Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Beautiful Dark Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway!

Beautiful Dark
J.L. White
(Beautiful Rivers, #3)
Publication date: March 21st 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Who is Mason Reeves?
Corrine Rivers and her cousins desperately need to find out. Evidence suggests he’s the illegitimate child of her beloved Uncle Grant. The truth is just as hard to bear.
What’s also hard is Mason himself. All over. From his broad, muscular chest and massive biceps to his “screw you” attitude. Because Mason Reeves wants nothing to do with his inheritance or the wealthy Rivers clan, and isn’t afraid to say so.
As Mason’s tragic connections to Corrine’s family emerge, the facts are reason enough for her to stay away. But she can’t seem to resist him, and what’s worse, he feels the same way about her. To everyone’s surprise, Corrine and Mason get in deep, in more ways than one. But it turns out the biggest obstacle to their happiness isn’t Mason’s past.
It’s hers.


Standing behind me, he says, “Corrine…” with that damned heated desire for me practically dripping from his voice. I ignore him.
I tug the ribbon at the back of my head, removing the mask and slapping it on the table.
I’m only just standing here, but I’m breathing hard and shallow. His breaths are coming hard too, but still he doesn’t move. He crossed half the country to get to me, but he won’t close the final one-foot gap.
I want to say that I wish he’d never come, but it’d be a big, fat lie. Even though it would’ve been so much easier, even though I’m hurt and angry about the situation we’re in now—which I know isn’t even his fault—my heart still clings to every second I’ve had with him, wishing so hard for more.
I hear his mask drop on the table next to me.
“Why did you even bother coming?” I spin to face him. And there he is. All him. No mask. No hiding. Only Mason. Just looking at him consumes me.
He doesn’t answer. His eyes grip me and his breath comes out in hard, little puffs. The intensity of his stare halts my own breath. God, he looks like he’s going to attack.
Then he does. He rushes me, cupping my face and backing me against the wall. I let out a gasp.
“I know this is a bad fucking idea,” he says heatedly, “but I’m so tired of fighting it. The whole flight over, I kept asking myself what the fuck I’m doing, but I have no idea. I only know I can’t take this any longer.”
Having this much testosterone aimed in my direction is making my ovaries pop. He’s so fucking male. I’m pinned, the wall behind me and nothing but Mason in front. He dominates everything I see. All I know is his hard body against mine, his hot breath on my lips, his gaze seizing me. I can’t look away. I can hardly breathe.
“I can’t resist you. I have to have you.” His eyes lock on my mouth. “I have to taste you.”
Stripped of the ability to speak, I can only part my lips in invitation. Begging him to give in at last.

Author Bio:
J.L. White writes sassy, steamy contemporary and new adult romances featuring smart heroines and the swoon-worthy men who adore them. If you’re tired of heroes who are jerks, heroines who are too stupid to live, and relationships that scream “train wreck” instead of “true love”, she’s your girl.
Her first series, the Firework Girls, centers around four amazing, hilarious girlfriends. Her newest series, Beautiful Rivers, follows the young heirs of the luxurious Rivers Paradise Resort as they find love.
Each book can be read as a STANDALONE, comes complete with a HEA, and is guaranteed to make you squirm. 


Tuesday, March 21, 2017

The Storm Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway!

The Storm
R.J. Prescott
(The Hurricane #3)
Publication date: March 21st 2017
Genres: New Adult, Romance, Sports

Marie Kelly is a survivor who doesn’t know when to quit. Against all odds, she’s living a life she never dreamed she could have. It was enough… until a stubborn boxer makes her want more.

Irish charmer Kieran Doherty has been a fighter at Driscoll’s Gym for most of his life. He’s been content to let his best friend take the spotlight, now it’s his turn to make a name for himself in the world of heavy weight champions. Falling in love is the one thing he vowed never to do, but meeting Marie changed everything.

It’s easy to imagine a happy-ever-after when the sun is shining. But when the storm comes, and all hope seems lost, they both learn that if you want something badly enough, you have to be willing to fight for it.


When I finally plucked up a bit of courage, I peeped out of the curtains to see Kieran throwing stones at the window.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,” he mock shouted, when he caught my eye. I opened the window to whisper loudly back at him.
“Are you high?” I asked. “Why didn’t you just ring the doorbell or call me?”
“I thought this would be more romantic,” he said.
“If I ignore the fact that my nipples probably have frostbite, I am feeling romanced,” I replied. He looked pained. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“You said ‘nipples’ and now I can’t think of anything else,” he replied, making me smile.
“Now I’m down here, what’s the chances of seeing an accidental nip slip?” he asked.
“Depends,” I replied.
“On what?” he asked.
“What’s in the bag?” I said.
“Hot chocolate and warm doughnuts,” he said, holding up the bag as if to barter.
“Well, I would have said slim to none, but fresh doughnuts might have just tipped the odds in your favour,” I replied.
“Yesss!” he said, fist bumping the air in victory.
I closed the window and ran to buzz him in. He bounded up the stairwell, his heavy footsteps echoing loudly in the hallway. When he got to my door, he looked me up and down, taking in my short royal blue, silk pyjamas. Dropping the sack, he speared his hands into my hair and pulled me into a kiss that had me melting. Kier didn’t kiss with just his lips; he did it with his whole body. Without shoes on, I was tiny in comparison, but inside of the cage of his huge arms, I felt protected and safe. Despite his size, his lips were so gentle. He didn’t treat me like I was fragile, but like I was precious, as though every touch was one that he was experiencing for the first time and memorizing for later.
Feeling bold, I traced the seam of his mouth with my tongue, and when he parted his lips and touched his tongue against mine, I groaned. Every sensation was too much, and not enough. Breathless, he pulled away from me to nuzzle his face in the crook of my neck. I reached up and gently stroked the short hair at the back of his neck, making him sigh.

