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Beerfest
-- EXCERPT: ‘Fi and Max are single, so no drama, right?’ Isobel said. ‘You guys have probably kissed before.’ I tried to resist, but my gaze snapped to his. ‘Eh… no, we haven’t,’ Max admitted, still looking warily at me. ‘Never? Not even while drunk?’ ‘Is it that hard to believe?’ I mumbled. ‘I mean, I know Max likes guys, but I thought he liked girls, too.’ He coughed and I wasn’t sure if he was laughing or choking. ‘I like women,’ he confirmed. ‘There are probably a lot of reasons why we never kissed before, but it won’t be a problem now.’ I stared at him, suddenly wondering what all those reasons were, when a moment ago, it had been self-evident to me why we’d never kissed. We’d never been into each other that way. But he’d said it wouldn’t be a problem now, as though he knew the filthy thoughts I’d been having about his mouth. I gulped. He leaned towards me and I bent away instinctively. Thoughts flickering dangerously in his eyes, he blinked, and the next thing I knew, his hand was clamped around the back of my neck and he was holding me where I was – and sending shots of adrenaline down my spine. As he brought his face close, I caught the scent of him, not the cheap deodorant he used to use but something spicy and a little bit older man that did something crazy to my hormones. His breath gusted over my cheek and, after one more pensive glance, his eyes drifted closed. Unable to stand the proximity, my eyes did the same, but it only set off all my other senses, especially the way the tiny hairs on my skin detected his nearness. My mouth dropped open on a gasp.
GIVEAWAY! --
The Queen of the Poor
-- EXCERPT: When Harriot Mellon Coutts and the duke had married, it had caused a sensation, mainly because he was twenty-three years younger than she was. Also, despite her previous marriage to the late Thomas Coutts, she was still known far and wide in British aristocratic society as ‘the actress’. Appearing at the reading of his wife’s will wasn’t something which the duke would countenance, not with all her damnable relatives pointing and sniggering. Explanation (On her death in 1837, her property and fortune went to her step granddaughter, selected as heir after careful scrutiny of the possible recipients, who as a condition of the inheritance adapted her name to Angela Burdett-Coutts.[7])
GIVEAWAY! --
Dear Prudence
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: She shouldn’t have kissed him when he was just trying to be nice to her. For the past few days with hardly any contact, she wondered what had possessed her to do so. Her train of thought was distracted by Timéo, the owner’s cousin. He stood at the table in his black button-down shirt and matching slacks, pen and pad readied to jot down their order. She rattled off in French what she and Shawn wanted. “Is this handsome man your boyfriend?” he asked, still in French, raising his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “I’m not sure, but when I find out, you and Claudette will be among the first to know,” Pru replied in the same. “Oui, bien.” He winked before he walked away. Shawn smirked. “You just said you were barely passable in French.” “Here, I’m usually fine. I’d be pretty lost in France though, I bet.” “Have you ever been?” He twirled some cheese onto his spoon. Pru nodded. “With my grandmother and uncle when I was eleven, for Uncle Barney’s business trip. Somewhere around the house is my little Eiffel Tower souvenir.” She smiled. “What about you? Have you been to Europe?” “Nope. I’ve never even gotten a passport. Everyone keeps saying I should before I get back with…” He shivered and trailed off, took a big spoonful of soup and looked like he nearly choked on it. Grabbing his wine glass, he took a few swallows. An hour later, as they waited for their boxed leftovers, Pru had had enough of their evening-long, stiff, halting conversation. They’d gone stumbling gracelessly from topic to topic, with Shawn constantly looking down and frowning. She was shaking badly enough to have trouble holding her water glass in the end, but he hadn’t seemed to notice. It was still light outside as they made their way down the cracked, weedy sidewalk toward their cars. They’d met here instead of coming together. They passed the older, less well-maintained brick stores, a 7-Eleven gas station, and a florist that had been in business since the thirties as they walked in tense silence. The humidity was mercifully light this evening, but something heavy hung in a thick cloud between and around them just the same. He hadn’t even held her hand or hugged her all evening. When they reached the public parking lot, Pru stopped and looked at him. “You’re upset about something. Was it what happened when you drove me home a few days ago? I’m really sorry