he’d never been with a female, had he ever been kissed? Suki leaned forward and lightly brushed her lips against his. 

Tark froze, every muscle in his body tense. 

Suki moved her mouth against his, giving him the softest of kisses, until he began to relax. She pulled back and stared into his eyes. 

Tark looked stunned as he reached up and touched his lips.

“Do you want to do it again?” she asked. “You could kiss me this time, if you want.”

“Kiss you,” he repeated, staring at her lips.

“Yes.”

Tark’s gaze flicked up to hers then lowered to her mouth again. Slowly, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. 

Suki placed her hand on the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. Suki parted her lips and touched her tongue to his lips. 

Tark groaned and opened, letting her in. 

She kissed him slowly, deeply. And all too soon, he was pulling away. Suki clung to him, not ready for it to end just yet. It had been so long since she’d felt anything like that, and maybe she never had. Kissing Tark felt different, but in a very good way.

WHERE TO BUY

Changeling Press - https://www.changelingpress.com/saved-by-the-cyborg-cy-con-3-b-2871

Amazon US - https://www.amazon.com/Saved-Cyborg-Jessica-Coulter-Smith-ebook/dp/B07RHSXD69

Amazon UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Saved-Cyborg-Jessica-Coulter-Smith-ebook/dp/B07RHSXD69

Amazon CA - https://www.amazon.ca/Saved-Cyborg-Jessica-Coulter-Smith-ebook/dp/B07RHSXD69

Amazon AU - https://www.amazon.com.au/Saved-Cyborg-Jessica-Coulter-Smith-ebook/dp/B07RHSXD69

B&N - https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/saved-by-the-cyborg-jessica-coulter-smith/1131502232?ean=2940161296349

Kobo - https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/saved-by-the-cyborg

iTunes - https://books.apple.com/us/book/saved-by-the-cyborg/id1462773337?ls=1

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning author Jessica Coulter Smith has been in love with the written word since she was a child writing her first stories in crayon. Today she’s a multi-published author of over seventy-five novellas and novels. Romance is an integral part of her world and she firmly believes that love will find you at the right time, even if Mr. Right is literally out of this world.

Find Jessica on Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / jessicacoultersmith.com.

He won’t stop until her safety is secured—even if it means his heart is lost in setting her free. New release #MCromance from @authorlynnburke and @changelingpress Read a teaser

Austin’s Ward

Devil’s Outlaws 3

By Lynn Burke

Publisher: Changeling Press

World-Wide Release Date: May 24, 2019

He won’t stop until her safety is secured—even if it means his heart is lost in setting her free.

As the Devil's Outlaws Sergeant at Arms, Austin Butterbaugh has no intention of getting involved. A self-proclaimed bachelor for life, he endured a broken heart and refuses to suffer the same again. But the second Cadence Fraser crosses his path, with her long blonde hair and curves, she owns him. 

Sleeping with a senator didn’t offer Cadence the ticket to a better life she’d hoped for. Instead, she's on the run for her life, straight into a badass biker’s arms—as his ward, under the Outlaw’s protection. Although fire flares to life between them, and Austin satisfies her in ways she’d never known, fear has Cadence’s sights set on something more.

With the senator hell-bent on eliminating every trace of his indiscretions, bodies will fall in Austin's determination to protect Cadence. Failure won’t be tolerated, even if saving her could mean losing her forever. Her happiness is all that matters, but can Cadence fight past her fears to see a future with Austin before it's too late? 

*Warning: Contains adult content and graphic violence.

PURCHASE LINKS:

Changeling Press - 15% sale: https://www.changelingpress.com/austin-s-ward-devil-s-outlaws-mc-3-b-2872

Amazon Universal: http://mybook.to/AUSTINSWARD

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Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/austin-s-ward

iTunes: https://books.apple.com/us/book/austins-ward/id1462824697

EXCERPT: 18+

“Take the bed,” he said and closed himself in the bathroom—with the bottle of whiskey.

Eyeing his bed, I chewed on the inside of my lip. I glanced at the couch he’d vacated. It wasn’t nearly long or wide enough for his height and bulk.