Author Bio:
USA Today bestselling author R.J. Prescott was born in Cardiff, South Wales, and studied law at the University of Bristol, England. Four weeks before graduation she fell in love, and stayed. Ten years later, she convinced her crazy, wonderful firefighter husband to move back to Cardiff where they now live with their two equally crazy sons. Her debut novel The Hurricane was an international bestseller and finalist in the Goodreads Awards in the category of debut author. 


Monday, March 20, 2017

Rough Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway!

Sybil Bartel
(Thrust, #2)
Publication date: March 20th 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not the guy next door. I don’t even play nice.
My hands twisting in your hair, my whispered demand in your ear—I’m the fantasy you’ll wish you never had.
When I’m through with you, every inch of your body will know where I’ve been. You won’t crave more, you’ll beg for it. Because I’m not just the cocky smile with military hardened muscles you paid five grand for—I’m the experience you’ll never forget.
One night with me and you’ll know exactly why women pay me to be rough.


Desire hit me in the chest like a blast wave, then shot south. “You shouldn’t be here.” She didn’t look like she’d sounded on the phone.
“I’m sorry.” Breathy, her voice wavered. “I thought you said—”
“I know what I said.” I’d replayed every second of our conversation earlier. I’d fixated on it because this woman wasn’t like any other client I’d ever spoken to. She didn’t flirt or make one suggestive remark. She was exactly how she was now. But a hundred times more innocent.
She drew in a breath through her sexy full lips, then straightened. “Okay, well, you said we should meet. We did. Thank you for your time.” Slim fingers reached behind her and she fumbled with the handle of the front door.
I stared at her sweet mouth. “You know what I think?”
“I’m sure you have many thoughts, Mr. Brandt.”
My name on her lips sounded too damn polite. “Only two right now that matter.” I stepped closer, wondering why the hell I’d told her my last name.
She pulled the handle, the door opened a few inches and she stumbled.
“Careful.” I caught her arm and her hand landed on my stomach.
She sucked in a surprised breath. “I’m so sorry.” She bit her bottom lip and pressed her legs together as she stared at her hand. “It was, um, the door.” She flexed her fingers over my abs.
I leaned closer. “Do you know what separates fear from desire?”
Her chest rapidly rose and fell, but she didn’t take her hand off me. “I believe those are two terms that should be mutually exclusive.”
Hard and fast, I slapped my palm loudly against the door, slamming it shut. Perversely getting off on her startled reaction, I bit out two words, “That’s fear.” Calculated, slow, I dragged a finger a few inches up her bare thigh, then I cupped her face. She shivered and I dropped my voice. “But this?” I stroked her bottom lip as I stared at the thousand shades of fuck-my-life-up green in her eyes. “Biting your lip, pressing your thighs together—that’s desire.”
Her hand fisted, gripping a handful of my shirt, but she didn’t say a word.
Still holding on to her, wishing like hell I wasn’t about to let her go, I calmly shifted her to the side. Opening the door, I removed all threat from my tone. “Fear is triggered. Desire is provoked. Leave.” I told myself not to say the next line. “Or stay and get what you came for.”

Author Bio:
Sybil Bartel grew up in Northern California with her head in a book and her feet in the sand. She dreamt of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew her into the world of storytelling. She loves the New Adult genre, but any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful makes her swoon.
Sybil now resides in Southern Florida and while she doesn’t get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she isn’t writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her handsomely tattooed husband, her brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer…
But Seriously?
Here are ten things you probably really want to know about Sybil.
She grew up a faculty brat. She can swear like a sailor. She loves men in uniform. She hates being told what to do. She can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks her out. Her favorite word is desperate…or dirty, or both—she can’t decide. She has a thing for muscle cars. But never reply on her for driving directions, ever. And she has a new book boyfriend every week—don’t tell her husband.
To find out more about Sybil Bartel, be sure to follow her on Twitter (she loves to hear about your favorite book boyfriend!), visit her website, like her on Facebook or join her Facebook group Book Boyfriend Heroes for exclusive excerpts and giveaways.


Friday, March 17, 2017

Outlaw Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway!

Outlaw: Part 1
(The Harrison Street Crew Series, Bk #2)
By Katana Collins

Worse than bad. Hotter than hot. These are the bad boys of the Harrison Street Crew, and they answer to no one. They take what they want. And what they want is you.

Volume One of a three-part volume by Katana Collins.

Patrick Flanagan lives outside the law. The cops don’t like him. The law doesn’t trust him. He may come at you with a charm and a handsome smile, but make no mistake—he’s as reckless and bad as they come. But when a total bombshell with stilettos and a power suit comes blazing into his life, this bad boy is about to be so, so good…

Release Date:  
Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Available for purchase at 

Kindle  Nook iBooks   Kobo

Outlaw: Part 2
(The Harrison Street Crew Series, Bk #2)
By Katana Collins

Worse than bad. Hotter than hot. These are the bad boys of the Harrison Street Crew, and they answer to no one. They take what they want. And what they want is you.

