Thursday, January 30, 2020

On Sale—Shopping for a Billionaire Vol. 2 (Books 6-8) by Julia Kent (@jkentauthor) #romance #romcom #romanticcomedy



Release Date:  May 26, 2019
Genre: Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance

Regular price $9.99. Ebook just 99¢ January 20 -31.
Add the Whispersync audio for just $7.49


Description:

A BUNDLE OF LAUGHTER FROM NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR JULIA KENT

Get books 6 (Shopping for a Billionaire's Fiancee), 7 (Shopping for a CEO) and 8 (Shopping for a Billionaire's Wife) in one BIG bundle of laughter, community, and - of course - romance in Julia Kent's New York Times bestselling series.

Audiobook lovers can also get all three books in one big, 26-hour-long bundle! Narrated by Zachary Webber, Amy McFadden and Tanya Eby. Give your ears something to look forward to!

Buy links:















Excerpts:

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee:

Shannon has a key to my place, and as I walk in the door I see candlelight. Flickering flame is to a man what Ben & Jerry’s is to a woman.

A sign of a sure thing.

“Shannon?” I call out, following the disorganized scatter of lit candles in the living room. Shadows dance on the wall in my hallway, and I round the corner to my bedroom to find her, spread out on my bed, wearing garters, stockings, the red corset, and—

She’s asleep.

That’s okay. I can work with asleep.

I can’t work with absent.

You’d be surprised how fast a man can undress when under the complete control of testicles so full they look like a case of mumps. I’m out of my clothes in seventeen sec-onds or so (who’s counting?) and on the bed, my hands taking in her prone body. I’m allowed to touch. We have an unwritten rule. It goes something like this:

Touch Shannon.

It’s a simple rule.

Her skin is so soft, my fingers scraping against the rolling contour of her inner thigh, from knee to heaven. The whorls of ridges on my fingertips feel like raw sandpaper against her porcelain flesh. My breathing slows, eyes adjusting to the dim light, taking in her body. How did I ever get so lucky?

From Toilet Girl to Mrs. McCormick in eighteen months.

Shopping for a CEO:

It’s Andrew McCormick.

Oh, sweet holy hell.

I haven’t seen him in months. Haven’t kissed him since we were in the emergency room after my best friend, Shannon, swallowed the engagement ring his brother, Declan, gave to her as he proposed.

(A tip: don’t bury a three-carat diamond ring in a piece of tiramisu at a fancy restaurant as a way of proposing to a woman. Any woman. Why ruin the dessert like that?)

I’m the maid of honor for the wedding. Andrew is the best man. We’ve managed to avoid each other so far, but the wedding is three months away. I knew this day was coming.

But I didn’t expect it to be today.

My heart starts skipping beats as I take him in from afar, shielded by the angle of my bench. He has no idea I’m watching him. Thick hair, cut short and with the kind of layered sophistication that only comes from a stylist who charges three figures. Shaded eyes that I know are sharp and smoldering, a blend of brown and honey that makes you melt inside. He’s in a full suit, tie still snug against his neck, the moonlight reflecting off a white shirt. His grin is contagious, making my own smile widen as I tilt my head and let myself get lost in wondering.

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife:

As we walk into the lounge, every single pair of eyes swivels to take us in.

“Why are they staring at us?” I ask Declan, clutching his arm.

“Because you’re wearing a wedding dress and I look like something out of a BBC documentary?” he answers smoothly.

I look down at myself. Look over at him. Take in the kilt, the socks covering his calves, the laces on his special Scottish shoes.

“Oh.”

One of the patrons, a man who is sitting next to a woman who looks like an adventurous traveler and not a mannequin on a rich man’s arm, points to the television, then back to us.

“You two on the run?”

Declan frowns and pulls me closer to the television.

Where someone is interviewing my mother.



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 children.

Social Media Links:

Newsletter:  http://bit.ly/2PIBi9n



Sale blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.