about that. I promise I’ll—” “Me too.” Shawn shut his eyes and exhaled. “We shouldn’t have done that. I think we need to take a couple of steps backward.” He reached into his pocket and put on his mirrored sunglasses. Pru gripped her upper arms and shivered. This was why they’d gone out in the first place, to somewhere neutral. In retrospect, this place had been a bad choice. What had she been thinking, suggesting a romantic atmosphere to ask for a platonic relationship? “Okay. I mean, yeah, you’re right.” She dug her fingers in hard enough to know she’d probably be bruised later. He leaned back on his car, his hands hanging at his sides, shoulders slumped. “You told me you needed to try to be independent, and the thing is, I like you a lot, but my life’s pretty complicated right now.” He sounded tentative and resigned, and he wouldn’t look at her. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you got hurt because I was careless.” The declaration came out as a half-whispered mumble. “Shawn.” He lifted his head. She had no idea what she wanted to say next, even though she’d rehearsed the conversation in her head. All she could think about was the time he’d recited Robert Frost to her impromptu as a rainstorm began. His mouth was a tight, straight line. He inhaled with a small shudder, and she saw her distorted reflection. It seemed a perfect image of how she was feeling. “It’s all right. I was thinking the same thing for a similar reason, you just brought it up first. I like you a lot too, and I wasn’t sure how to say any of it without hurting you.” He pulled the corners of his mouth back. “We’re on the same page, then. Are we good?” Focusing on looking resolute as her legs and chest shook, she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before she was able to get any sound out. “We’re absolutely fine,” she managed. “Except for that one thing, nothing’s really changed, has it? Two friends kissed for a minute. Not a big deal, right?” “Of course not.” He smiled for real this time and hugged her. His chest was warm, and his heart was racing. Pru shuddered and put all her energy into holding off tears. She stepped back, and they dropped their arms. “Okay,” she said. She walked around to her own driver’s side door and opened it. Shawn got into his car. “I’ll see you around, Pru.” This was for the best. This was what they both wanted. Nothing had changed. She pretended to do something on her phone while she watched him drop his head back on his seat, shut his eyes, and then straighten, take a big breath, and drive away. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Cusp of Redemption
-- EXCERPT: “If you wanted me to hunt you down, all you had to do was ask.” I muffled a scream with my hand as Salvatore’s deep voice startled me from his place at my tiny kitchen table. “But from now on, each and every chase will end with you on your back.” “What the fuck?” I snapped, barely able to comprehend the scene in front of me. With only two barstools and a round surface barely large enough for a pizza box, Salvatore somehow seemed to make himself at home despite dwarfing the area. He wore a gray sweatsuit, a complete contrast to the suit from last night, but by the grace of some god, he looked even more delicious. His hoodie pulled across his broad chest and defined his shoulder muscles. My eyes traveled up his thick neck and to his mouth where a mischievous smirk curved his mouth. A glint of light brought my gaze down to his hand fiddling with…a knife? Salvatore gave me a slow once-over that made me contemplate hopping back in the shower—for a cold one this time. His dark eyes held me captive, taking in every inch of my being at a leisurely pace. An appreciative glint shone in his eyes. I took the time to look at him. Really look at him. His dark hair cropped short and connected to his perfectly sculpted beard. With high cheekbones and full lips, he’d make a killing as one of those models on the cover of romance books. Especially with the jagged scar running from the middle of his right eyebrow straight down to an inch or so below his cheekbone, he was a sight to behold. While I couldn’t see his torso, there wasn’t a sliver of doubt in my mind his abs were as defined as the rest of him. My mouth watered at the memory of how hard he was as I flopped over his shoulder. Salvatore and I had stumbled across each other’s paths a few times over the past year, and I was just as captivated and entranced by him as ever. Each time seemed to make the pull even stronger. The way his presence drew me to him was infuriating. And right now was the first time we’d been alone and so close since we last saw each other ten years ago. But the physical attraction was undoubtedly still there. He was bigger than before. More demanding. More dominating in his presence. And my body