Volume Two of a three-part volume by Katana Collins.

Ambitious lawyer Michelle Chiccarini vowed like hell she is going to do her best to prosecute as many criminals as she could. Even if that means trying to put away Patrick Flanagan, a man who can make her pulse quicken and fill her head with dirty, wicked thoughts just by looking at him. She’s got to put him behind bars. But how can she do that, when she can’t even resist his touch?

Release Date:  
Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Available for purchase at 

Kindle  Nook iBooks  Kobo

Outlaw: Part 3
(The Harrison Street Crew Series, Bk #2)
By Katana Collins

Worse than bad. Hotter than hot. These are the bad boys of the Harrison Street Crew, and they answer to no one. They take what they want. And what they want is you.

Volume Three of a three-part volume by Katana Collins.

Patrick Flanagan won’t go to jail. Not when he’s got a woman as gorgeous as Michelle aching for his every touch and pushing his lust for her past the boiling point. Even though she’s a lawyer tasked with putting him in prison, he can’t stay away from her. Michelle is falling fast and hard for Patrick, but is he guilty? Or is he innocent? She wants to trust her bad boy from the streets, but is he telling the truth?

Release Date:  
Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Available for purchase at 

Kindle  Nook iBooks   Kobo


                Tears streaked down Michelle Chiccarini's face as she rushed through the emergency room's automatic glass doors. A gush of warm air blasted out of the ventilation system and even though it was April, there was still a biting chill to the weather outside. The warmth slammed into her wind-burned cheeks, warming her immediately.
                She shouldn't have let her best friend go to that street race alone. She had felt it deep in her gut when Charlie left that evening for the race with Harrison Street Club—Southie's infamous car club—that something bad was going to happen. In that same instinctual way that Michelle knew she was going to lose a case or receive bad news. Bad things always happen when you break the rules. She'd felt it in the pit of her stomach as Charlie had pulled away in her latest prize, an AMC Hornet, with her bright red hair blowing in the cool April breeze.
                And now, look. Michelle hadn't even been there to help when the accident happened. She hadn't been there to call the ambulance or ride with Charlie or hold her hand or—
                Michelle squeezed her eyes closed, tears pressing against the tight line of her lashes.
                “Ma'am? Can I help you?”
                A quiet older woman behind the front counter looked at her with concerned eyes.
                Michelle inhaled a shaky breath. “There was a car accident victim brought in not too long ago. Charlie Wakeman.”
                “Let me see,” the woman said, tapping into her computer. “Charlie Wakeman. Do you know what time he arrived—”
                “She,” Michelle corrected her. “Charlize Wakeman.”
                “Ah,” the woman nodded, “Yes. She was brought in about an hour ago and she's still in surgery. Are you family?”
                Yes, Michelle wanted to scream. Other than Charlie's parents, she was the closest thing to family Charlie had. Michelle sniffed, feeling the muscles in her throat clamp down on the emotion as if that could stifle what she was feeling. “She's my best friend,” she managed to say through a raspy whisper. “Since we were five.”
                The woman gave her an apologetic look. “I'm afraid it's family only beyond those doors unless a family member brings you back themselves. You're welcome to wait in the room to your left.”
                “Any idea how long it will be?”
                She shook her head. “These things can take a while. And even after surgery, she likely won't be allowed visitors until the morning.”
                As she said that, Michelle's brother Remy came out from the back room of the ER. For most people, seeing their brother at such an emotional time would have been comforting. But the Chiccarini's weren't most people. And Michelle had only just found out hours earlier that Remy had been abusing Charlie when they dated—both physically and emotionally. The sight of him caused every muscle in her legs to cramp. Her shoulders knotted, tightening and pulling toward her ears. The palms of her hands grew clammy and damp as she clenched them into fists. What in the hell is he doing here?
                Arm stiff, she pointed at Remy. “He's not family. What was he doing back there?”
                The woman blinked, taken off guard and glanced over her shoulder. “He arrived with your friend; he was there on the scene along with one other gentleman who's waiting back there with her family.”
                If the Wakeman's had seen Michelle, they would have let her back there as well. They didn't know what Michelle knew—what Charlie had just told her hours earlier about Remy hitting her; shoving her. Breaking her wrist. Michelle's throat suddenly dried, just at the thought. 
                Totally unaware, Remy came up to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. It was as though all the anger and frustration of the day had been in a pot simmering with the heat slowly being turned up until she was spewing emotion out over top. It was too much. He was too much. She had never before felt such hatred for someone she loved. Was that even possible? To hate someone and love them? To want to hold them and protect them while also wanting to condemn them for their actions?
                With all her strength, she shoved Remy away from her. Taken completely off guard, he stumbled backward, his back slamming into a magazine shelf.
                “What the hell, Michelle?”