“Shit.” I heaved a sigh and crawled under his comforter, burying my face in one of the two pillows. Perfume a la Austin flared heat up through my body, and I closed my eyes as the devil on my shoulder insisted scratching an itch never hurt anyone.

“The fuck it didn’t,” I muttered, punching the feather pillow and curling up on the bed’s edge, facing away from the bathroom door.

The shower turned on, and I imagined Austin using that bar of soap I’d had all over my body running down the bumps and valleys of muscle lining his. Did he grow hard while washing his cock? His balls?

I bit the inside of my lip, determined to keep my hands beneath his pillow.

Did he stroke his length, head tipped back, while thinking about me in his bed? I knew he wanted me—the sexual tension between us could have electrified the entire compound for a goddamn week.

A low groan snapped my eyelids open, and I held my breath, ears straining.

“Fuck.” The low, drawn-out curse coming from the bathroom pebbled my skin.

Did I imagine the fisting slaps of a hand wrapped around a cock? Did my ears deceive, allowing me to think one final muffled grunt shot cum from the swollen head of his dick?

“Damnit.” I growled, my entire body like a live wire, ready to burn down my fucking life.

The water shut off, and again, I held my breath, ears ringing for sounds of his movement. Water ran again, and I realized I hadn’t brushed my teeth—not that I had a spare toothbrush in my bag anyway.

A quick exhale into my cupped hand revealed I wouldn’t knock out a dragon, but still.

What did I care? I grumbled a bit more in my head, but the opening of the bathroom door stalled all thought.

Austin moved into the room, and I listened as he opened a cabinet and shut it. Unable to help myself, I shifted onto my back.

A towel slung low around his hips.

Goddamn, the muscles…

My mouth flooded with drool, and I bit back a moan as he turned. Rippled abs snagged my focus. The sexy as fuck V of muscle disappearing beneath the towel turned my mouth’s drool factory on maximum.

“Just going to grab my pillow,” he muttered, moving toward the bed, his low voice pebbling my skin again.

“There’s plenty of room in the bed,” I heard myself say, hating the breathless tone that escaped—and how the final word cut short on a squeak as I lifted my gaze to his face.

Quiet rang in my ears for a few heartbeats as we stared at one another, heat licking over my skin, flushing me from head to toe. The promise in his eyes of more than a mere fuck, in and out, thank you darlin’, sent a shudder through me.

Austin wouldn’t be kind or gentle in the sack. He seemed the type that would tie a girl up, use her to satisfy his every whim, and leave her a spent and smiling from exhaustion. My mouth dried, nipples pebbled to painful points.

“Couch is kind of small,” he said, tearing his gaze away first, his brow furrowing.

I tried to swallow the dryness from my throat as the tension simmering between us intensified, crackling with energy enough the hairs on my arms rose.

“You’re very alert and cautious,” I said, desperate to get my mind off fucking and how good every inch of him would feel pressing me down into his mattress.

He grunted in agreement, hands fisting at his sides, but didn’t move otherwise.

I remembered how his gaze had scanned the strip joint’s parking lot before we’d left, the glimpses he’d tossed from mirror to mirror as the miles had faded behind us, until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer and had ended up with my head against his truck’s passenger window.

“What made you that way?” I asked, needing to fill the silence, needing to end the sexually charged atmosphere choking me.

“Long fucking story that’s none of your business.”

Grumpy much? At least his abrupt words eased the unbearable ache between my thighs. “Is your name really Austin?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your last name?”

He hesitated a moment before answering. “Butterbaugh.”

The name didn’t match his badass biker sexiness one bit, and I found myself wanting to giggle. “Are you really from Texas?” I asked what Hannah had already told me.

“Yes.”

I nibbled on the inside of my lip again, unable to help from ogling his massive chest as he studied the apartment around us as though desperate to keep from looking at me in his bed. “What brought you to D.C.?”

“Another long fucking story.”

I frowned at his disinterest in elaborating. “Are you always this closed off?”

“Are you always this nosey?”

I huffed and considered turning away, but he dropped the goddamn towel and slid under the comforter before I could move.

Blinking didn’t erase the image of his semi-hard cock hanging low between his thighs I’d caught a quick glimpse of. So much for the desert mouth. Drool flooded, and I swallowed. “You could at least put on some boxers,” I managed to croak as if I had zero desire to have his naked ass in bed with me.