Wednesday, January 29, 2020

Out Now—Burning Bridges by Anne Krist (@deesknight) #vietnamwar #secondchance #Lostlove #secrets



Publisher: Nomad Authors Publishing
Release date: January 20, 2020 (2nd edition. First release June, 2008)
Price: $2.99 (for eBook), $9.99 (for paperback)
Word count: 82,995

Blurb:
Letters delivered decades late send shock waves through Sara Richards’s world. Nothing is the same, especially her memories of Paul, a man to whom she'd given her heart years before. Now, sharing her secrets and mending her mistakes of the past means putting her life back together while crossing burning bridges. It will be the hardest thing Sara’s ever done.

Back of the book:

Sara Richards’s world is rocked when three love letters from 1970 are delivered decades late. The letters were written by Paul Steinert, a young sailor who took her innocence with whispered words of love and promises of forever before leaving for Vietnam. Sara is left behind, broken hearted and secretly pregnant, yearning for letters she never received.

Then Paul died.

Now, years later, she discovers the betrayal wasn’t Paul’s, when her mother confesses to a sin that changed their lives forever. How can Sara reveal to Paul’s parents that they have a granddaughter they’ve missed the chance to know? Even worse, how will she find the words to tell her daughter that she’s lived her life in the shadow of a lie?

Picking her way through the minefields of secrets, distrust, and betrayal, Sara finds that putting her life together again while crossing burning bridges will be the hardest thing she’s ever done.



Excerpt:

Sara stared at the letters arranged before her in numerical order. The moment in time she and Paul shared was long ago, yet her dream had conjured his presence as though she’d just seen him. In her mind, his blue eyes darkened with passion before his lips captured hers, and he moaned his appreciation when their tongues met. She tasted his sweetness and knew the steel of his arms as he held her. How many nights had she put herself through hell reliving those memories? Too damn many.

After the concert, they’d met clandestinely on weekends, mostly at Sandbridge, where they could walk and talk undisturbed. With each meeting, stirrings built deep in Sara that pushed her to want more, but Paul insisted they restrain themselves because of her age.

Then the weekend before he shipped out, she'd planned a surprise and her life changed forever.

The kettle screeched, bringing her back to the present. Sara prepared a cup of tea and then picked up the envelope marked twenty-eight. At one time, she would have given her right arm to hold this letter. Now, curiosity and the desire for a brief escape drove her more than the passion of youth. Blind love had faded when she’d had no word to bolster her during the long weeks after the ship left.

First had come the waiting. No letters arrived, even though she wrote him daily. There were no phone calls, no notes, no anything, for days that dragged into weeks then crept into months.

Anticipation morphed into anxiety. She worried he was sick or hurt and unable to write.

One day she admitted that Paul must be afraid to write for some reason, and she feared what he would say if she did receive a letter. That their time together had been a mistake, that she was too young to be in love. That he really loved someone else and Sara had been only a stand-in while he was in Virginia. Perversely, she began to sigh with relief when she arrived home and found no word.

Now, knowing why she hadn’t received mail, what would she feel if she opened this letter and her old fears proved to be true?

“Nothing,” she murmured. “Paul’s dead. He can’t hurt me anymore.” At the very least, his letters might allow her to put his ghost to rest. For that reason alone, she had to read them.

She slid her thumb under the flap and ripped the envelope open. A single sheet held his hurried scrawl.



Author Anne Krist:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Contact Anne at annekrist@nomadauthors.com.




Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.


Saturday, January 25, 2020

Eyes Wide Open by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) is Now Available in Audiobook Format! #MMF #BDSM #menage #audio #audiobook #audible




Good news for audiobook fans who also love steamy BDSM ménage romances—Eyes Wide Open is now available to listen, thanks to the amazing talents of Frankie Holland! Enjoy her dulcet tones as she takes you on an adventure through the swankiest parts of England’s capital city.