                “What did you do?” she asked and when he came toward her, eyes lowered in question, she shoved him again. Harder. Only this time, he was ready for it and her brother was able to balance himself despite the muscle she put into it.
                “It's terrible,” Remy said, trying to grasp Michelle's shoulders and pull her into a hug. “She has a collapsed lung and her leg was mangled in the wreck. But Shell, we've got to stick together—”
                A bitter laugh cackled from the back of Michelle's throat. “Don't act like you care about her.” She pointed in her brother's face. “Don't you dare act like you give a shit what happens to her. Not after  what you did.”
                Guilt lit Remy's brown eyes. The same guilt Michelle had seen in his face when she had caught him sneaking into the house hours after curfew in high school. It vanished faster this time than it ever did when they were teenagers. He'd managed to refine his innocent face.
                “Michelle,” he said quietly. “I have no idea what you're talking about—”
                She lunged at him again, this time, whipping her fist around toward his face. Before her hand connected to his cheek, she felt two strong arms around her waist and then she was in the air, legs kicking, arms flailing.
                “Let me go!” she screamed. “Put me down, let me hit him. I've got to hit him.” She had to hit something. There was too much pent up energy, anger, sadness—she was a volcano of emotion, ready to explode and take out anyone around her
                Then, she was outside. The dark, cool air once again enveloping her, a vast difference to the heated, muscled arms clasped around her torso.
                Her feet touched the pavement and still she thrashed in those arms. She wanted to hurt someone. Cause the same pain she felt on the inside.
                “If I let you go, do you promise to behave?”
                Patrick. The vice president of the Harrison Street Crew, Southie's notorious car club. Club, ha. That was a laugh. They were a gang, known for their chop shop and illegal street racing. She knew it, Remy knew it... hell, all of Boston knew it. And up until the other night, she'd only known Patrick Flanagan from his photograph in her file—Operation Green Light as she and her colleagues had come to know the case. The DA's office had been working on Operation Green Light for a few months, building information about the various car gangs in Boston, including HSC. Up until last night, Patrick Flanagan had only been a personality-less face she had to take down. A thug who deserved to be behind bars. The sort of case she was happy to stand beside her brother and help with while he ran for city council. Until now. Now, her world was flipped upside down.
                But since last night when she met Patrick Flanagan? She couldn't quite describe the shift. It was small, but notable. Patrick wasn't a big, bad, scary car guy dude. He was relatable. Friendly. Funny, even. Sexy. Everything that she once was back when she was in high school—the fun girl who broke the rules and let loose now and then.
                And now his arms were wrapped tightly around her and hell if she wanted him to let go.
                Michelle managed to turn in his arms, facing him. Facing those bright blue eyes and dark corkscrew curls that flopped across his tanned forehead. How the hell did he manage to be so tan in Boston in April?
                “Let me go,” she demanded, shoving against his broad chest.
                He didn't budge. “Not until you prove to me that you've calmed down.”
                “I'm fine, let me go!” Squeezing her fists, she beat them into his chest more. Yeah, probably not doing much for her case. But she couldn't help it, she had to hit something. And hitting Patrick was better than fucking Patrick which was what she really wanted to do.
                A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and slid its way down the bridge of her nose.
                “Babe,” he said quietly. With his head tilted, the tiniest smile curved along his mouth. “I've got a club brother with his old lady in the hospital and a sexy woman in my arms. I'm not letting go until I'm sure it's what you truly want.” He leaned down, his full lips too painfully close to her ear. “But if you don't stop screaming and punching me, the hospital's going to call the cops. And I've got a feeling that'll be bad for both of us.”
                Would they do that? She looked around Patrick's massive shoulders in through the floor to ceiling windows where the entire waiting room of the hospital was staring out at them. The sweet older woman at reception stood with a phone clenched in her hand.
                Gradually his hands slid down her torso, fingers spreading out until she could feel each painfully sharp breath against his palm. What was it about a man holding you in his strong arms? What was it about those firm arms that made her feel so safe? Like everything was going to be okay?
                “Breathe, babe.”
                Whatever the reason, when he whispered in her ear and held her tight against him, her muscles relaxed. Her breath grew deeper and longer. And for a half second, she trusted this man to take care of her. Trusted him to keep her safe—even if that meant keeping her safe from herself.
                And that was the irony.
                She forgot in that split second that she should never trust Patrick.
                “Shit,” Michelle whispered, wiping at the tear even though it had long finished its descent down her face.
                “Come on,” Patrick said, still holding her, but ushering her away from the windows around the other side of the building where some 70s looking muscle car was parked.
                Why was she following him? A virtual stranger; the vice president of the very club she was in charge of taking down. But he's not a stranger, she reminded herself. Charlie knows him. Call it gut instinct, but she knew Patrick wouldn't hurt her. Not tonight. Not with her best friend and his club brother's girlfriend in the hospital. Maybe not ever.