couldn’t get enough. But I had to keep reminding my brain there was a reason we weren’t together anymore. He left me. I’d need to chant that mantra every time we were together. “Diana Diamond has nothing on you.” Salvatore rumbled, his voice caressed me from head to toe and dripped in appreciation. He was referring to yesterday’s disguise. I resisted the urge to preen. I would not fuss over my appearance. It didn’t matter what Salvatore thought of me. He didn’t matter. Although, I was mildly pleased by the fact he was alive. I didn’t like the guy, but I didn’t want him dead either. Yet. He sat, absently flipping the knife back and forth between his fingers. The metal glinted in the morning light. “Are you trying to intimidate me with your little knife show?” He glanced down, mildly surprised. “Habit,” he said simply before flipping the blade down and tucking it in his pocket. “I hardly believe a knife would be enough to intimidate you.” He stood and slowly stalked closer to me. “And what do you think intimidates me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. He was right, I picked up skills over the years to outmaneuver a knife. But he didn’t know that. I held my ground as he came toe to toe with me. I had to crane my neck to look him in the eye. His presence was overbearing, the spicy scent of his cologne flooding my senses. I licked my lips, and his eyes tracked the movement. “You need something more physical. Skin on skin. Overbearing. The full weight of a man pressing you down to submit. You wouldn’t give in to something as meager as a piece of metal.” I bit the inside of my cheek, hating how he read me so well. His eyes dropped to my lips, and I couldn’t resist darting my tongue out to lick my lips. The image of him pressing me into a bed flashed before me and I nearly choked on the need that coursed through my veins and pooled in my core. A ghost of a smile wafted on his face, breaking the spell. I stepped to the side and out of his intoxicating presence. Salvatore closed his eyes briefly and took a deep inhale before shifting, so we were facing each other once again. Wait. “You broke into my house?” I whisper-yelled, remembering I never invited him in. I didn’t even know he knew where I lived and as much as I wanted to cuss him out, I was worried about the thin walls and curious neighbors. “You stole my car.” He shrugged. 
GIVEAWAY! --
The Unlikely Heir
-- EXCERPT: Oliver and I sit next to each other on the park bench. Our shoulders brush, and my heart races. Someone as handsome as him shouldn’t be allowed to mix with mere mortals. It’s not fair. Oliver stares out across the dimly lit soccer pitch. “I used to trudge across these fields, this skinny kid with big ears, a kid without a mum or dad, struggling with my sexual identity.” “Imagine what that kid would say if he could see you now,” I say. Oliver gives a low chuckle. “If someone had told me that one day, I’d be prime minister and sitting on this bench talking to the Prince of Wales, I don’t think I would have believed them.” “And yet here we are,” I say. “Here we are,” Oliver echoes. His eyes meet mine, and we just stare at each other. My heart thuds under the weight of Oliver’s unwavering gaze. I tilt my head back to look at the night sky. But because we’re in London, where light pollution reigns supreme, there are no real stars to be seen. Instead, I focus on one of the nearby streetlamps and the haze around it. It’s beautiful in its own way, another reminder of the hidden beauty in this world. “I never imagined when I saw the coverage of your election that you’d one day become my best friend,” I say. It’s true. Me at twenty-two, sitting in my small apartment, watching on TV the handsome, confident man on the steps of 10 Downing Street with his gorgeous husband. Could I have ever imagined our lives would overlap in this way? It’s only after the words are out of my mouth that I realize how intense they are. Shit. Oliver’s probably worried I’m going to ask him to be my BFF. Maybe seal our friendship by becoming blood brothers. Heat floods my face. “I mean, you’re definitely the person I’m the most real with,” I add quickly, flicking a glance at him. The light of the streetlamp reflects in Oliver’s eyes as he stares at me. “You’re the person I’m the most real with too,” he says quietly. My heart thuds recklessly. Oliver’s tie is loosened, and he’s staring at me with those intense dark eyes. There might be a time and place where I can resist Oliver when he looks at me the way he’s looking at me now. But it is not this moment. I lean toward him and press my lips to his. It’s just a light touch of our mouths, yet all the nerve endings in my lips tingle like they’ve been electrified. Oliver’s breath leaves him in a silent exhale, a gentle ghosting over my face. His lips are soft and warm under