“I don’t wear underwear.”

Lovely. The thought boiled my blood—and also pissed me the hell off. I didn’t want to be turned on by the mountain of a man whose care I’d been placed under. I didn’t want to be all wet, warm, and willing for his huge cock to plunder all three holes of my body.

Scratching the itch won’t hurt. I scowled at the ceiling at the devil’s voice in my ear.

“Close your eyes and sleep, Cadence. You’re safe.”

Safe. I held in my snort. Perhaps safe from the senator for the time being, but certainly not from my libido.

© Lynn Burke 2018

 Other Titles in this Series:

 Bowie's Angel #1
Gunner's Flame #2

ABOUT LYNN BURKE:

 Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

Website: https://www.authorlynnburke.com/ 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Author-Lynn-Burke-555282497937461/ 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorLynnBurke 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorlynnburke/ 

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lynn-burke

Only by looking into the past can Audrey save her future. Past Presence from @brossypants Read an excerpt #PNR #fantasy #romance in the #giveaway tour

Only by looking into the past can Audrey save her future.

Audrey Eames is happy living the wanderer’s life. After a near-death experience in her teens, Audrey can see people’s past lives whenever her skin touches theirs, and afraid of being labeled delusional, she’s never stayed in one place too long or made any deep connections.

So when Audrey’s estranged aunt dies and leaves her the historic Soberly Inn and Public House on the scenic Oregon coast, Audrey wants nothing to do with it. She’s determined to sell the inn and leave town before someone discovers the power she’s been hiding from the world, but clauses in her aunt’s will seem to block her at every turn.

Yet once ensconced in Soberly’s small town life, the people—particularly the inn's bartender, Kellen Greene—start to grow on her, and she begins to feel that maybe she’s finally found a place of her own. As accepting as the townspeople seem, Audrey fears their reactions—and Kellen’s rejection—and decides to keep her visions a secret. But all is not well in Soberly. Soon after Audrey arrives, people in town start dying in the same manner as in their past lives—but in this lifetime it’s murder. When suspicion starts to fall on Audrey and Kellen, Audrey vows to use her gift to find the murderer and protect the people she loves—before it’s too late.

Mystery

Date Published: April 1, 2019

Publisher: Literary Wanderlust

Excerpt:

“It’s been nice chatting with you, Miss Eames.” The night coach driver offers me his hand, palm up, as I prepare to step down and off the bus. With a smile, I accept—careful not to put any weight onto his fingers, which look swollen and red with age and the decades he’s been gripping the wheel.

He handed a woman, all swirling skirts, and ruffles, off the carriage-and-four. She was laughing at something her mother had said, but before she stepped up the gravel path leading to the doors of the grand estate, flung open to welcome guests to the ball within, she turned to give him a nod and a half-smile.

“Enjoy your evening, Miss.” He returned her nod as the heat crept up under his stiff white collar, but she had already caught up with her mother, and he didn’t think she had heard him. 

The way his hand clasps mine is the same. Some habits carry over from one lifetime to the next, as I’ve learned. The vision lingers in my mind even after I pull away and shoulder my duffel. The manor home looked English, and the woman’s dress was definitely late Victorian.

The sun is cracking the horizon, bathing the village of Soberly, Oregon, all twelve streets of it, in a glow that changes from sepia to marigold. The bus pulls away behind me in a cloud of exhaust and fine yellow sand, off to the next tiny hamlet along the coastal highway, leaving me standing in the empty street.

My destination is clearly visible—there is only one hotel here, the sensible, if unoriginally named, Soberly Inn and Public House. Standing one block away, it faces the sea and even from here I can see how the salt spray has faded the once-cobalt blue paint to a dull cornflower over the years. For reasons I don’t yet understand, the Soberly Inn now belongs to me, and I am here to claim it.