                Unlocking the door, he ushered her inside to the passenger's seat of his car, then fell into the driver's side himself.
                “I'm not leaving this hospital,” Michelle said, giving him a wary look.
                Patrick sighed, but nodded. “I'm not expecting you to. Just wanted to get out of the cold before those tears of yours turned into icicles.”
                “Tear,” she corrected him. “Singular.”
                “You sure about that?”
                Reaching over, he brushed his finger across her cheek where it was stained with dampness. Shit... had she been crying more? She brushed her own hand, wiping the wetness gathered at her jawline.
                She sniffed against her full sinuses and the burning sensation behind her nose.
                “Last I heard, they thought she was going to be okay,” Patrick said quietly, turning the heat in the car on.
                Michelle didn't say anything. Just sat in his car, thinking of how she attacked—flat out attacked her own brother. She probably looked like a crazy person in there.
                Most people would feel embarrassed or scared or—or anything. But inside? She felt numb to anything other than Charlie's health and well-being. And she wouldn't believe her best friend was okay until she saw Charlie with her own eyes.
                She stole a glance to her left and found Patrick staring at her carefully. “I hate hospitals, myself. Something about the smell,” Patrick said. “Like rubbing alcohol and that weird smell of wood—like tongue depressors. You know what I mean? I didn't even know tongue depressors could have a smell.” He shrugged and sucked at his teeth, his eyes still fastened onto her. He paused and Michelle said nothing. What was there to say? Of course he hated hospitals. Didn't everyone? When she didn't answer him, he kept on talking. “She's in good hands though. I don't personally know the surgeon working on her, but this is the best hospital in Southie.”
                Patrick chuckled to himself and ran a hand along the steering wheel. “This one time when my brother and I were kids, we stole fistfuls of my dad's tongue depressors and a carton of orange juice to make our own popsicles. Sold them on the weekends down at the docks to the workers.” Patrick chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “Man was my dad pissed. Apparently those things are expensive whereas we could have gotten a bag of popsicle sticks for cheap from the craft store or some shit like that.” His eyes crinkled with the smile. It was a beautiful smile. A beautiful, distracting smile.
                That's just what she needed.
                “Why are you being so nice to me?” she blurted out. “Less than 24-hours ago, I was threatening you with prison time.”
                Patrick shrugged, turning to look her dead on. “In a hospital, it doesn't matter that you're a prosecuting attorney and I'm a big bad car club guy. In there, we're all just people afraid to lose someone we love.”
                “Yeah, but—”
                “And you looked like you were about a second away from totally losing it on your brother.”
                “I was, but—”
                “And as much as I'd love to see that little weasel of a politician's face bashed in, it didn't feel right to let you go down for that.” That smirk was back. An easy smile that he managed to wear no matter what the circumstance. “Make you a deal,” he said. “You let me be the one who bashes faces in.”
                She shook her head, looking out the front windshield. “I wouldn't have gone to jail for that. Remy wouldn't have pressed charges. Not against me.”
                “Damn. Guess I should have let you go to town on his ass, then.”
                Michelle felt the smirk tilt the corner of her mouth, Patrick's smile already lighting his face. “Guess so.”
                “You wanna tell me what that was about? I mean, like I said, I hate that Remy bastard. Anything that results in getting his ass kicked is a good day in my book. Just surprised to see you as the one doing the kicking.”
                She couldn't talk about it—about the scars Charlie showed her. The video feed of him shoving her best friend. Not to Patrick. Not to anyone—yet. It wasn't her story to tell. She shook her head. “Shane can ask Charlie when she's feeling better.” If she ever feels better. Shit. There was another set of hot tears, dancing at the edges of her eyes.
                Patrick's eyes narrowed, his smile dropping as he studied Michelle's face. “There something I should know about?”
                “No,” she answered quickly.
                The same narrowed suspicion clouded his face, darkening it. “Maybe I should go back in there and see for myself.”
                “No,” Michelle darted a hand out, landing on Patrick's muscled thigh. It was tensed, bunched up into a tight ball of muscle above his knee. Wow, were those some muscles. Her throat went dry as she circled her thumb up the inside of his thigh, tracing the muscled line to the inside of his leg.
                Sexy as hell.
                A sharp breath hissed from beside her and an embarrassed flush heated her cheeks. What in the serious hell was she doing? This was a criminal for Christ's sake. It was bad enough she was seated inside his car, but to be caressing his leg? Pushing a heavy exhalation through her mouth, she gave herself a mental head shake.
                She moved to pull her hand back but before she could, his palm came down heavily on top of hers, holding her hand in place only inches away from his crotch.
                “Whatever this is,” he grunted, “I'm pretty sure we both want it.”
                With his free hand, he leaned over, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip intentionally smearing her red lipstick down her chin.
