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Friday, July 31, 2020

I Kissed Alice Blitz


I Kissed Alice
Anna Birch
Published by: Macmillan
Publication date: July 28th 2020
Genres: LGBTQ+, Romance, Young Adult
For fans of Leah on the Offbeat and Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up with Me, Anna Birch’s I Kissed Alice is a romantic comedy about enemies, lovers, and everything in between.
Rhodes and Iliana couldn’t be more different, but that’s not why they hate each other.
Rhodes, a gifted artist, has always excelled at Alabama’s Conservatory of the Arts (until she’s hit with a secret bout of creator’s block), while Iliana, a transfer student, tries to outshine everyone with her intense, competitive work ethic. Since only one of them can get the coveted Capstone scholarship, the competition between them is fierce.
They both escape the pressure on a fanfic site where they are unknowingly collaborating on a webcomic. And despite being worst enemies in real life, their anonymous online identities I-Kissed-Alice and Curious-in-Cheshire are starting to like each other… a lot. When the truth comes out, will they destroy each other’s future?
EXCERPT:
Iliana
It was the end of our junior year when everything between Rhodes and me came to be as it is now.
It was May, and we were at a pop-up installation on the edge of campus. Clouds of heavy, weed-scented smoke hung up around the light fixtures of an old gas station with bars on the windows, and rain was falling in through a spot where the roof had caved, leaving puddles on the dirty tiled floor.
Behind each ancient cooler door was an installation: women with tape over their mouths. Women with their hands bound. Women dressed like schoolgirls, and dressed like moms, and dressed like frumpy old ladies with curlers in their hair. There was a gas station attendant behind the dilapidated old counter, a girl barely older than us with shiny red lip gloss and breasts begging to escape from a Play- boy Bunny costume. Word around campus was that participants had to be eighteen so they could sign the liability waiver provided by the lead artist.
Men wandered from one cooler to the next, shopping quietly, selecting someone to take with them along with six-packs of beer and packs of beef jerky.
Rhodes and I had become friends, sort of.
We weren’t talk-on-the-phone friends, or even text-on-occasion friends.
But Sarah had been my best friend since the third grade, and Sar- ah and Rhodes had become completely symbiotic during their first and second years as roommates at the Conservatory. It had taken weeks of begging for Sarah to even suggest to Rhodes that I come along—no matter what I did, Rhodes thought my work was “pedestrian.”
She didn’t think I’d understand the show—called Quickies at the Kwickee Mart, clever them—or that the art installation would speak to me the way it spoke to her and Sarah.
But by some force of nature, I had been the one to win a scholar- ship at the Savannah College of Art and Design only a week before. My art wasn’t an existential crisis played out with paint and canvas, and it didn’t make any grand political statements, but it was going to pay for my college—and apparently it meant I was allowed to play with the big girls now. Only two days later, Rhodes invited me along herself.
A week after that, we stood side by side, stoned out of our minds and attempting to make sense of the little theater that played out in front of us. Some of the girls in the cases were seniors at the Conservatory, and I knew about half of the people standing around us from campus as well. The rest were unimaginably sophisticated, worldly looking artist types—people with ink-stained hands and tattoos that crept up from under the collars of their shirts and onto their necks.
If my perception hadn’t been completely altered, I would have thought to be a little embarrassed by my own clothing choices. I felt so metal sneaking out in my tattered-on-purpose Slipknot T-shirt and my tattered-on-purpose acid-washed shorts and my tattered-on-pur- pose pink-and-white-striped tights.
“It’s, like, feminism—” Rhodes said.
Her brows were knit together; her cogs were turning.
She didn’t understand. I didn’t want to tell her otherwise, to ruin the night like I always do. It wasn’t enough to say it was about “like, feminism.” Anything can be about feminism, because in everything there’s an imbalance of power. There will always be one person in the room that has more privilege than the rest, and that person is almost always an Ingram.
It didn’t surprise me that Rhodes didn’t understand then, and it doesn’t now—she doesn’t really know what it means to be a little further down the food chain than everyone else. I’m not much further down than she is—I’m just as white, Christian-adjacent, abled, and straight-passing as she is—but I’m aware of it.
“Yeah, just, you know—” Sarah’s pupils were blown out. She held on to me for dear life, the way Rhodes’s barely-younger brother and then-dance-track student, Griffin, clung to Rhodes’s arm. Sarah liked Griffin then—she was infatuated, really. I think she thought he’d be an easy segue into being a fixture in Rhodes’s life forever.
She thought wrong.
“The motherfucking patriarchy,” said Griffin.
The motherfucking patriarchy. As if that phrase in and of itself wasn’t the purpose of the installation, the fact that women are continuously victims of sexual violence in Western culture, so much so that it has permeated our patterns of speaking and even the way we curse.
Rhodes sighed, and nodded appreciatively. Sarah sighed, and nodded appreciatively. Griffin sighed, and nodded appreciatively.
This is art, they communicated, with stoops in their shoulders and ennui-burdened frowns. This is life.
This is suffering.
Pot only ever makes me more philosophical. Everyone around me was melting into puddles, and I was practically writing ninety-nine theses on third-wave feminism on the back of a fifteen-year-old Kwickee Mart napkin that had been stuck to the bottom of my boot.