I had no idea my Aunt Roz had even owned the inn. The last time I saw her I was an awkward pre- teen, and she was less than twice my age. I sometimes remembered to email her on her birthday, but not, I’m ashamed to say, every year, although she never forgot mine. Yet despite our distant, superficial relationship, she had left this place to me, rather than the wife she left behind when she died of a rapidly progressing cancer ten days ago. Maybe she was an ex-wife now. I had no idea. We weren’t even Facebook friends. The notification of her death had come via her lawyer, not my father, along with the news that, for the first time in my life, I was a property owner. The news had affected me deeply, more so than I expected. Now, looking at Roz’s prize for the first time, the quiet ache in my chest ramps up to a throbbing spasm before fading again.

This was what my carefree aunt gave up her vagabond life for, and now she wanted me to do the same? I stare up at the building, taking note of the aged wooden siding where the paint has curled away in places, the cracked cedar shingles, and the plain-lettered sign swinging from two chains beside the entrance. ‘Shabby’ was the word that came to mind, and not ‘shabby chic,’ either. I could only imagine the interior was just as dusty and unremarkable as the exterior.

“What were you thinking, Roz?” I say under my breath. My feet are still planted in the same place because I don’t know where to go. There isn’t a soul in sight at this time of day, nor are any of the assortment of shops and businesses that line the main street open. I know there will almost certainly be someone at the front desk of the inn, but although I’ve come all this way, I’m not ready to make an appearance there yet, not without knowing what I want to say, something I’d neglected to plan on the long bus ride. I scuff one toe of my battered Chucks in the sand that’s accumulated along the curb, stalling. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the beach, I decide, as I step into the street with the rising sun at my back. The inn is a problem I delegate to Future Audrey. Right-now Audrey is going for a walk along the coast. 

***

As it turns out, the only thing four hours of roaming the beach does is add hunger and the intense need to find a bathroom to my problems. Possibly a sunburn as well, judging from the pinkish hue my skin is taking on. I’ve always felt the injustice of not inheriting the platinum blonde or fiery red hair color that usually accompanies my level of fair skin. There’s nothing even remotely exotic or attention-getting about the flat, medium- brown I ended up with. At least I can be thankful it doesn’t frizz in the humidity, otherwise, I’d look like a positive nightmare right now. 

The sun is almost directly overhead when I make my way over the last dune to the boardwalk. Although the village’s one cafe is now open and will serve my requirements, I trudge past it to the inn, standing a bit apart from the businesses surrounding it by virtue of its height, the only three-story building in a two-story town. 

Faced with two doors, one into the inn itself and one into the pub, I choose the latter. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness, but my stomach reacts to the environment immediately, growling audibly as the scent of fresh-fried fish greets me.
The pub is classic seaside kitsch, decorated with fishing nets and glass buoys, old traps, and a well-worn rowboat suspended upside-down from the ceiling. Maps of the coastline and faded photographs decorate the walls, as well as other assorted nautical ephemera, and together it paints a portrait of the rich coastal history of the town.

I’m still blinking away the daylight, taking this all in, when someone steps into my field of vision.

“Grab a seat wherever you want,” a guy holding a large plastic tub says. He’s clearing empty glasses and plates as he says it. I nod my acknowledgment because the pair of red Beats headphones he’s wearing will certainly drown out any verbal reply. His head is bobbing in time to music only he can hear as he disappears through a door leading to what I assume is the kitchen.

I duck into the washroom first, eliminating one of my problems. The maritime theme continues, with signs for pirates and wenches on the doors, and mirrors framed to look like portholes. Girls can be pirates too, and I don’t see why boys can’t be wenches. Geez, Roz. Sexist much?She’d been an ardent feminist in her early twenties. Had she stopped caring, or was I reading too much into a couple of bathroom signs?
The only table free seats six, so I choose a high stool at the near-vacant bar instead. I’ve arrived right in the middle of the lunch rush, from the looks of it. I still don’t know what to say to anyone here. “Hi, I’m the new owner,” seems arrogant, especially since I have no intention of keeping the place. 

A menu appears in front of me, startling me out of my ruminations. Across the polished walnut bar stands a man whose skin is a shade lighter than the wood he’s resting his hands on. His smile widens as he stares at me expectantly.

“Sorry—what?” I shake my head, flustered. Who has teeth that straight, that white? Self-conscious, I half-cover my mouth with the back of my hand. Mine show clear evidence of my two-pot-a-day coffee habit. I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe someone of the same vintage as the decor, but it definitely wasn’t someone younger than me, although maybe only by a couple years.