                Michelle swallowed hard. “Whatever this is,” she repeated, her voice a hoarse whisper, “I'm pretty sure we shouldn't act on it.”
                “Luckily, I've never been one to follow the rules.”
                But I am. Rules were her life. And when she followed them, things fit into a pretty little ribbon wrapped box.
                And when she didn't? The world was dark and blurry, an acidic taste of bile and vomit clinging to the back of her throat. Each breath was painful, sharp and like knives were being shoved into her throat. Michelle shuddered, pushing the memories of her destructive years from her mind.
                “God I hope that shudder was for me,” Patrick said, leaning over the center console until his lips were so close that she could feel the heat of his breath.
                She expected him to kiss her—only he didn't. He hovered, a breath away from her lips and his smile curved wider showing beautiful, white teeth.
                She blinked, breathing heavily, feeling how tight and needy the tips of her breasts were. Her eyes landed first on that smile, then drifted down to where she could see a thick erection pushing through his jeans. Then finally, she met his eyes. Crystal blue eyes that were bright against the dark night.
                She went to talk, but her throat was dry. “What—why didn't you...?” Why didn't he what? Kiss her? Grope her? Rip off her shirt? What the hell is the matter with me?
                His grin widened even more. “You aren't a rule breaker, huh?”
                At that challenge, her thoughts cleared. “I'm not,” she declared.
                As she moved to pull back from him, he curled his fingers around the back of her neck. “Let's see about that,” he whispered, pulling her mouth to his.
                God, that was good. Her belly jumped into her chest leaving a hollow cavity in her torso as he kissed her long and deep with his tongue sweeping into her mouth.
                Michelle broke the kiss, shoving her face into his neck. The only thing she could smell was him.  A crisp, woodsy scent. And all she could feel was his hard muscled arms around her, his firm chest pressed against her body. What was she doing? This wasn't her? But God she wanted it. Her hips pumped, almost a reflexed reaction to his mouth as he kissed his way down her neck. Gently, one of his hands fisted around her hair where he had buried his fingers during the kiss while the other worked up her skirt.
                His finger found the garters keeping her stockings up and he paused, muscles seizing, pausing and he hissed. “Fuck me,” he grunted, snapping the garter against the soft flesh of her thigh.
                Her stomach clenched and the dampness between her legs increased at the sharp bite of pain. She wanted more. His fingers edged up her leg until he dipped into her soft, wet folds. Her arms clenched around his shoulders as did her pussy, clamping his finger inside of her. God it was good. “So good,” she moaned in his ear and he chuckled into her neck.
                “Yeah, babe,” he said, pulling back and pulsing that finger in and out of her in steady, rhythmic movements. “You going to come for me like a good girl?”
                He pressed his lips to hers before she could answer. Then, two fingers were inside of her, curving against the spongey bundle of nerves deep inside of her and Michelle cried out, her moan breaking their kiss. She twisted, falling back in ecstasy against the chilly window.
                Her hand darted out, grasping his denim clad erection in her palm and she squeezed, enjoying the approving grunt she heard from him. There was a satisfying sound of a zipper and then his cock fell heavily into her palm.
                Shoving her skirt up to her waist, he pulled her over him until she was straddling him, her black lace thong pushed to the side. From the glove box, Patrick grabbed a condom and ripped it open with his teeth, sheathing his erection in latex.
                 Wordlessly, Michelle wrapped her hand around his dick, guiding him inside of her. Her body stretched around him and she threw her head back, relishing in the feel of him filling every inch of her. He knifed his hips up, thrusting harder into her and she moaned as his thumb found her swollen nub, circling it in wet strokes. Bullseye. Michelle jerked and dove her fingers into his hair, cupping the back of his head. He glanced up, those eyes riveted on hers and he smiled. A quirky little half grin that was cocky as fuck.
                She knew it was wrong. So wrong. Breaking every rule out there both ethically and legally. But it felt too damn good. And she needed to feel good right now.
                Each movement was more intense than the next and as he circled his hips and fluttered his touch over her clit—the man knew what he was doing. And he did it was ease. Like he could read her thoughts and body language, anticipate just what she wanted. Pierce her desires with a single glance of those ice blue eyes.
                With his free hand grasping her waist, he guided her up and down over his dick and her body slid over his as she rode him in slow, deep thrusts at first. Then, throwing caution to the wind, she abandoned her quiet, prim side. Ignored the quiet, studious lawyer who spent her college years locked up in her dorm studying and embraced the girl who tattooed tweety bird on her ass when she was seventeen with her fake ID.
                She moved faster and faster. Harder, rotating her hips in circles against his thumb. Patrick groaned, his head falling back against the seat until the whole car was shaking with her movement. But his eyes never left hers. And that smirk stayed right in place as he watched her every move.