Author Bio:
Anna Birch is the author of I Kissed Alice. She was born 'n' raised in a rural area on the outskirts of Birmingham, Alabama. She traded thick forests and dirt roads for the heart of the city, where she lives now with her husband, three children, and dog. She loves knitting, brie, and hanging out with her family.

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Thursday, July 30, 2020

A Haunted Love Reveal


A Haunted Love
Dakota Star
Publication date: August 14th 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Ash detests Halloween. Three years ago, her husband’s death during the same week left her scarred. Now, all she desires is a simple, ordered life in the small town of Humble, Connecticut and time with the cutest boy ever – her nephew. That becomes impossible when her sister brings a handsome soldier, Cole, to her door. From the moment they meet, Ash has a hard time ignoring his good looks and those intense gray eyes that have seen enough war and heartbreak to fill a lifetime. What starts as a mutual attraction and a romp in bed leads Ash to face her demons. War has left Cole with more than just physical scars as well. But does serendipity, a ghost, or something sinister have other plans for them? When someone starts stalking Ash, Halloween turns to horror. Does Cole have what it takes to incinerate Ash’s doubts and keep her safe?


Author Bio:
Dakota Star lives in Connecticut with her husband and two daughters. Both her daughters have finished college and moved away so her dogs, cats, and retired horse now keep her busy. When not outside hiking or horseback riding, she loves to read and travel.
She has worked as an editor, a freelance writer for local newspapers, and an educator at local environmental non-profits like aquariums and The National Audubon Society.

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The Hollow Gods Blitz


The Hollow Gods
A.J. Vrana
(The Chaos Cycle Series, #1)
Published by: Parliament House
Publication date: July 28th 2020
Genres: Dark Fantasy, Magical Realism, New Adult
Isolated in the forests of Western Canada, Black Hollow is a town with a dark secret. For centuries, residents have foretold the return of the Dreamwalker—an ominous figure from local folklore said to lure young women into the woods with the help of wolves, and possess them. Yet the boundary between fact and fable is blurred by a troubling statistic: every now and again, women do go missing. And after they return, they almost always end up dead.
When Kai wakes up next to the body of a recently missing girl, his memory blank, he struggles to clear his already threadbare conscience. Miya, a floundering university student, experiences signs that she may be the Dreamwalker’s next victim and finds herself caught between a supernatural kidnapping and a senseless murder. And after the death of a young patient, crestfallen oncologist Mason embarks on a quest to debunk the town’s superstitions, only to find his sanity tested.
Yet a maelstrom of ancient grudges, forgotten traumas, and deadly secrets loom in the foggy forests of Black Hollow. Can three unlikely heroes put aside their fears, and unite to confront a centuries old evil? Will they uncover the truth behind the fable, or will the cycle repeat?
EXCERPT:
When Miya returned from the dream, her eyes were already open, but she was unable to move—paralyzed even though she was wide awake. Her heart crashed against her ribs, and her breath caught in her throat, every tendon and muscle taut with desperation. She couldn’t open her mouth, scream, or even gasp for air. All she could do was look right in front of her.
The phantom woman from the dream hovered directly above her, her face inches away as she mirrored Miya’s prostrate form. Miya could see the mask clearly now—a hard, bone shell, shaped like a raven’s beak. It extended down her face in a sharp V, past her lips and over the edge of her chin. The mask was decorated with gleaming black and purple that swirled together like oil and water, slick against the smooth, flawless ivory. Her lips—quirked at the edges—descended towards Miya’s.
Miya squeezed her eyes shut, trying to kick and thrash—whatever she could do to get away. Her skin crawled with spiders, invisible parasites burrowing their way inside her until she was unable to fight the fear any longer. Miya implored the spectre, bargaining with the only thing she felt the woman might want.
I’ll go back to the dream, Miya told her. I’ll follow you—wherever you want. I swear. Please, just let me go.
Air rushed down Miya’s throat with such force that her lungs burned when she finally managed to gasp. Her eyes shot open, beads of sweat trickling down her face as she tore over every inch of her room. The apparition was no longer there.
Miya’s hand twitched as she flexed her fingers, testing her ability to move. She breathed in again, this time slower, willing herself to stop shaking but with little success. She’s no longer here, Miya repeated. Her mind was racing, her senses screaming, but she had, somehow, regained control.
Miya sat up, remembering what it was like to be inside her own body. She had the distinct sense of having gone somewhere she shouldn’t have—somewhere she risked never coming back from. A bizarre thought to have about a nightmare, but Miya knew in her bones that this was more than a dream. She’d looked into Medusa’s eyes and barely evaded turning to stone.
For a brief moment, the fog lifted, and she remembered the events of her first dream—the one that came before last night’s. Not only that, her knowledge of the fable had returned. In a frantic tumble, Miya threw herself at the bedside table and reached for her journal. She couldn’t afford to forget again; she had to write it down. She needed to know what came next. But the second the tip of her pen connected with the paper, Miya had no idea what to write. She stared down at the lines, her mind as blank as the page in front of her.
The dreams and the fable were gone.


Author Bio:
A. J. Vrana is a Serbian-Canadian academic and writer currently residing in Toronto, Canada with her two rescue cats, Moonstone and Peanut Butter. Her doctoral research focuses on the supernatural in modern Japanese and former-Yugoslavian literature and its relationship to violence. When not toiling away at caffeine-fueled, scholarly pursuits, she enjoys jewelry-making, cupcakes, and concocting dark tales to unleash upon the world.