mine. It’s a gentle kiss, fragile as a feather. When I pull back, Oliver is staring at me, his eyes wide. His chest rises and falls rapidly. “Bloody hell, Callum.” His voice is rougher than normal, and he looks flustered, and I’ve never seen him look flustered before. He’s usually so in control. And I think I like flustered Oliver even more than in-control Oliver, which is why I close the distance between us again. “The rules don’t apply tonight, remember?” I whisper against his lips. I hover there, close to him. But I don’t want to kiss him again if he doesn’t want this. Oliver’s eyes scan my face, and suddenly, he makes a noise in his throat and one of his hands palms the side of my face. And we’re kissing for real. I’m kissing Oliver Hartwell. The fact causes my mind to melt, leaving me incapable of coherent thought, so instead, I just catalog the sensations. The heat of Oliver. His taste. The feel of his tongue moving in sure strokes against mine, the rasp of his stubble against my skin. I am definitely, definitely kissing a man. I’ve never felt this way kissing someone before. My hands go to the back of his head, grabbing strands of his soft hair like I’m trying to secure him, tether him, keep him exactly where he is, where I get to breathe in Oliver, continue kissing him. Oliver’s lips move fervently against mine, his hands sliding down my back. I let out a soft moan, lost in the sensation of kissing him. I’m not prepared to let this kiss end. Because it turns out Oliver’s lips contain the answer to every question I’ve ever had about myself. And that overrides the fact that of all the people in this world I shouldn’t be kissing, Oliver is top of the list. Our kiss smooths out, slowing from hot and heavy to tender and sweet. It’s a lingering kiss, as if Oliver feels exactly like I do, like he wants to extend this perfect moment for as long as possible before the real world intrudes. But we can’t block out the rest of the world forever. Eventually, Oliver withdraws from me. In the dim light, his pupils seem enormous, swallowing his irises so the black pools are all I can see. “Callum,” he says. Somehow, he says my name like it’s both a question and the answer.
GIVEAWAY! --
Hungry is the Night
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: The sensation of his lips against mine rippled through me like a shot of whiskey, warming and intoxicating, setting my blood dancing while at the same time making me shiver. When he reciprocated the gesture, when he reached out to hold my cheek with trembling fingers and shifted against my lips without withdrawing, the tight coil of control in my chest unraveled. I took a step forward, my body flush against his, and lifted my hands to grip at Marcus’ shoulders with a possessiveness I barely recognized. Marcus mimicked my stance, but instead of pulling me closer, he took a step back, breaking the kiss with a small gasp. My eyes flickered open. While he shook his head, Marcus’ eyes remained closed as he whispered, “Grace, we shouldn’t—” “Marcus.” His eyes opened wide at the sound of his name. I gave a weak smile and lifted my hand to his face, trailing my thumb across his lower lip. “Don’t be so stupid as to make the same mistake twice.” He blinked at me once, then twice. The corners of his mouth shot down into a frown and his hands dropped from my shoulders to my hips. He pulled me against his body while quietly whispering, “Ah, sod it, then,” before kissing me hard. I answered in kind, my hands skittering unmoored across first his jaw, then his shoulders, then his sides, then his chest. I deepened the kiss with a flick of my tongue at his bottom lip, a teasing, tentative request that Marcus answered with unabashed eagerness, opening his mouth to my explorations. Slowly at first, then in a progressively frantic tumble, I pulled Marcus back into my room toward the bed. I kicked off my shoes as I went, running the tip of my tongue along the top of his palate. He tried desperately to keep pace with me, capturing my lower lip between his teeth and biting down, not too hard, but just hard enough. Still, there was hesitation in his movements. No longer content with the skin available to my hands, I began easing his shirt up and over his body. Marcus tried to register a verbal protest, but it was lost in the crush of our mouths. It wasn’t until I relinquished his lips and began lavishing attention on his neck that he was able to say anything at all. As soon as his mouth was free of mine, he breathed my name imploringly, caressing my back and shoulders through my thin sweatshirt. “Grace…” “Don’t worry,” I answered, my words muffled as I pressed my lips against his carotid artery, my wandering hands pushing up under the hem of his T-shirt, fingers dancing over the newly exposed flesh at his side. “I’ll take care of you.” 