Blurb:
A chance meeting opens Fiona’s eyes to some very sexy possibilities.
Recent graduate Fiona Gillespie is stuck working in a grimy pub in London’s East End, and living in a horrid flat. It’s only while she figures out what she wants to do career-wise, but that’s easier said than done.
When she sees an advertisement for a job at a plush Mayfair hotel, she jumps at the chance. Determination and a spot of luck land Fiona her dream role—and it comes with accommodation included.
Her job and living situation sorted, things are on the up. Unfortunately, her personal life is lacklustre. It doesn’t bother her, though—not until she meets businessmen James and Logan, and her head is well and truly turned.
When a misunderstanding leads Fiona to James and Logan’s sumptuous top-floor hotel suite, she has no idea what she’s about to uncover. Her imagination runs wild, but not wild enough to get to the truth—James and Logan are a couple, and they’re into some seriously intriguing activities.
Fascinated, she launches herself into a whole new world with the two men. But is this just physical, or is their arrangement set to become something more?

Excerpt:
Fiona Gillespie wiped a damp cloth half-heartedly over the surface of the bar. It was a pointless exercise. The pub’s fittings and fixtures were so old that no amount of scrubbing would remove the grime that had been ingrained in the wood over the decades. That and the next time she served one of the old drunks who frequented the place, it’d just get beer spilled on it again.
Glancing at her surroundings in distaste, Fiona stifled a derisive snort when she caught sight of the swinging pub sign through the window. It had never really registered before, but The Royal Oak? There was nothing remotely royal about the pub in London’s East End where she worked. If an actual royal—even a minor one—so much as stepped foot across the threshold, they’d run screaming in the other direction. A shame, really, as a chance to try to woo Prince Harry would not go amiss. She was sure those mischievous eyes and smile hid a multitude of sexy sins. His grandmother would not approve. And besides, he was spoken for now.
Abandoning her cloth with a sigh, she reached for a newspaper one of the patrons had left behind. There was hardly anyone in, as usual, so no glasses to collect, tables to wipe, or bowls of nuts to refill. A flick through the paper was her only source of entertainment. Or at least the only thing to stop her going completely out of her mind with boredom.
It wasn’t quite where she’d seen herself when she’d decided to take a chance and move to London after graduating from university. But while she figured out her next career move—or any career move—this would have to do. It served a purpose—paying her a paltry wage, just enough to cover the rent and bills on her scummy flat, and food. There really wasn’t much left after that, so her social life mainly consisted of vegging in front of the TV with her flatmates.
They’d club together their miniscule amount of disposable income to buy some cheap, supermarket own-brand lager and swap stories, either about their pasts or about how their current situation was just temporary—just a stepping stone on their way to success, to high-flying, ridiculously well-paid jobs in the banking world, the publishing industry, in PR, advertising, acting, production, tourism… The list went on.
Fiona was absolutely determined to get a foot on the career ladder. She’d rather scurry back home to her parents in Birmingham with her tail between her legs than stay in this dump for much longer. The only trouble was, the others at least knew what they were aiming for, which particular ladder they were trying to grab hold of. She’d graduated with a first class honours in creative writing and didn’t have a clue what to do with the damn degree now she had it.
Nobody got approached just for having a degree in creative writing, then were given a ton of money and told to sit down and write a book. It simply didn’t work like that—more was the pity. Even the world’s most famous and successful writers had had to start somewhere. And she wasn’t sure fiction writing was the way to go, anyway.
A cough, accompanied by a whiff of stale smoke and booze, alerted her to the presence of a customer.
Fixing a smile on her face, she turned to him and said politely, “What can I get you?”
A white-haired, grizzled old guy with yellowing teeth—the teeth he still had, anyway—squinted at her. “Pint, if you’re not too busy reading the bleeding newspaper.”
Holding the smile so firmly in place it hurt her now-gritted teeth, she took the proffered glass and filled it. After placing it back on the bar, she picked up the money that had been left. The exact right amount. This guy bought enough pints to know. She murmured her thanks as she deposited the money in the till, but she needn’t have bothered. The grumpy old sod was already halfway back to his table, precious beer in hand.
She rolled her eyes. Then, after double checking there was nothing that needed doing, shifted her attention back to the newspaper, figuring it was better than wondering about a career she couldn’t even imagine.
As it happened, the paper wasn’t all that engaging. It was several days out of date, so she knew about all the big news pieces already, and the weather and TV listings were now obsolete. But her interest was piqued when she reached the jobs section. She’d never looked in this particular publication for jobs before, thinking the online searches she did on various websites were more targeted, more relevant. But then, how could you target a role you didn’t even know you wanted?
Skimming through the ads, she immediately dismissed many of them. She had no wish—or the qualifications—to drive an HGV, look after sick or old people, cold call, sell advertising, work in retail or become a model. But amongst all that was something interesting. Something that maybe, just maybe, she could do.
She wasn’t entirely sure what being a PR assistant entailed, but it sounded like a very posh job title, and she could sure as hell tick the box of the phrase in the ad that had caught her eye in the first place. We’re looking for someone with creative writing skills.
As she read through the information again, excitement bubbled in her stomach. The role was at a top London hotel—in Mayfair, no less—offered live-in accommodation, a generous starting salary, access to all the hotel’s amenities and, best of all, career progression. It was clear they wouldn’t employ just anybody and, if Fiona was honest with herself, they were probably looking for someone with more experience than her—which wasn’t difficult—but she had to give it a go. She had nothing to lose. If she didn’t get it, then she’d have gained some valuable interview experience—if she even got that far, that was—and if she did, well, then she’d have well and truly grabbed the bottom rung of the career ladder she’d been striving for.
It was only on her third read-through, when she was mentally picking out key words and phrases she could use to help tailor her CV to the role and to write a spectacular covering letter, that she noticed the closing date for applications.
For fuck’s sake! How typical was that? The only job advert she’d seen since arriving in the capital that had got her genuinely fired up, and she’d missed the bloody date by one day. One. Single. Day.



Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.


Friday, January 24, 2020

Out now – Earthbound by Melora Johnson (@MeloraJohnson) #paranormalromance #urbanfantasy #TirgearrPublishing



Do you love action, romance, and fantasy all rolled into one? Love strong heroines? Then check out Earthbound!
Earthbound is a paranormal romance filled with angels and demons struggling to find their way here on Earth.

Blurb:
Her healing touch could start a fire.
Ally Reynolds is a veterinarian specializing in raptor rehabilitation in New Hampshire. Other than one horrific incident in her childhood and a little extra “spark” for healing in her hands, both of which she has kept secret from even her best friend, her life has been singularly boring. It has also been extremely lonely. Ally longs for someone to share her life with, but how can she trust anyone with her secret?
Matthew Blake, an ornithologist at Cornell University, calls Ally, asking for her help with an injured raptor. Matthew grew up in New Zealand and has lived around the world. He has read about Ally’s high success rates in raptor rehabilitation and suspects there is more to it than is generally known.
Matthew has some secrets of his own; he is a demon hunter. He suspects Ally’s healing powers could benefit him. He wants her to join him and thinks they’d make a great team.
Can Ally trust him or is he just using her? Matthew definitely has more secrets, and some of them are about Ally.



Excerpt:
“Doctor Reynolds,” a male voice called out from across the room, pulling me back to the present. It sounded somewhat familiar.
I looked up, shielding my eyes from the afternoon sun shining in the front window as a male figure strode toward me, blond hair haloed by the light. He stopped in front of me.
Startled, I rose to my feet and looked into a chiseled face, his eyes the indeterminate blue green of sea glass like I’d collected along the shoreline once as a teenager. His dark golden blond hair was short and spiky, his lopsided grin pure perfection. He was gorgeous.
In my experience, gorgeous men were not to be trusted. Well, no men really were. Oh, all right, no one was, period.
“Doctor Allyson Reynolds? I’m Doctor Matthew Scott Blake. I’m honored to have you join us. I’ve read your articles in the Raptor Rehab Newsletter.”
He held out a hand, but when I put out mine to shake it, he simply captured mine in his and placed his other hand over it. His eyes flashed green with golden flecks in the sunlight.
“I’m glad to be here,” I said, not at all sure I was anymore, as my pulse sped up. “Please, call me Ally.”
“All right, Ally it is.”
I want to climb him like a tree. I swallowed, aghast at my own thoughts. I’d only known him a few minutes.
His hands were so warm. My mother’s voice played in my head, Gorgeous men are dangerous, arrogant, and being involved with them will lead to no good. I frowned.
“It’s so good to see you…” he said. At my expression, he faltered and cleared his throat. The wattage of his smile dimmed significantly. “I mean, to meet you. I’ve been following your work since I arrived in the States, in the newsletter.”
He turned, drawing my hand through his arm. “Please, let me show you around the facilities here.”
“Uh, thank you,” I murmured, wondering how to tactfully withdraw my arm. My attraction to him was overwhelming. At the same time, his overly familiar attitude seemed a little odd.