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Wednesday, July 29, 2020

The Lost King Reveal


The Lost King
Frazier Alexander
(FyreSyde Publishing)
Publication date: November 10th 2020
Genres: Adult, Fantasy
In an ancient place, in an ancient time…
King Athan vanishes at sea. His children, prince Thalos and princess Thara, drift apart with age, their kingdom falling into ruin. Thalos stubbornly clings to the past; Thara, resentful of her father, looks to the future. In the wake of this decline, a beautiful enchantress usurps the throne from the estranged siblings. She exiles Thalos to the edge of the world and slowly enslaves Thara’s mind.
In his exile, Thalos finds another castaway—an old comrade of his father. Together they begin a voyage in search of the lost king. Thara, meanwhile, resists the new queen’s coercive spells and finds a resistance of creatures still loyal to her father.
With a vast world of enchanted islands and beings between them, Thalos and Thara struggle to restore their family and rekindle the hope of the true king’s return.


Author Bio:
Along with creating his own mythological backdrop for his stories, Frazier is an amateur calligrapher, map-maker, and artist. He is currently working on his master’s in Medieval Literature at the University of North Texas.

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Wicked Devil Reveal


Wicked Devil
Daniela Romero
Publication date: August 24th 2020
Genres: Romance, Sports, YA, NA
Roman Valdez is the Devil.
He sneers at me.
He hates me.
He wants to hurt me.
Let him try.
He thinks he’s untouchable. The self-appointed Devil of Sun Valley High.
But I’ve already lost everything and everyone I care about.
It’s me he should be afraid of. Not the other way around.
Because I have nothing left to lose, and he can’t break what’s already broken.
At least, that’s what I thought.
But when the Devil begins picking up the pieces, I realize while he might not break me. He can absolutely shatter me, heart and soul.
And I just might let him.
Wicked Devil is a stand-alone, high school romance with enemies to lovers/bullying themes. It deals with sensitive subjects some may find triggering and is recommended for mature readers 17+


Author Bio:
Daniela Romero is a Snarky AF, Latinx Author, who happens to also be a Mom of 3. Born and raised in sunny California, she now makes her home in the Pacific Northwest and is happy to enjoy all four seasons even if the snow can sometimes be a bit much. She hates cheese--of all kinds--and yes that means she orders cheeseless pizza. Daniela is an ENTJ all the way which means she loves to talk (a lot) and is probably as extroverted as they come so feel free to shoot her a message, send a raven, throw up smoke signals. Whatever it may be. She love's chatting with readers so feel free to stalk her.

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GoodKnight Reveal


GoodKnight
Giulia Lagomarsino
(Reed Security, #26)
Publication date: August 10th 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
I f*@ked up when I killed that senator. I thought I was uncovering some dirty secrets.
But the things I uncovered could kill millions.
Lives are at stake, but none of that matters to me.
Not when they’ve taken my wife.
They held a gun to her head.
Now they’ll all die.
I won’t stop until I take them all out. Until she’s back in my arms.
Then I have to walk away. My family isn’t safe as long as I’m in their lives.
Sometimes to protect the ones you love, you have to walk away.


Author Bio:
I'm a stay at home mom that loves to read. Some of my favorite titles are Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Horatio Hornblower. I started writing when I was trying to come up with suggestions on ways I could help bring in some extra money. I came up with the idea that I could donate plasma because you could earn an extra $500/month. My husband responded with, "No. Find something else. Write a blog. Write a book." I didn't think I had anything to share on blog that a thousand other mothers hadn't already thought of. I decided to take his challenge seriously and sat down to write my first book, Jack. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed writing. From there, the stories continued to flow and I haven't been able to stop. I hope my readers enjoy my books as much as I enjoy writing them. Between reading, writing, and taking care of three small kids, my days are quite full.