“Drink?” he repeats, jerking his head at the long row of taps, each with a branded handle. Most of them I’ve never heard of, and I’m not a daytime drinker anyway. “This is a pub,” he adds and winks. The bartender who’s well aware of his good looks. I’m familiar with the type. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it my type, but I’d gone home with enough of them over the years. 
“Sweet tea,” I say. “Extra ice.”

“Sure you don’t want a pint? Maybe a cold glass of white?”

I shake my head. “Tea’s fine.”

“G&T? I’ll put lots of ice in it.” He’s polishing up a tumbler, reaching for the bottle of Bombay on the shelf behind him. I roll my eyes, but I can’t keep the side of my mouth from twitching.

“Put that back. I just want the sweet tea. Are you on commission or something?”

“Nah, I just want to card you so I know your name,” he says. Unrepentant, he points to the sign nailed to a pillar that states We ID Anyone Under 25. 

“You’re off the mark by a few years, my friend,” I tell him. He’s finally pouring my sweet tea from the soda tap into a massive glass full of ice.

“Bullshit.” As soon as he sets it down in front of me, I’m chugging it back, not breathing until the glass is half-empty. He snags it back and refills it while I wipe my mouth with a cocktail napkin. What I want to do is scoop the ice out and rub it all over my arms and face, which are starting to feel alarmingly hot. From all the sun, I tell myself. Not from the attention of this cocky bartender.

“We ID for all food orders too, you know.”

I lean in close and pause before speaking, making it clear I’m appraising him. “Maybe I’m not hungry.”

“You are. I saw you drinking in the smell of the fryer when you walked in. You got this dreamy smile that said you knew exactly what you wanted. So, let’s see it.” He holds out his hand with a crooked, teasing smile, but I push it away with the menu I haven’t even glanced at. He’s right. I don’t need to look at it at all, but I don’t want to admit that he can read me so well.

“You don’t have to show ID to order food here. You made that up.”

“So what? I can make up the rules if I want.”

“Oh, you must own the place?” I mirror his teasing tone, but I’m watching him closely, seeing how he’ll respond. I expect a smart ass reply in the same vein as our banter, but a shadow crosses his face and the smile slips. Shit. The owner just died, you idiot. As usual, the words spilled out of my mouth before I had a chance to think them through.

“I’m not, actually,” he says.

“I know. I’m sorry, that was stupid of me to say.” I bite my lip and plunge forward. “I’m Audrey. Audrey Eames. Roz’s niece. Umm, I’m the owner, I guess. So, they tell me. For now.” The silence stretches out between us as he takes all this in, frozen in place while I sit there, feeling like an utter moron with my hand outstretched, waiting for him to shake it. I’m just about to withdraw it into my lap when a wide grin cracks his face. He grips my hand so our forearms touch and our elbows rest on the bar, like we’re about to arm-wrestle. I’m drawn forward in the process so we’re almost nose-to-nose.

A gaggle of children ran through the field ahead of her and scrambled over the stile. They were jostling each other and shouting raucously, overjoyed to be free of the classroom for the afternoon. All but one, a small boy whose hand was clasped snugly into hers.

“Look, Miss Dean, a nest. The others missed it.” The boy spoke with a thick country accent as he pointed up at the treetops.

“Good eye, Wil. What sort of bird do you think made it?”

“Something big. A kite, maybe.” She nodded in agreement, and they continued on in companionable silence, following the sounds of laughter ahead. 

“You totally played me, Audrey. I thought you were just another tumbleweed. I’m glad you’re not. Kellen Greene. It’s very nice to meet you.” The vision of his past- self fades from my mind, and I wonder what qualities he and the teacher have in common.

“A tumbleweed?” He squeezes my hand before releasing it, the pad of his thumb tracing a line up the side of my index finger like he’s trying to maintain contact up to the last possible second.

“Tourists that roll on through town with the wind, here and gone before you know it. They don’t bring anything with them, and they don’t take anything away either.”

“My bag should have clued you in that I wasn’t just passing through,” I point out, kicking it where it rests at my feet.