                Who cared about rules? Who cared about Operation Green Light and the fact that she was supposed to be prosecuting this man in less than a year if all went to plan. Right then? All she wanted was an orgasm. The release. An explosion rippling around his cock and fingers and lips.
                Yep, rules be damned. Tonight? She wasn't an ADA. She was simply a woman escaping life with the company of a sexy man.
                 They finished and laid together in silence in Patrick's car. Her skirt, still up around her waist, her black lace thong pushed to the side, swollen and satiated. She lay over top of him, still sitting in his lap.
                Her phone rang from within her purse on the floor of the passenger side. Michelle stiffened as Patrick's hands circled her back in reassuring strokes.
                “If it was about Charlie, I would have gotten a call from Shane or Rig, too,” Patrick said.
                That eased her thoughts a little. But still not enough. What was she doing? Literally sleeping with the enemy.
                Leveraging her weight off of his hips, she leaned over grabbing her purse and adjusting her clothes back into place.
                With a glance at the phone in her hand, she saw she missed two calls from her boss, Duncan—the district attorney of Boston.
                Guilt slammed into her, cramping her gut and replacing whatever relaxed enjoyable post-orgasm bliss she had with anxiety. She held up her phone to Patrick. “I have to take this outside,” she said, pushing out of the car.
                With a tug, he pulled her back into the car. His blue eyes bright and assessing and tilted down at the corners. He looked almost... concerned. As quickly as the expression flashed on his face, it disappeared, replaced with that same light-hearted grin. “You're not leaving me, are you?”
                She shook her head. “I'll be right back. I just need to make a call.”
                They stayed there, locked in eye contact for another moment before he nodded. “Look,” he said, “Charlie's not going to be taking visitors until the morning. And I've got something to take care of.” He cupped the back of her head, pulling her into another kiss. She let him, though far more tentative than their first this time. “Meet me in an hour?” he whispered. As if Rig or Duncan or someone else could sense that they were planning to meet up.
                Michelle shook her head, pulling out of his arms. “That's not a good idea, Patrick.” What they'd just done was already a terrible idea.
                “What's the alternative? Sleep here in the waiting room? Or in your car? Or go all the way home to Newton? Then when she does wake up, it'll take you forty minutes to get back here. I'm only a few blocks away down at 136 Jay Street. You'll be close. You can get a good night's sleep.” His grin spread wider. “And I promise no funny business.” His thumb stroked at her jaw, trailing across her smeared lipstick. “Unless you want more funny business. But something tells me you need rest.”
                Her stupid heart jolted. Why was he being so nice to her? They'd only just met and he was taking care of her like she was... like she was family or something. Even her own mother wasn't this nurturing. God, it felt nice to have someone looking out for her. “Okay,” she spoke even though her throat was tighter than spandex.
                “Okay,” Patrick repeated. “The sexiest word a man will ever hear.”
                Michelle laughed. And wow, did it feel good to laugh.
                “No, seriously,” Patrick continued. “You should really tone down your enthusiasm. We can't have my ego inflating that much.”
                “Don't push your luck, Abercrombie,” Michelle said grinning. Once more, she stepped out of the car. Patrick gave her a wave and started his engine, pulling out of the hospital parking lot as she  redialed her boss. As the phone rang, a damp sweat collected on her scalp and she held her breath. Did Duncan know? No, that was ridiculous. How would Duncan even know that she had fucked one of the men she should be convicting?
                Of course he didn't know. Yet.
                Duncan answered on the second ring. “Michelle,” he said. “Your brother called me with the news about your friend. I wanted to make sure you were okay and see if you needed anything.”
                Of course, Michelle knew that her brother and Duncan knew each other. Attorneys in Boston were incestuous. They all knew each other, especially at Duncan's level.
                She cleared her throat, looking back at Patrick's car as she walked away. “Thanks. I'm... okay. Just waiting to hear any news. We probably won't know anything until tomorrow morning.”
                “If there's anything I can do—”
                “Thanks, Duncan. I'm okay, though.”
                There was another pause. “Well, I know my timing here is bad, but, well, hell... maybe some good news is just what you need tonight. I want to offer you the Chief ADA position. I've been looking over your work on Project Green Light … and this is really good work. I want you to take the lead on it. The promotion will mean that the car club cases are entirely in your hands.”
                She was getting a promotion? Here? Tonight? Guilt burrowed deeper and she closed her eyes ignoring the memories of what she'd just done. And that promotion essentially meant her career was now reliant on a case where she had just slept with one of the potential men she would be soon issuing an arrest warrant for. That was some heavy shit.“Me? Are you sure?”
                Duncan laughed. “Hell, not if you don't want it—”
                “No! No, I want it.” God did she want it. More than she wanted or needed a man or an orgasm.
                Her eyes fell to the tail lights of Patrick's Pantera as it turned right out of the parking lot and she swallowed.
                “Good,” he laughed again. “Spend time with your friend. I'll see you at the office Monday.”

