Thursday, 13 August 2015

Cover Reveal:Paper Hearts by Claire Contreras

Mia and Jensen’s story continues in Paper Hearts releasing September 10th!

I lost her.
No, I didn't lose her. I threw her away.
She was my best friend.

I was never supposed to fall in love with her.
I was careless.
She was heartbroken.
I thought I was doing fine. But here she is, years later, forced to work with me, reminding me why I fell in love with her in the first place.
And this time I'm going to do everything in my power to never let her go.

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Claire Contreras graduated with her BA in Psychology from Florida International University. She lives in Miami, Florida with her husband, two little boys, and three dogs.

Her favorite past times are: daydreaming, writing, and reading.

She has been described as a random, sarcastic, crazy girl with no filter.

Life is short, and it’s more bitter than sweet, so she tries to smile as often as her face allows. She enjoys stories with happy endings, because life is full of way too many unhappy ones.

Stalk Her: Website | Facebook | Twitter

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New Release Spotlight: Igniting Ash by M.A. Stacie

Enter to Win a $5.00 Amazon eGift Card

M.A. Stacie
Released Aug 4th, 2015
Limitless Publishing

After a terrible start in life, Asher Harris picks himself up and manages to carve out a fairly decent future. Content with living alone in his bookshop, he shies away from relationships and keeps trust to a minimum.

Emma Carnes hasn’t seen Asher in years, though she’s never forgotten him. Their one interaction as teenagers became pivotal to them both. It gave her a career.

It saved his life.

Emma saw things about Asher that nobody else did. When she urged him to escape a perilous ituation, it turned her toward her purpose in life…and saved Asher.  Intrigued by the strong man he’s become, she gently persuades him to open up, but finds his emotional walls hard to climb. She also hopes for his help with a troubled teen, Gabe Dearing, who reminds her very much of Asher himself.

Their relationship and ties to Gabe threaten to reveal things someone wants to keep hidden…
Someone is watching Emma, trying to figure out what she knows, and she soon senses something isn’t right. When the bookshop is vandalized and Gabe disappears, only to return bloody, broken, and refusing to say what happened, Asher and Emma search for the truth as their passion intensifies.

The danger mounts, and Emma and Ash struggle to keep what they’ve fought so hard to gain.

But can he save Emma as she saved him so long ago?

Or will a dark and violent history repeat itself and destroy them all?

She squealed when he grasped her waist and picked her up. His actions came as a shock, his strength too. Her protest hovered on the tip of her tongue, though she never actually said anything. His serious expression and determined strides were enough to keep her mouth closed.
Until he crushed his lips to hers. At that point she knew where it was heading, understood what he meant when he’d shouted. He was sick of holding back. Asher was taking what he wanted and ignoring any possible consequences.
Emma clung to him, their kisses growing deeper and more forceful as he carried her to his bedroom. She kept hold of him as he sat on the edge of his bed, moving her so that she straddled his lap. They’d been here before, only this time the air was electrified, sparks bursting from their touches. He wasn’t going to deny them this time. She could sense from his heated kisses and desperate touches that he was all in.
She blinked, her head spinning when he grabbed her loose T-shirt and pulled it over her head.
He tossed it, not caring to look where it landed. Asher drank her in, his chocolate eyes melting as they perused her chest.
A fire ignited low in her belly, her blood burning through her veins. She’d experienced lust before, however this with Asher was laced with something else. Something deeper.
Slowly, too slowly, he stroked a single finger over the swell of her breast. Her nipples tightened as she silently begged for him to cup them. Her will was enough, because those amazing fingers dipped under the lace of her bra before palming her breast. His eyes never left hers. His touch grew firmer, more demanding. “More,” she whispered. “Asher, more.”
He kissed her long and hard. At the same time she began unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers fumbling so much Asher ended up finishing the job for her. He didn’t stop with his shirt. After rolling her onto his bed, he stood and shucked off his jeans, sliding them down his legs before kicking them across the room. “No more barriers,” he rasped and pulled his underwear off too. His scars were exposed to her, the skin pink and puckered near his navel. There really were no barriers.

Still expecting him to back out, Emma held a bit of herself back. The rejection would sting a little less if she did. However, that became difficult when he hovered over her, pressing his body against hers. His eyes were hooded, and she could feel the heavy thump of his heart when she touched his chest. Hers was as rapid, the thrill of possibility surging in every cell. The connection with Asher was strong, very strong, and much more consuming than anything she’d ever felt before.

M. A. Stacie is never without a book or her eReader. A voracious reader, with a love of sexy, yet angst ridden novels, she loves getting lost in new worlds. Her need to write did not grip her until after her second son was born, when her previous rambles became fully fledged stories.

She describes herself as one huge contradiction, and though not the most conventional of hobbies, she counts getting new tattoos as one of hers. Along with running, knitting, and listening to loud music. However, she is yet to work out how to do them all at the same time.

M. A. Stacie lives in the UK with her husband and three sons.

New Release Spotlight: A Fashionable Indulgence by K.J. Charles

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Society of Gentlemen #1
K.J. Charles
Releasing Aug 11th, 2015

In the first novel of an explosive new series from K. J. Charles, a young gentleman and his elegant mentor fight for love in a world of wealth, power, and manipulation.

When he learns that he could be the heir to an unexpected fortune, Harry Vane rejects his past as a Radical fighting for government reform and sets about wooing his lovely cousin. But his heart is captured instead by the most beautiful, chic man he’s ever met: the dandy tasked with instructing him in the manners and style of the ton. Harry’s new station demands conformity—and yet the one thing he desires is a taste of the wrong pair of lips.