“Ahh, but there’s only one place to stay in Soberly,” he nods toward the ceiling and the rooms above, “and it’s full up, at least until Sunday.” Kellen walks over to the door leading into the back and swings it open. “Hey, Ma,” he shouts, drawing the attention of everyone in the pub. “Come meet your new boss.”

About the Author

Nicole Bross is an author from Calgary, Alberta, Canada, where she lives with her husband, two children and one very large orange cat. When she’s not writing or working as the editor of a magazine, she can be found curled up with a book, messing around with her ever-expanding collection of manual typewriters or in the departures lounge of the airport at the beginning of another adventure. Past Presence is her debut novel.

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Free from @rueallyn #historicalromance Forever Hold My Heart. Only love and forgiveness can give them a future together.

This book is free to everyone. If you enjoy it, please consider leaving a review at your favorite retailer and joining the RAVON Newsletter or Community. Click here for newsletter opt-in https://www.rueallyn.com/ravonsubscribe/. Click here for RAVON Community membership.

Forever Hold My Heart

By Rue Allyn

The last thing Caibre MacFearann wants is to return to Scotland let alone be forced to stay there. Then he gets the irresistible chance to visit the woman who would forever hold his heart. Still knowing they can never wed, he travels across Scotland in a blizzard just to spend a few moments with Aisla MacKai.

Losing Caibre MacFearann’s love hurt so much that Aisla MacKai wants nothing to do with him when a blizzard brings the man to her doorstep. Kindness and human charity require that she give him shelter, no matter how great the damage he’d done to her heart

The past keeps Caibre and Aisla apart. Only love and forgiveness can give them a future together.

Barnes & Noble--https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/forever-hold-my-heart-rue-allyn/1131427786?ean=2940163205622

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Find the author:

Website: https://RueAllyn.com
Twitter: @rueallyn
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Blog: https://www.rueallyn.com/blog/

A tale of self-discovery explores important questions about the meaning of love, friendship, family and more. #crimeromance #giveaway tour

Crime/Romance

Date Published: May 7, 2019

Publisher: Little York Books

This suspenseful sequel to “One More Last Dance” follows Peck Finch’s search for his mother after leaving home at the age of nine, and the struggles of his friend Gabe, who is simultaneously facing a second-degree murder charge. Set within the rich and storied culture of Louisiana, this tale of self-discovery explores important questions about the meaning of love, friendship, family and more.

“Mamma’s Moon” has received early praise for its layered storytelling with BlueInk Reviews calling Antil’s newest work “a lovely story about the strong bonds of friendship that often supplant family ties.”

About the Author

JEROME MARK ANTIL writes in several genres. He has been called a “greatest generation’s Mark Twain,” a “write what you know Ernest Hemingway,” and “a sensitive Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.” It’s been said his work reads like a Norman Rockwell painting. Among his writing accomplishments, several titles in his The Pompey Hollow Book Club historical fiction series about growing up in the shadows of WWII have been honored. An ‘Authors and Writers’ Book of the Year Award and ‘Writer of the Year’ at Syracuse University for The Pompey Hollow Book Club novel; Hemingway, Three Angels, and Me, won SILVER in the UK as second-best novel.

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From @authorlynnburke #coverreveal for #menage romance, In Between. #giveaway

In Between

By Lynn Burke

Release Date: June 17, 2019

Blurb:

After his step-father nearly ruins both his family name and business, Damien Fiorenza becomes suspicious of everyone—except for his long-time partner, Ethan Lord. He doesn’t trust people in authority, much less the woman who weasels her way into his walled-up heart alongside his lover of fifteen years.

Ethan dislikes his empathic abilities, especially since they allow him to feel his mother’s indifference towards him, her only son. Damien, however, has always made Ethan feel needed. Appreciated and protected. But, he can’t voice what Ethan is desperate to hear. Falling for their new secretary is unexpected, but she encourages and supports him in ways Damien won’t.

Shaylia Bright’s father chose his secret family over her and her mother. Ever since, she’s striven to be the best she can be, unable to stomach being second best. Although an office romance is taboo, she can’t deny the passionate chemistry among the three of them and finds herself drawn to both her bosses.

Problems from their pasts threaten to block the HEA they’re heading toward. Will Shaylia be able to accept herself as less than perfect, and will Damien lower his defenses? Ethan holds the key to their healing, but can he overcome his own demons before it's too late?