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Man Down Blitz


Man Down
Kate Meader
(Rookie Rebels #3)
Publication date: July 28th 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Gunnar Bond is broken.
Three years ago, he lived through the car crash that took his wife and twins away from him—though “lived” barely describes his current state. Giving up professional hockey, going off grid, and drinking himself into oblivion are his coping mechanisms. Another is texting his dead wife about his days without her. Therapeutic? Doubtful. Crazy?
Definitely. But those messages into the ether are virtually the only thing stopping him from spiraling to even darker places.
Until someone texts back . . .
Sadie Yates is losing it.
Suddenly guardian to a little sister she doesn’t know and a misbehaving hound she’d rather not know at all, she’s had to upend her (sort of) glamorous life in LA and move back to Chicago. The nanny has quit, the money’s running out, and her job is on the line. The last thing she needs is her sister’s hockey camp counselor, a judgmental Viking type, telling her she sucks at this parenting lark. Thank the goddess for her sweet, sensitive, and—fingers crossed—sexy text buddy who always knows the right thing to say. In the same city at last, they can finally see if their online chemistry is mirrored in real life. She just needs to set up a meeting …
A ruined man who claims to have used up all his love is surely a bad bet, but Sadie’s never been afraid of a challenge … even one that might shatter her heart into a million pieces.
EXCERPT:
She smoothed the skirt of her dress, a cute shift style she’d cut from an old Vogue pattern and paired with a fun, sparkly belt. Placing her hand on the door handle, she grabbed her Kate Spade, gift from her friend Peyton, only to stall at hearing her phone buzz.
“Hold your horses, woman,” she muttered, expecting to see an all-caps text from Allegra. Instead it was from someone rather unexpected.
LonelyHeart: It’s cold and miserable, like me. How about you?
More than twenty-four hours later, he’d texted back! About the weather, but she’d take it.
Sadie: Sunny with a chance of more sun. Like me!
She cringed at her ridiculousness. Sadie: Sorry, just being a goof. What’s going on? Forehead slap. He’s mourning his wife, that’s what.
LonelyHeart: I’ve been thinking about the 9 million numbers and how it is you have this one number. Of all the numbers. This one that means something to me.
She had no idea what to say to that. Maybe it’s fate? The goddess? Maybelline?
The dots started up again and she let him finish his thought.
LonelyHeart: Maybe it means we’re supposed to be talking.
Sadie: I think so. It has to be a sign.
LonelyHeart: So you don’t think it’s weird?
What? Talking to a man who wished he was chatting with the deceased love of his life. Nah!
Sadie: No, not at all. You don’t have to say anything, but I wanted you to know I’m here if you need to talk.
LonelyHeart: Not much of a talker.
Sadie smiled. This man—and she was sure it was a man—was much more of a “talker” than he claimed.
Sadie: Yet you can’t shut up in those texts J
LonelyHeart: Kind of chatty when there’s only four wooden walls.
Sadie: You have me now.
She sent it before she had time to think about how it would sound. Presumptuous. Needy. A bridge too far.
Allegra: SADIE, WHERE ARE YOU??!!!
Damn. She waited for LonelyHeart to respond, worried she’d scared him off. Her phone rang with Allegra’s high-energy smile on the screen (Allegra had energy degrees for her smiles. This one was an eight.) Sadie let it go to voice mail. It seemed incredibly important that she wait for his response. Just a second, just one more second …
LonelyHeart: I should let you go. I’ll check in later if that’s okay.
Sadie’s heart thundered. Definitely. I’m dying to hear about the wooden walls. Are you Amish? But a user of phones? An Amish tech-lover?
LonelyHeart: No. I live in a cabin. In a forest.
Sadie: Like the Unabomber? I’m not really into revolutionary anarchy but I can tell a million jokes about it.
LonelyHeart: Jokes would be welcome during the revolution.
Sadie: Awesome! I’ll get my arsenal of bad puns ready. (Arsenal? Revolution? Get it?) Prepare to be entertained.
LonelyHeart: Is that your way of discouraging me from checking in? Because I’m not easily frightened.
Sadie: Wait until you hear my A material.


Author Bio:
Originally from Ireland, USA Today bestselling author Kate Meader cut her romance reader teeth on Maeve Binchy and Jilly Cooper novels, with some Harlequins thrown in for variety. Give her tales about brooding mill owners, oversexed equestrians, and men who can rock an apron, a fire hose, or a hockey stick, and she's there. Now based in Chicago, she writes sexy contemporary romance with alpha heroes and strong heroines who can match their men quip for quip.