After witnessing firsthand the horrors of Waterloo, Julius Norreys sought refuge behind the luxurious facade of the upper crust. Now he concerns himself exclusively with the cut of his coat and the quality of his boots. And yet his protégé is so unblemished by cynicism that he inspires the first flare of genuine desire Julius has felt in years. He cannot protect Harry from the worst excesses of society. But together they can withstand the high price of passion.

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London, May 1819
Harry was stacking revolutionary polemics into piles when the knock came on the shop door above them.
He jolted, clutching the papers. George, crouching on the floor by the press, cursed under his breath. “Who’s that?”
“Is the door bolted?” Silas demanded.
“I—yes, I’m sure it is.” Harry could feel the sweat spring, despite the damp chill of the cellar beneath Theobald’s Bookshop. Silas cocked his head, listening. After a few seconds of silence, there was another knock.
“What if it’s the police?” George hissed. “What if it’s the soldiery?”
“Quiet,” Silas snapped. “Just a customer, like as not. They’ll go.”
Of course it was a customer, Harry told himself. It wasn’t the police or the soldiery. They’d have broken the door down.
He glanced down at the piles of handbills. They proclaimed, in great black still-damp letters, An End to the Tyranny of the Hanoverians, Bloated Leeches on the Body of England, that Draw Blood yet Leave their Patient Unheal’d. Silas had a turn of phrase that had seen him gaoled for seditionary libel once already, and this pamphlet was stark treason. If they were caught with these, all three of them would be going to some dark, stinking gaol, likely after a good flogging. And there was no way out, no way to disguise the press, nowhere to hide the evidence. . . .
Harry stared at his fingers, stained an incriminating black. Every nerve he possessed was stretched in anticipation. Even so, he jumped when the knock came a third time.
Silas put his spanner down and strode to the little wooden flight of stairs, brushing paper dust off his ink-stained hands. Harry heard him swear under his breath. The bolt rattled, and then the heavy door was pulled open with a forceful thump.
“You again.” Silas didn’t sound welcoming.
“Indeed, Mr. Mason.”
Harry clapped his hands to his mouth. George shot him an accusing glare. They both recognized the dry, educated voice.
Your bloody latitat! George mouthed silently and furiously, jabbing a finger at Harry.
His lawyer. Or, rather, the lawyer who had come here in search of Harry twice already. Silas had packed him off with barefaced denials on both occasions: nothing good came of lawyers. But now he was back again, looking for Harry, who lurked in the ink-stinking cellar running out treasonous polemics on a hand press.
Now inside the shop, the lawyer was speaking with unpleasant authority. “Your denials will not serve, Mr. Mason. I seek Mr. Harry Vane, passing under the surname of Gordon. I know he is here. I will speak to him and you will not gainsay me.”
Silas growled. There was no other word for it: he sounded like a mastiff. Harry could imagine him leaning forward, broad shoulders set and muscles thickening. “Unless you’ve a warrant, take yourself off before I help you out of here.”
There was a slight scuff of retreating feet, but the lawyer’s next words sounded testy, rather than alarmed. “Sir, I have no intention of arresting Mr. Vane. I have information to his advantage.”
George rolled his eyes. They all knew that one.
“Aye, well, if any such fellow wants advantage from you, he’ll come and find you. Out.”
“You do your friend a disservice, sir.” The lawyer’s voice was rather faint, as though he’d stepped outside. “Tell him to contact me—”
The door slammed shut. Harry let out a long breath, sagging back against the grimy wall. “God. God.
“Aye.” George stuck his grubby hands in his pockets to hide their shake. “What’s this about?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Why didn’t you go up, eh? Ask the old pettifogger what he wants with you? Easier to hide behind Silas, eh?” George sounded a great deal braver now that the man had gone. Typical George Charkin, all piss and wind, ever ready to seize on Harry’s fears and forget his own. He hadn’t been arrested yet.
“He’s a good man to hide behind,” Harry said, as the subject of their discussion clomped down the stairs, nail-studded soles clacking on the wood. “Silas . . .”
“That lawyer again.” Silas’s face was grimmer than usual. “You can’t think what he wants with you?”
“I’ve no idea. Unless— You don’t think it’s the warrant, do you, Silas? From when I was a boy?” That had been preying on his mind since the lawyer had first come.
Evidently it had occurred to Silas too because he was shaking his head as Harry spoke. “They’d send bluecoats or red for you then. No, that’s not it. Maybe someone thinks you know something useful.” He considered Harry for a moment then made a face, dismissing the possibility in a rather unflattering manner. “You must have some idea.”
Harry threw his hands up helplessly. “None in the world. For all I know there is something to my advantage out there. Maybe I’ve come into a fortune.”
George cackled. “Aye, that’s it. You’re the Regent’s true son, hidden away by the Brunswick sow to spite her Husband-Hog.” That came straight from their last pamphlet on the royal family. Nobody could accuse Silas of an excess of monarchical enthusiasm. “We’ll all be riding in a golden carriage and sleeping on feather beds by week’s end.”
“All?” Harry struck a dandyish pose and fluttered an imaginary fan. “My dear louse-ridden fellow, you shall not sully my feather bed with your common flesh.”

K. J. Charles is a writer and freelance editor. She lives in London with her husband, two kids, an out-of-control garden, and an increasingly murderous cat.