​GOODREADS LINK: http://bit.ly/2H8CoG4

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ABOUT LYNN BURKE:

Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

Website: https://www.authorlynnburke.com/

Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/Author-Lynn-Burke-555282497937461/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorLynnBurke

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorlynnburke/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lynn-burke

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Lynn-Burke/e/B00TGC9SJW

Out Now—Fluffy by Julia Kent (@jkentauthor) #romance #romcom Read a #teaser

FLUFFY

Author: Julia Kent

Release date:  April 30, 2019

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance

Cover Designer:  Hang Le

Editor: Elisa Reed

Audiobook narrator: Erin Mallon

Description:

An all-new STANDALONE from New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent

It all started with the wrong Help Wanted ad. Of course it did.

I’m a professional fluffer. It’s NOT what you think. I stage homes for a living. Real estate agents love me, and my work stands on its own merits.

Sigh. Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ahead. Laugh. I’ll wait.

See? That’s the problem. My career has used the term “fluffer” for decades. I didn’t even know there was a more… lascivious definition of the term.

Until it was too late.

The ad for a “professional fluffer” on Craigslist seemed like divine intervention. My last unemployment check was in the bank. I was desperate. Rent was due. The ad said cash paid at the end of the day.

The perfect job!

Staging homes means showing your best angle. The same principle applies in making a certain kind of movie. Turns out a “fluffer” doesn’t arrange decorative pillows on a couch.

They arrange other soft, round-ish objects.

The job isn’t hard. Er, I mean, it is — it’s about being hard. Or, well… helping other people to be hard.

Oh, man…

And that’s the other problem. A man. No, not one of the stars on the movie set. Will Lotham – my high school crush. The owner of the house where we’re filming. Illegally. In a vacation rental.

By the time the cops show up, what I thought was just a great house staging gig turned into a nightmare involving pictures of me with an undressed naked star, Will rescuing me from an arrest, and a humiliating lesson in my own naivete.

My job turned out to be so much harder than I expected. But you know what’s easier than I ever imagined?

Having all my dreams come true.

Buy links:

AmazonUS: http://mybook.to/fluffy

AmazonUK: http://smarturl.it/fluffyAMZuk

AmazonCA: http://smarturl.it/fluffyAMZca

AmazonAU: http://smarturl.it/fluffyAMZau

Nook/BN: http://bit.ly/2CGtnBE

Apple Books: https://apple.co/2RmE159

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2BjWvxL

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2COKLmQ

Audible: https://adbl.co/2KRgFGR

Print: http://mybook.to/fluffy

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2TjDjqS   

Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2ThoLrZ

Excerpt:

“You're changing the subject.”

“How do you know that’s what I’m doing?”

“Because you have this thing you do when you get nervous. You did it in high school and you're doing it now.”

“What’s that?”

“You start cracking your knuckles. One by one.”

He halts mid-crack on his ring finger. His bare ring finger.

Will looks down. A slow smile pulls at his lips. “You’re right. I do.” Our eyes meet. “How did you know?”

“I sat behind you in nearly every honors class, Will. I’ve watched you answer countless questions from teachers. And every time you didn’t know the answer, you cracked your knuckles. One”–I crack my index finger–“by”–I crack my middle finger–“one.” My ring finger won’t snap.

He waits.

“You spent a lot of time paying attention to me, Mallory.”

“I sat behind you. It’s not like I could stare at your ass all day. I had to have something else to look at.”

“You stared at my ass?”

“It was two feet in front of me! Four classes a day!” I start to sweat. The memory of him in football uniform pants. Oh, sweet ice cream fairy, deliver me from evil.

“You okay? You look,” he says, stepping closer, “a little disturbed.”

“I’m fine.”

“Hot, even.” The rise and fall of his chest pauses after those words, as if he's holding his breath, too.

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down

Social Media Links:

Website:  http://jkentauthor.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor/

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/jkentauthor

Newsletter:  http://bit.ly/2PIBi9n

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/jkentauthor/

Bookbub:  https://www.bookbub.com/authors/julia-kent

Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3238619.Julia_Kent

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/Julia-Kent/e/B00A99V268/

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.