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Phantom Fire (Winged Warriors 1) by Delta James #Paranormal Romance @Xpresso Book Tours22/8/2023
Phantom Fire
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Along about dusk, she had her usual campsite within reach. As she rounded the corner, she realized it was in use. The woman emerging out of the bright orange tent smiled as she spotted Kessily and raised her hand. “Hello, sister,” she called. She was dressed in jeans and a pretty sweater with Native American-inspired artwork intricately woven into the sweater. Her jeans were tucked into traditional moccasins instead of hiking boots. Kessily looked all around her to see to whom the woman was referring. The woman laughed. “Yes, I mean you. I’ve been waiting for you.” “You have? Do we know each other?” Kessily asked as she reached into her pocket for the bear spray—if it could drop a grizzly, surely it could drop a medium-sized female. “There is no need for violence or confusion. I am known as She Who Listens.” “What do you listen to?” asked Kessily. “To all the living things. They speak to me.” Curious, Kessily moved closer. “What do they tell you?” “Many things. For instance, they say you are on a great quest.” Kessily smiled and approached her. There didn’t seem to be any reason not to. “I’m hiking up to the Cauldron of Fire.” “Ah, it is the dragon you seek. He searches for you, as well.” Okay, so the woman is a little bit crackers. Perhaps I’ll move along and hope she doesn’t follow. “You think I’m not right in the head, but I am. There is a reason you feel at peace when you are within sight of the Cauldron. It is because he is there and has been waiting. He will come to you and you will bear his child.” “I’m not quite sure how to tell you this,” Kessily said, politely, “but it is next to impossible for me to get pregnant. I have something called PCOS. It will prevent me from ever having children.” “Dragon seed is strong. I can prove to you that what I say is true.” “Short of producing a dragon, I don’t think that’s possible. But you have yourself a nice day.” Kessily turned to leave, and she heard the woman scurrying back into her tent. She didn’t think anything good could come of that. She picked up her pace and began to put as much distance between herself and the mad woman as she possibly could. When the sound of the woman exiting her tent and starting after her reached her ears, Kessily broke into a run. “Wait, sister! I mean you no harm,” the woman said as her hand closed around Kessily’s upper arm and spun her around. In her hands was a large deck of ornate cards. “Pick one.” “No, thanks. I have friends waiting and want to get to them before they start to worry.” The woman frowned and shook her head. “No, you don’t. There is no one who waits for you. Pick a card. Listen to the message the gods send to you, and I will leave you in peace. I am nothing more than their messenger. When you have listened, I will go.” The woman held out the deck of cards, and hesitantly Kessily started to pick one but glanced at the woman’s face to see if there was any indication that she wanted her to pick a specific card. There was nothing. This woman would be hard to beat in a poker game. Her expression showed no emotion whatsoever. “Pick.” Kessily withdrew a card and handed it to the woman, who smiled. “You chose the silver dragon of imagination, possibility, and self-discovery.” Looking at the card, all Kessily could see was a silver dragon flying high over the peaks of a set of mountains that looked oddly familiar. The sky above it was midnight blue with shining stars that cast their light on the snow-capped peaks. “What are you trying to tell me?” Kessily asked. “It is not I who speaks to you, but the dragon lord who will claim you. I wish you well, sister.” The woman turned around and returned to her campsite. Wanting to put as much distance between them as possible, Kessily headed up the trail at a fast pace—just short of running. What a nut job. Nice enough, but clearly not quite right in the head. 