                “I won't let you down.” She hung up, walking slowly to where her car was parked. And as she started her engine and pulled out of the parking lot, she didn't turn right toward Jay Street. Instead, she took a left and turned into the motel on the corner. Turned away from Patrick. Without explanation... for good.

The Harrison Street Crew Series 


EX-CON: Part 1

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EX-CON: Part 2

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EX-CON: Part 3

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About The Author

Katana Collins is lucky enough to love her day job almost as much as she loves writing. She splits her time evenly between photographing boudoir and newborn portraits and writing steamy romances in a variety of genres -- paranormal, contemporary, new adult and suspense.

She lives in Portland, Maine, with an ever-growing brood of rescue animals: a kind of mean cat, a very mellow chihuahua, and a very not mellow lab puppy... oh yeah, there's a husband somewhere in that mix, too. She can usually be found hunched over her laptop in a cafe, guzzling gallons of coffee, and wearing fabulous (albeit sometimes impractical) shoes.

You can find Katana at

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Presented By

Songs and Fins Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway!

Songs and Fins
B. Kristin McMichael
(The Merworld Trilogy, #2)
Published by: Lexia Press
Publication date: March 14th 2017
Genres: Paranormal, Young Adult

Whitney was amazed she finally had a boyfriend, and was prepared for a new life with him in the siren night human world. And the fact he was a lead singer in a rock band in his free time wasn’t bad, either. Too bad having a boyfriend didn’t mean she was going to see him, as his father’s punishment included separating them. Whitney is certain she can handle it, but sure enough, that isn’t the only wrench thrown into her new life. There’s a new threat in town, a scarier one than the backstabbing siren clan she’s part of now. They are night human hunters, and Whitney is an outlawed night human breed. Could her luck get any better? Quiet and peaceful would be ideal, but that’s not what she’s about to get.
Whitney meeting a new friend
Take my friends, and I’ll take yours. Sam’s worth at least four greens. Thanks for the new servants.
Whitney wadded the note up in her hand and began to push up to go over and tell Amber what she thought, but Tina caught her eye and shook her head, which was enough to make Whitney pause. While she wanted to go over and give Amber a piece of her mind, she trusted her friend. Something in her eyes said to listen to her. Instead of going over to the table, Whitney let Amber think she had won and sat back down alone. It wasn’t like Whitney wasn’t used to being alone in a lunchroom. She had transferred schools once before coming to their school. She would be fine. Once she got to the bottom of things, she would get her friends back.
Sitting back down, Whitney checked over her math homework. It was the only distraction she had with her, and she needed a distraction to keep from blowing up at Amber. It was ridiculous. Whitney wasn’t keeping Sam from Amber. Sam wanted nothing to do with her, or the sirens in general. That wasn’t Whitney’s fault. And actually, Whitney didn’t blame him on the Amber front. Whitney’s mother had told her more than once when she was a child that if you didn’t have something nice to say, you don’t say anything at all. That definitely pertained to Amber. Whitney had nothing she could say about the girl.
“Um …” A shadow fell over Whitney’s paper as someone stood beside the table, blocking the light.
Whitney glanced up to find a girl standing there, staring down at her paper, but not her. She had never seen the girl before, and she was sure she would have remembered her. She had long black hair that was tipped pink around the edges, some tattoos, and too many piercings to count. Even with her school uniform on, the girl stood out. How could you not with a Celtic cross taking up most of your forearm? That wasn’t something you saw often in a school with teenagers. Whitney’s mother would have killed her if she got a small tattoo that could be concealed. This girl’s wasn’t hidden at all.
“Can I sit here?” the girl asked quietly, pointing to the empty table.

Author Bio:
B. Kristin McMichael graduated with her PhD in biology at Ohio State where she worked as a scientist before taking her passion of writing full-time. Besides writing, she enjoys chasing her kids, playing outside, and baking cookies. She lives in Ohio with her husband and three children.
B. Kristin is the author of YA and clean NA paranormal fiction. Her "Night Human World" includes the YA series "The Blue Eyes Trilogy" about a midwestern girl who comes of age in a world of battling vampire clans, the "The Day Human Trilogy" that takes place among the Appalachian Sidhe fairies, and "The Skinwalkers Witchling" trilogy that follows an apprentice witch in the Pacific Northwest. She's also the author of the NA paranormal time travel romance series "The Chalcedony Chronicles".
The Chalcedony Chronicles:
Night Human World Series:
-The Blue Eyes Trilogy:
-The Day Human Trilogy:
-The Skinwalkers Witchling:
For more information on all of her books, visit
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Thursday, March 16, 2017

Anarchy Missing Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway!

Anarchy Missing
J.A. Huss
(SuperAlpha, #2)
Publication date: March 6th 2017
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance

Everyone wants justice.
That’s what Assistant DA, Lulu Lightly, tells me. “Cathedral City needs you to set things right,” she says. “To rid this place of corruption, once and for all.”
I’d like to rid Lulu Lightly of her clothes. And maybe her moral superiority. But mostly her clothes.
“I want you to fight the good fight with me,” she says.
Hell, yeah. I’m always up for a fight.
“We should stand up and be the voice of the people,” she says.
Sure, I hear voices. Sometimes I even listen to them.
“Figure out what’s good for the City and put it first,” she says.
Oh, honey… what’s good for the City is bad for the people. Trust me, I know. I’m Case Reider—insane Alpha, nefarious inventor, and I understand this town better than anyone.
Cathedral City needs me all right. Just not the way you think.
I’m not the justice you’re looking for, Lulu Lightly.
I’m still the same villain you left behind.
Only now… there’s something very, very wrong with me.


“What?” I ask. “What is it, Randy? Tell me what’s going on.”
He takes one last photo out of the folder and pushes it towards me. “You’re here because of him.”
I almost stop breathing.
Case Reider.
The one boy I desperately didn’t want to leave behind when my father moved us out to Wolf Valley seven years ago.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I know him.”
“I know you know him,” Randy says softly. He places a hand on mine just as Lisa appears with another cup of coffee.
I take it from her, muttering some thanks, and then take a long, long sip before coming up for air and letting it out in a sigh.
“He was your escort for the Debutante Ball.”
“How do you know that?” I ask.
“I was there that night.” He smiles sheepishly. “Someone else’s date, obviously. I saw you with him.”
“I haven’t seen him in forever.”
Randy waves a hand in the air. “Doesn’t matter. We’re not after him.”
I feel so relieved.
“Not yet.”
My relief disappears.
“We know for a fact that Lincoln Wade is a black-hat hacker, Lulu. And Detective Molly Masters has been dating him since she came to town. But the real problem is… Lincoln Wade and Case Reider have been best friends since childhood. Do you remember those two boys who went missing twenty years ago, without a trace, then reappeared several years later with no explanation?”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“Yup,” Randy says. “Those two boys were Case and Lincoln. We think Brooks was involved somehow, but we’re not sure where they intersect. They are close now, at any rate. Lulu,” Randy says, leaning across his desk to take both my hands in his. “We need Case Reider to get to Lincoln Wade and Molly Masters, and we need you to get him for us.”

Author Bio:
JA Huss is the USA Today bestselling author of more than twenty romances. She likes stories about family, loyalty, and extraordinary characters who struggle with basic human emotions while dealing with bigger than life problems. JA loves writing heroes who make you swoon, heroines who makes you jealous, and the perfect Happily Ever After ending.
You can chat with her on Facebook (, Twitter (@jahuss), and her blog, New Adult Addiction (
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