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Tuesday, July 28, 2020

The Six Month Lease Reveal


The Six Month Lease
Melanie Munton
Publication date: August 18th 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
Never have I ever…moved in with a guy after dating him for only three weeks.
Just kidding. That’s exactly what I did.
And like most of you are probably thinking, it inevitably blew up in my face when we broke up two days after signing our lease.
Now, I’m stuck living with my ex. The same man who turned my life completely upside down in record time.
For. Six. Whole. Months.
It doesn’t matter how many times he flashes those abs at me after a shower, or how close his bedroom is to mine. I will resist him because he’s simply not the right guy for me.
But if I thought he’d done a number on me before, that’s nothing compared to what happens after I finally learn the secret he’s been keeping from me this entire time.
EXCERPT:
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end for about the seventeenth time in the past twenty minutes. So, I know that West is watching me from his position on the opposite end of the patio, where I know he’s been talking to a cute little redhead for the past four or so minutes.
Not like I’m keeping track or anything.
Not like he’s keeping track of me either.
His predatory eyes have not been stalking me through the crowd, his powerful, agile body moving like a lithe jaguar. Or a sleek panther. He’s not gnashing his teeth at every male who comes within five feet of me. And he’s certainly not resisting the urge to bound over here and piss a territorial circle around me.
He’s like a damn jungle cat.
Every man at this party might as well be his prey. His body language has signaled that he sees every walking penis as a threat. He might as well roar out his possessiveness and declare his rank in the food chain to the rest of the jungle.
When our gazes collide, something distinctly male and dominant gleams from his features. In that moment, I feel like I’ve been marked. Sirens start blaring in my head.
Danger! Danger! Danger!
“Would you please excuse me, Darren? I’m in need of a refill.”
He politely dips his head, just like the southern gentleman I’m sure his momma raised him to be. “Of course.”
Damn, he’s too nice. Why can’t I be into nice? I used to be. What the hell happened?
West.
That prick.
I find a quiet bubble where I can gather my thoughts at the far corner of the house. There’s enough seclusion that no one will accidentally stumble upon me, yet I can still hear the low hum of the party behind me. I’m staring down at my shadow in the grass when someone steps into the path of the patio lights, shrouding my secluded bubble in darkness.
Of course, he would follow me.
Because he’s become an expert at doing the exact opposite of what I want—like leaving me the hell alone. And the way his hulking shadow looms over mine is reflective of how little control I have over the situation.
West is like my own shadow.
Permanent. Trails in my wake. Undetachable.
When I twist around, I take a deliberate step back, needing that distance.
“Looks like I’ve caught myself a little social butterfly,” he grates in a low voice.
His eyes are narrowed. “Let’s talk, Harper.”
I push my hands into the pockets of my shorts, striving for confidence. “So talk.”
He snorts. “While I’ve loved your flare for exhibitionism in the past, let’s keep it private this time, shall we?”
He snags my arm and starts pulling me away from the patio before I can release the mile-long tirade poised on my tongue.
I am not an exhibitionist. We made out in an alley once. And he took some naked pictures of me on his phone once. Pictures he better have fucking deleted, or there’s going to be a nasty castration in his future.
Before we broke up, Sloane and Carter invited us over here for dinner a couple of times, so West knows his way around the property. Which is why he knows exactly where the lush gardens are and how to navigate their maze of foliage. Maintaining his hold on my arm, he drags us down the gravel path until the patio and party are no longer visible through the mass of palm fronds, hedges, and azalea bushes.
The only reason I’ve let him manhandle me up to this point is because I don’t want to make a scene at my friend’s party. I don’t want to be that couple. Not that we are a couple. Not even a little.
But no one can see us now.
And enough is enough.
I rip my arm out of his grip, my feet planting roots in the ground. “Knock it off, West. Isn’t this pissing contest routine of yours getting a little old?”
With his back facing me, he sucks in a deep breath and blows it out. The sight of his broad shoulders rising and falling with the movement mesmerizes me. I remember how sturdy those shoulders were whenever I used them as leverage to grind over his lap. It doesn’t help that the mint green button-down he’s wearing happens to be my favorite shirt of his.
A fact I know he remembers.
When his body whirls around to face me, his eyes are fierce and alert. “When have I ever given you the impression that I need to whip out a measuring stick just to get my dick wet? That pounding my chest and backing down every other man in the room somehow gets me off? Huh? When?
“Are you serious? Uh, the night at the house in front of Emerson, for one. Tonight, for two.”
“The night with Emerson was about me not wanting to witness, in my own home, how badly other men want to fuck you,” he snaps. “My own friends.”
I swallow.
The edges in his voice are sharp. Sharp enough to cut me if I don’t maintain my distance. Which proves difficult when he starts advancing on me, forcing me to retreat.
“And tonight is about me losing control because I’m being forced to finally accept that other men do want to fuck you.” My back hits a tree. “And will fuck you. At some point in the future, it’s going to happen.” He slaps his hands against the bark, his arms caging me in. “Because I’m no longer the one who is fucking you.”


Author Bio:
Traveler. Reader. Beach-goer. St. Louis Cardinals fan. Pasta-obsessed. North Carolina resident. Sarcastic. Bit of a nerd.
Author of the Cruz Brothers, Possession and Politics, and Timid Souls series, Melanie loves all things romance, comedies and suspense in particular because it’s boring to only stick to one sub-genre! From light-hearted comedies to sexy thrillers, she likes to mix it up, but loves her some strong alpha males and sassy heroines.
Go visit Melanie’s website and sign up for her newsletter to stay updated on release dates, teasers, and other details for all of her projects!

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A Crown of Shadows and Secrets by Sloane Murphy - Release Blitz

A Crown of Shadows and Secrets
by
Sloane Murphy
Available Now! FREE IN KU Buy Today - Universal Link: https://amzn.to/2VMTQqN
Buy Links for Sloane's books: https://www.authorsloanemurphy.com/
The third in the series of The Shadow Walkers Saga
Paranormal 
Reverse Harem 
Alphahole bad boys with tortured pasts 
Badass FMC 
ALL THAT FIRE ✔✔✔
Cover Design by Mibl Art
#SloaneMurphy #ACrownofShadowsandSecrets #ReleaseBlitz
#BareNakedWords #ParanormalRomance
Synopsis
One thing I’ve learnt since I became a Hunter… 
Anyone can betray you.
Its exactly why I find myself travelling to a place I never thought I’d go.
The Shadow Realm.
Demons hide in every shadow and around every corner,
But here in the darkness I discover even more surprises.
Things I never thought possible.
With a Queen to hunt, and a Witch to find, what could possibly go wrong?
Not started this series? Buy Book 1 Today!
Meet the Author
Sloane Murphy is the author of the international bestselling series, The Immortal Chronicles, as well as a range of other paranormal and contemporary romance. 
Sloane lives in Peterborough, England, with her husband & fur baby and over the years, she has developed an unhealthy appreciation for cheesy YA Films, cupcakes and bad pop music. She adores fairy tales, ballet and all things supernatural, drinks far too much coffee, and watches an ungodly amount of Netflix. 
When she's not busy writing, she can be found exploring the world with her husband and chocolate Labrador.
If you would like to send Sloane an email, you can reach her at sloane@authorsloanemurphy.com