A tall woman, her long, brown hair in a ponytail, appeared at the doorway through which Matt had arrived. She positively glowered at my arm through Matthew’s. She wore work boots, khaki shorts, and a sand colored polo shirt with the university logo, so I assumed she worked there as well. She approached us and stopped several feet away, then turned a bright smile on Matthew. “Hi, Matt. What brings you down from the Ornithology Lab?”
“This is Doctor Allyson Reynolds, the veterinarian and raptor rehabilitation specialist I suggested to Rick we bring in to help with the injured eagle from Sapsucker Woods.”
Shelly took one more look at my arm entwined with Matthew’s then smiled again at him. “Would you like me to show her around?”
He paused a moment before replying. “That’s okay, Shelly. I can handle it, I know my way. No need to take time out of your busy schedule. I’ll just show Doctor Reynolds around, then bring her to meet Rick. He’s the one overseeing the care of the eagle. Oh…” He turned to me. “This is Doctor Shelly Madison, she’s a clinical associate professor in zoo medicine.”
I saw my chance and pulled my arm out of his, ostensibly to shake Shelly’s hand. I murmured hello. She responded stiffly. Her behavior made more sense to me than his. Why treat me like an honored guest? I was just a vet who specialized in raptor rehab. I had been so anxious to get out of town I’d jumped at the chance, but now there was one question paramount in my mind—why had he called me? They were the experts here.
“Now, let’s show you around the animal hospital here.” His hands clenched, his bicep bulging under his short sleeve as he tugged the inner door to the offices open for me.
I fought the urge to retreat a step. Here stood a warrior from medieval legend. It would have been more appropriate for him to be dressed in leather armor than a button-down, short-sleeved khaki shirt, but he grabbed my hand and drew me around Shelly. “We’ll start in the library.”
As we walked, I had a stern conversation with my subconscious. Go to Ithaca, you said. You’ll get away from anyone Jen wants to set you up with, you said.
Matthew squeezed my hand. I looked up to see him beaming at me. My stomach lurched. I was out of the nest and free falling.

Author Bio:
Melora Johnson is a poet and novelist living in Upstate New York with her husband, daughter, a black cat, and quite a few chickens. Her most recent published work includes A Sanctuary Built of Words: Poems of Peace, Grief, and Passion, and publication in The Sexuality Poems from Foothills Publishing. She also runs a large and thriving writer's group for adults. Of course, into every life a little rain must fall as well as the occasional tornado, but you'll find that amply covered in her writing. Find out more about Melora and her writing on her website www.melorajohnson.com  and Facebook https://www.facebook.com/MeloraJohnson.Writer or follow her on Instagram or Twitter @MeloraJohnson

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.



Wednesday, January 22, 2020

New Release! Lust in Dalat: Asian Adventures Book 6 from @LisabetSarai #erotica

New Release!  Lust in Dalat:  Asian Adventures Book 6 by Lisabet Sarai 

Contemporary FFT transgender erotica (X rated)
4,200 words
Smashwords and Amazon KDP
ISBN: (Smashwords) 9780463996539
ASIN:  B083JB1K6J

HFN ending



Lust can be a revelation.


The woman in the window seat to my right had more flesh than I’d usually find attractive, and most of it was on display. But she wasn’t trying to tease. Every detail—the silver hoops in her earlobes, the teakwood clasp in her hair, the anklet decorating her high-arched foot—broadcast confidence and a healthy disdain for anyone else’s opinion. A woman alone, on a public conveyance, in a foreign country, Helen nevertheless looked thoroughly at home.