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Fighting for the Truth by A.B. Medley (Finding the Truth, 4) @Xpresso Book Tours22/8/2023
Fighting for the Truth
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: I lock myself in my apartment still trembling inside. After a moment spent taking a breath, I toss my keys on the kitchen table and put my purse beside them and then find my favorite wine. I start to reach for a glass and decide I don’t need it; the bottle will do. I plop down on my couch and turn on the television in search of something to take my mind off his hate filled green eyes and the way they mocked me. I rest my head on the back of the couch as I swipe away another tear. He makes me so angry. And the only reason he’s getting to me this much is because I didn’t bury my feelings deep enough. A mistake I’ll be working on tomorrow. But for now, I’ll let the wine drown him out. I take my first sip as I hear a knock on my door. Probably Briella. Dang Zander and his big mouth. He didn’t want me to be alone because I was so upset. I’m sure he called her. I unlock the door and almost scream. Not Briella. “What are you doing here, Hawk? And how do you know where I live?” He sends me a small smile, but it lacks warmth. “Can I come in? We really do need to talk.” I step aside so he can enter my apartment. Once inside, I walk back to my living room and take my seat back on the couch. He follows me, casually glancing around before sitting on the other end. I mute the TV. “Let’s hear it. What other insults and stones are you planning to throw at me?” He stares directly into my eyes. I can’t stand how he makes my heart race even as I want to hate him. “I know you don’t trust me. And I haven’t forgotten the fact you hate me. You’re not my favorite person either,” he begins. I roll my eyes. “Is there a point to this?” His jaw tightens. “Yes. My point is, you’re going to end up in trouble if you get involved with the Leones in any way. They’ve got it out for me and you’re going to get caught in the crossfire.” “Why? What did you do? Break a promise to them too?” I ask sharply. He stands and rakes a hand through his dark hair. “The details aren’t what matter. What matters is they’re trying to hurt me, and they’ll use you to do it.” I stand and lift my chin to meet his gaze. “Then you’re in the clear. There’s no reason coming for me would hurt you. There’s no love lost between the two of us, remember?” He surprises me by reaching out and tracing my jaw with his finger. His face seems to soften as he relaxes his knit brows, but his eyes blaze. “I remember everything about you, dolcezza. And that means you’re mine to love or to hate. They know too much about my past, and it includes what you used to mean to me.” I don’t back down. He started this. He thinks I broke my promise to him. I didn’t. And he’s about to learn the truth the hard way. This will probably make him hate me more, but I can’t find it in me to care how it affects him, or even me right now. He took everything else from me, why shouldn’t he take the only other thing I have left to give? “Come on then. I’ll fulfill one of my promises to you,” I say confidently. His eyes widen a fraction, almost as if he already knows what I’ll say next. “What are you talking about?” “I promised you I’d always be yours, and you just said I’m yours to love or hate, yet you’ve never had me.” I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the floor. “Take me, Hawk. Go ahead and take what’s yours.”
GIVEAWAY! --
The Immortal Tailor
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks -- EXCERPT: All the creatures in the story are constantly getting up in Damien’s grill! No boundaries! It drives him nuts. Here’s the best, and funniest example. Pet crinkled her nose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You were touching me while I slept!” “Nope. I was in your closet playing with your underwear. They needed more holes.” She popped something in her mouth and chewed. She was eating his boxers? “If it was not you, then who?” he growled. Damien looked in the same direction. Nothing there. “Are you…are you speaking to Sky?” he asked Pet. Pet nodded. “She said she just watched you jerk yourself off in your sleep. She thought it was hot.” “Get. The. Fuck. Out. Both of you!” he yelled. “Gorgon-what?” “The demon you rescued.” Pet pointed to a lump under the covers at the bottom of his bed.
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #War of The Sea (Olympian Wars 1) by Dana Claire #Fantasy #YA @Xpresso Book Tours16/8/2023
War of the Sea
Dana Claire’s best-selling, award-winning fantasy romance, War of the Sea, is getting an early one-year birthday present, an audio book, and companion novel, called War of the Land. To pay for the critically acclaimed narrators, Dana is launching a Kickstarter. In that Kickstarter, she will also release the next book in this series, War of the Land, a standalone HEA with sassy female demi-gods, strong arrogant Gods, and of course mischievous sirens and swashbuckling pirates. Check out the Kickstarter campaign HERE! -- EXCERPT: “You are incredibly difficult, royally frustrating, and ridiculously beautiful. It drives me mad.” Rylander gripped my hair at the back of my head and angled my chin upward. His lips were on mine before I took my next breath. There was no softness or patience to this kiss. His fist tightened, forcing my head back further. His tongue slipped passed my lips, demanding entrance, and I acquiesced. No fighting. No thinking. No questions. Only submission like two magnets pulled toward one another.”
GIVEAWAY! -- |
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