Hasty Blitz


Hasty
Julia Kent
(Do-Over Series, #4)
Publication date: July 28th 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
AN ALL-NEW STANDALONE FROM NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR JULIA KENT
I never thought my perp walk would lead to true love.
Then again, I never thought I’d be arrested on RICO charges and hauled away in zip ties on camera for the world to see, minutes after closing the most amazing deal of my career.
And all of it in front of my biggest viral, billionaire wunderkind Ian McRory.
I am broke.
I am disgraced.
I am alone.
I am a sucker.
But the worst part? I have to go back to my hometown and live in my bedroom filled with relics from my childhood.
Lisa Frank never made me so mad before.
Just when I needed a rescue, I got one — in the form of help from my biggest rival.
He can’t bring back my money.
He certainly can’t bring back my reputation or my pride.
But there’s one thing he can bring back to me.
A sense of hope.
Maybe even love.
Ian sees something in me no one else does, and he’s relentless about making me see it, too. As we grow closer, I’m starting to see that while my entire life used to be a lie, the truth is staring me in the present — and it’s a truth I like very, very much, hot eyes and gorgeous smile and all.
But I have to be careful.
I can’t be too —
That’s right.
Hasty.
The final book in the USA Today bestselling Do-Over Series (Fluffy, Perky, Feisty), as Mallory’s sister, Hastings “Hasty” Monahan gets her turn at a happily ever after that starts off with an arrest.
Hers.
EXCERPT:
Today is the best day of my life.
I know people say that, and they mean it, but they don’t mean this. My best day is better than anyone else’s. Trust me.
I know.
I’m sitting at a table at Essentialz, a five-star restaurant in San Francisco. Everyone at the table watches me as I tuck the signed paperwork away in my black Bottega Veneta woven leather brief bag.
I, Hastings Monahan, just signed a nine-figure investment deal on behalf of the venture capital firm I work for.
Full partner, here I come.
Of course, lawyers will handle the majority of this. The signatures are symbolic as much as they are legal. But the fellow diners at my carefully crafted table will go back to China with an exciting opportunity for their company, Zhangwa Telecommunications, to enter the North American market with climate-change technology projecting yields that are the best aphrodisiac ever.
As I sip from my glass of Montrachet Grand Cru, I catch the eye of Ming Bannerton, a consultant with Zhangwa whose father is a high-ranking U.S State Department official in China, a woman who has a hunger for financial success that I can spot in anyone in three seconds flat. There’s something special about a fellow hustler–and when I use the word hustler, I don’t mean it pejoratively.
People who hustle get things done.
We connect. We network. We pattern match. We ruthlessly apply what we intuitively feel to what we operationally know in order to produce optimal outcomes.
In short–we hustle.
And we win.
But in competition, there can only be one winner.
One.
Tonight, I’m it.
Her smile mirrors mine, red lips stretched over perfectly white teeth that are as straight as a new picket fence. The smile doesn’t reach her eyes, but an intensity infuses her. She’s about five years younger than me, with a knowing eye that tells me we need to stay in touch. Someday soon, she may shoot past me, and that’s where all the legwork pays off.
In this business, you network down as well as you network up, if you want to get anywhere.
And the manila folder resting in my brief bag, the one that feels like a warm gold ingot pressed against my lips? That, ladies and gentlemen, is how you get somewhere.
“Where is Burke?” Mr. Zhao Bai asks, his head at a slight tilt, a gesture of genuine curiosity as his eyes survey me, looking for information that doesn’t come directly from my mouth. He’s the youngest of the four men at the table, a fast talker who looks around the room like he’s a mob boss. Negotiating with him took a steady hand I didn’t know I possessed, but now I understand.
Burke is part of the deal, and I didn’t realize it.
The contracts are signed, though. That makes my husband an off-the-books addendum. No matter what, this is my accomplishment.
My husband, Burke Oonaj, is one of the hottest market makers in finance right now. Even he will have no choice but to be impressed by the deal I’ve just put together.
But the inquiry about my husband makes my uterus fall.
And it’s not like he’s around to catch it.
“Good question,” I say before taking another sip of wine, needing to buy myself a smidgen of space and time. I only need a split second.
Normally.
For some reason that I can’t explain, my emotions are tangling in my mind, and that’s an unpredictable variable I have to weed out.
Fast.
My heart feels strangely heavy in my chest, a sense of dread filling me that has no right to be here. This is MY night, I tell that sense of dread. This is MY deal. This is my culmination of six years of careful work, all coming together, right now.
Go away, dread.
But Mr. Zhao’s question is a good one, because Burke isn’t answering any of my texts or emails or phone calls, and hasn’t for the last three days.
My husband has disappeared.
Not literally, of course, because husbands don’t just do that. Business travel can be intense. Plenty of stretches of time have gone by without hearing from him. They involved twenty-four hours or less, though.
Not eighty-one hours and thirteen minutes.
Not that I’m counting.
I can’t admit any of this to anyone at this table, of course, so instead, I give what my pattern-matching brain tells me is the optimal answer, designed to make me look good.
“Burke’s fine,” I say with a grin, the glass of wine still full enough to make more sips look like an appropriate response. “He sends his best regards. He would have been here tonight, but… you know.”
Two of the men share a look I don’t like. It’s a fleeting glance, the type that is practiced and meant to look like nothing. You think I’m paranoid, that I’m inventing it all?
Wrong.
I’m in a state of hyperarousal.
No, not the sexual kind. Haven’t felt that in a long time, at least not with Burke. My hyperarousal is based around the stress hormones pumping through me from the excitement of what I just accomplished.
Me. Myself. Alone.
Independent of Burke.
As workday smiles stretch to become the more casual, intimate grins of people enjoying bottle after bottle of excellent wine, I loosen up. The answer I gave them sufficed. We can move on.
My body feels numb and excited at the same time. I’m on top of the world. The pinnacle.
I am Peak Hastings.
Which is why, when the maître d’ approaches my side, I don’t pick up on the gravity of his whisper. No one would. Because learning that my credit card has been declined for this business dinner is definitely not part of the plan, and the areas of my brain assigned to processing language literally can’t comprehend it.
“It’s what?” I whisper, standing carefully, legs still steady, my alcohol consumption measured, even if my tablemates have made their way through more wine than an entire wedding party back home.
The maître d’, José, gives me a wide-eyed but polite look. “I’m sorry, Ms. Monahan. This has never happened before when you’ve dined with us. But the credit card company was very firm. You cannot use this one.”
Mr. Zhao gives me an inquiring look. My stomach sinks. Did he overhear?
“Will you all excuse me?” I tell them, hating the disruption, my legs turning into two steel beams covered in chilled skin.
“Something must be wrong with the credit card processor,” I snap at the maître d’ as I hurry away from my group. I want to get the taint of this failure out of the way and get back to my stellar success.
Once we’re out of sight of my table, I rifle through my purse and find another business credit card. “Use this one. And let me be very clear, to you and to your boss, that this is absolutely, abjectly unacceptable.”
He inserts the card, chip side in. “I realize this, Ms. Monahan, but we cannot…”
Beep.
He stares at the credit card terminal.
I read the display upside down. “Declined!” I hiss. “This is impossible! That card has no limit!”
“Perhaps you’ve had your identity stolen, or there are fraud alerts on your account? Perhaps you’re the victim of a financial crime?” José suggests.
“I can’t be the victim of a financial crime!” I snap at him. “I’m a financial expert! This doesn’t happen to people like me. Here!” I shove a third company card at him. This one better work.
I only have one more.
My mind races ahead, conjuring contingency plans, even as my cheeks burn with shame.
Shame.
Why would I feel shame for someone else’s mistake? And yet, there it is, and I have to override it fast. Because if I don’t, it gets a toehold.
And that is the fastest way to lose your edge.
José closes his eyes and lets out a sigh through his nose, a split second before the display terminal beeps.
Again.
“Your computer system is down,” I declare, pulling out the fourth card and my phone, texting my office manager. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe José is right. Maybe we were hacked. But this is surreal enough to let the dread come inside me and have a seat, as it decides whether to become an overnight guest.
It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m staring at a mid-four-figure bill that I owe, right now, and have no way to settle.
This cannot be happening.
As he runs the fourth card, the main door opens. My spine straightens, calves stretching tall, and not just from the five-inch heels I’m wearing.
I know that man.
I hate that man.
And he’s the last person on Earth I want to see in the middle of this debacle.
Ian McCrory cannot see me like this.