And me? Traveling outside of the U.S. for the first time in my life, I was nervous, inexperienced, awkward and excited. Especially excited. With Helen in the next seat, who wouldn’t be?


Buy Links










Read a story Excerpt

She was practically naked.

I tried not to stare as I clambered barefoot onto the bus that would take us from the steamy, crowded  streets of Saigon to the Dalat highlands. My sandals stuffed into a plastic bag provided by the management, I peered at my ticket and tried to locate the corresponding seat. Well, “seat” wasn’t exactly the appropriate word. Three double-tiered racks of padded, bed-like recliners ran from the front to the back, one on each side of the bus and one down the middle, with narrow aisles between them. This was a “sleeping bus”, designed for the twelve to twenty hour overnight trips common in Vietnam.

“A or B?”

“What?” She was obviously talking to me. I had to look at her.

The woman in the window seat to my right had more flesh than I’d usually find attractive, and most of it was on display. Her light, floral-patterned sundress had spaghetti straps, one of which had slipped down over her smooth shoulder. Her massive breasts shifted underneath, every time she moved. The short hem rode up to expose her big but surprisingly firm thighs. She was fair-haired with a peaches-and-cream complexion—her accent suggested she was a Brit. The dress was thin enough, though, that I could make out darker patches surrounding her nipples.

“Your seat number.” She gestured at the ticket dangling from my fingers. Her lush tits swayed. “A is down here; B is on the upper level.”

“Oh—um—A. 12 A.” Geez. Working on my PhD and I couldn’t manage a coherent sentence.

“That’s right here, next to me.” She flashed me an easy smile, pointing to the middle row. “A pity, you won’t have as good a view. Of course, if you have any tendency toward motion sickness, the middle is better.”

The other strap flopped down her arm. Idly, she pushed it back into place. “I’m Helen,” she said, sitting up a bit, so that her breasts bounced. She offered her hand—short fingernails, clear lacquer, a silver ring on the thumb.

Her skin was as soft as it looked. “Geri,” I replied, struggling to ignore the accelerating pulse between my legs.


About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai has been addicted to words all her life. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.  Sign up for her VIP email list here:  https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh



Saturday, January 11, 2020

Out Now—RANDOM ACTS OF NEW YEAR by Julia Kent (@jkentauthor) #romance #romanticcomedy #romcom

Release date: December 31, 2019
Genre: Romantic Comedy

Book Blurb:

The ball and the book both drop on New Year’s Eve!

New Year’s Eve. Times Square. I booked the room over a year ago, with the view of the ball dropping. I’ll propose to Charlotte and drop to my knee at the stroke of midnight.

At least, that’s the plan.

But nothing in my life ever goes as planned. Between a last-minute gig that takes me away from her, a blast-from-the-past boyfriend of Charlotte’s, and the resurrection of Esme the blow-up doll, I have to fight for my right —

To make her my wife.

Charlotte. Not Esme. Because that's just gross, man. What's wrong with you?

Liam is finally ready to pop the question to Charlotte after years together, but a last-minute gig and a heaping dose of fate in the form of Darla makes the road to marriage a little bumpier than expected.

Welcome to the Random series, where people propose to chickens, snakes fall in love with blow-up dolls, cell phones become medical devices, and love conquers all, in tune and with three-part harmony. 


Links: 











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:

Newsletter:  http://bit.ly/2PIBi9n

Read a teaser
A diamond ring weighs more than you’d think.

Especially when it’s resting inside a velvet box in your front pocket.

My fingers slipped into the top of my jeans, sliding over the denim seam, slipping through the white cotton pocket, and stroking the velvet. Was I obsessive? Yes.

Did I have a right to be? Hell, yes.

Charlotte came back into my life four years ago. We’ve been through hell and back, and she’s still here.

Time to make her permanently here.

Did I need a ring to make that happen? A wedding vow and a piece of paper that says we’re partners? No.

Did I want it?


What the hell do you think?

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.