Author Bio:
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. Since 2013, she has sold more than 2 million books, with 4 New York Times bestsellers and more than 19 appearances on the USA Today bestseller list. Her books have been translated into French and German, with more titles releasing in 2020 and beyond.
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 met in a romantic comedy).
She lives in New England with her husband and three children where she is the only person in the household with the gene required to change empty toilet paper rolls.

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Monday, July 27, 2020

Between the Pages Blitz


Between the Pages
Lauren Baker
Publication date: July 20th 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Whatever possessed her to say yes?
Emmy Flanagan never thought she’d be forced into a Faustian pact to stop her beloved bookstore being turned into a luxury residence. But when her landlord, multi-millionaire Eric Oswell, offers to postpone the eviction if she’s willing to go on a few dates with him, it’s either accept or see four years of hard work and dedication go up in smoke.
The bad news is, he’s charming, well-read and irritatingly self-assured, and they spark off each other like two characters in a Lubitsch romcom. Which makes it very hard for her to resist the powerful physical attraction between them – even though she knows it’s a terrible idea. He woos her with classical concerts, nights at the opera, art exhibitions and a magical mystery Thanksgiving trip – but his deep-rooted trust issues and traumatic family secrets threaten to destroy their relationship before it’s had a chance to prove itself.
Set in contemporary New York City, Between the Pages charts a fast-moving romance with explosive chemistry between two very different but equally driven people. It’s Lauren Baker’s second novel after Finding Home, co-written with New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Bonnie Dee.
EXCERPT:
They stepped out into challenging weather — the rain had picked up in intensity while they were dining, coupled with a buffeting wind that made even walking a few hundred yards unpleasant work. Eric was holding her close, and mellowed by the food, the drink, the music, Emmy leaned into his body, instinctively seeking the warmth radiating from him.
“This time, I’m not letting you go home alone in this godawful weather,” he said, steering her towards the car that pulled over at their level.
Emmy would’ve resisted, but her body betrayed her, too happy to spend longer wrapped in his warmth and to escape being lashed by the wind and drenched by the rain. The car was warm and spacious, its leather seats comfortable, the driver a silent presence behind a glass screen, while Eric was next to her, his arm now slipped behind her shoulder, in a loose familiar hug that neither threatened nor excluded further action.
He smelled masculine and enticing, with a hint of discreet cologne, and when she found herself inhaling deeply, he in turn pulled her in a little closer, until her head was on his shoulder and her whole body tingled with slow-burning arousal. It was both so very wrong and so perfectly right as they sped through the rain-soaked night, the city lights flickering in every puddle and wet surface they passed, the low hum of the engine lulling her into a sensual torpor.
The movement was almost imperceptible, but his hand was suddenly near her face, and his thumb brushed lightly against her full bottom lip, which sent unerring messages of lust through her body. His thumb stroked her mouth two, three times, before she parted her lips, and heard him draw a shuddering breath. Oh. Oh. He was at least as into this as her, clearly.
Next thing she knew his mouth was on hers, his hand sliding to the back of her head as he kissed her tentatively. His lips were warm, soft, and gentle on hers, the kiss light, but it set off a wave of desire rippling through her body, the strength of which shocked her. Eric was obviously holding himself in check — he was taking his time, dropping kisses from one corner of her mouth to the other, feather light touches that were unraveling her entirely. He tasted of bitter coffee and dark chocolate, and somehow these had just become the most delicious and exciting flavors in the world.
His tongue flickered out, sweeping against her lip, electric, and she couldn’t contain a whimper of raw need which in turn spurred him on, from tentative to more demanding, until she surrendered her mouth to him, and God, Eric Oswell could kiss.
He pulled her closer to him, chest to chest, her nipples erect and aching pressed against his solid frame, and she ran a hand up his shoulder and into his hair, fingertips cradling his head as the kiss deepened. His hands were stroking her neck and back, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and Emmy became aware of a deep throbbing need in her that was threatening to overwhelm her sanity. She wanted more, more of his insatiable mouth, more of his agile tongue, more of the masculine scent that was invading her senses.
When he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, drawing shaky breaths as they both tried to regain control of themselves, she realized she was trembling. Also, that the car had pulled over in what, upon close inspection, turned out to be her street. Time to call it before they hit the point of no return, and no matter how desperately she wanted him to come up to her apartment, there was absolutely no way she was going to ask him.


Author Bio:
London based journalist with a sideline as a romance writer; also a prolific reader, and keen on all things fiction - on the page, the stage, the big screen and the small. Dreamer at heart.

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Sunday, July 26, 2020

Duke Blitz


Duke
Kiru Taye
Publication date: June 29th 2020
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
Duke’s life is about honour, loyalty and respect for the business.
Nothing else.
Yet…
One look at Carla across a crowded nightclub, and he breaks his own rules.
One night with the seductive woman who calls to him like no other, and he wants to keep her.
But…
His troubled angel is a mafia princess who lives dangerously on the edge.
She plays a desperate prank and sparks a cartel war.
Now…
Duke is in a high-stakes battle to keep everything he loves.
And he intends to win, come Hell or high water.
EXCERPT:
“Do you come to Club Arufin often?” she asked, attempting to make conversation. The silence unnerved her.
“No,” he replied with a grunt.
Jide didn’t say a word or flick his gaze at her in the rear-view mirror.
Interesting. Her chauffeur wouldn’t be quiet. When she wasn’t on the phone, they would chat or listen to music on the stereo. She could pull her ear pods from her purse and listen. But she would rather talk to this sexy man.
“My friend and I go there almost every weekend,” she tried again, hoping he enjoyed listening to her voice as much as she wanted to hear his. “We’re local, so it’s our joint. But some other people travel a long way to visit Arufin. Even tourists from different countries, all to have the experience. What about you? Do you live in Lori Osa?”
Triple-D said nothing, his neutral expression unchanged.
Seriously, did this guy never lose his cool?
Carla couldn’t be this unruffled to save her life. But if the man wouldn’t budge, then she had to shut up and find another way to get comfortable. She shifted until their bodies touched and tugged her legs onto the leather seat.
As if he knew what she needed, he settled his arm around her shoulder.
She relaxed, warmth spreading through her body. There was something deeply satisfying and comforting about having his arms around her body, making her feel safe as if she could trust him. As if she could give more than her body to him.
The quiet reassurance seemed more potent than a thousand platitudes.
She drew in a deep breath and filled her nostrils with his warm, masculine scent. He hadn’t been in the club long enough for his fresh smell to be polluted, which reminded her that she’d bagged the best man available.
She snuggled deeper, wanting to burrow under his skin, to mark him, so her scent lingered on him and acted as a deterrent to others.
What was wrong with her? She’d met the man less than two hours ago, and she never got attached to hook-ups?
Because this was a hook-up, right? It couldn’t be anything more.
So why was she clinging onto his body and nuzzling him as if she was a cat, hoping he would take her home for keeps and make her purr with pleasure?
Seriously, what was this about?
Yet with all the berating, she couldn’t bring herself to untangle from him, couldn’t bring herself to pull away.
He was too damned secure and comfortable.
“You finally stopped talking,” Mr Triple-D’s seductively low voice drew her from her thoughts.
Tilting her head, she met his gaze. Breath caught in her throat, her stomach tightening.
Mr Dark Dangerous and Decadent was smiling—the kind that made his dark eyes sparkle and indented his cheeks with dimples that would charm old ladies.
Then there were those sensuous lips. Lips designed to claim and caress, to cajole and conquer, to whisper words of arousal or comfort.
She was a goner. Heart-racing, panty-melted goner.


Author Bio:
Kiru wanted to read stories about Africans falling in love. When she couldn’t find those books, she decided to write the stories she wanted to read. Her stories are sensual, her characters are flawed and sometimes she adds a dash of exciting suspense.
She is the founder of Love Africa Press and co-founder of Romance Writers of West Africa.
When she’s not being a writer/publisher/boss-lady, she is also a wife/mother/sister/daughter/aunt/niece/friend somewhere in the south of England.

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