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The Bareback Cowboy
-- EXCERPT: “Does every cowboy on the goddamn planet want between your legs?” I don’t know how or why, but I just knew I was going to have to do some sort of explaining regarding my conversation with Landon. But am I really obligated to? I don’t think I owe anyone, even Trace, any explanations at all. With ire fueling my movements, I spin around, eyes full of warning. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” A muscle pops in Trace’s jaw. “Who was that guy?” I’m surprised I’m actually willing to appease him by answering. “Someone I used to date. Which falls under the category of none of your business.” Eyes narrowing to slits, he mutters, “none of my business,” as he backs me up against the concrete wall of the darkened hallway between the bathrooms and the concession stand. When he eventually has me trapped between his arms, he presses his fists against the wall and shifts all his weight onto one foot. “I think I at least have the right to be annoyed by the fact that he couldn’t stop eye-fucking you as you walked away. Wouldn’t you say, Quinn?” Oh, the nerve of this man! My chin goes up in the air. “That doesn’t give you the right to be angry with me.” “Whoever said I was angry with you?” he asks through clenched teeth. “I’m angry at him for looking at you that way. For ever having had the right to. Or maybe I’m just angry at myself for caring in the first place.” How he always manages to make my anger pull an abrupt U-turn I’ll never know. Something about his unpracticed, candid reactions just get to me. Even if I don’t like what he’s saying, I’d rather be disappointed with the truth than be happy with a lie. But this particular truth doesn’t disappoint me at all. The fact that he’s jealous of Landon coils tightly around my chest, making it feel like all my insides are being squished together. “Why do you care?” I find myself unwisely asking. “Because, goddammit. If you’re going to ride any cowboy this summer, it’s going to damn well be me.”
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Dating Dracula
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play Only 99¢ for a limited time! -- EXCERPT: “I’m sorry,” she whispered with her back still to me. “I just…. You died, Anna. You’re dead.” “Undead,” my savior clarified for like the third time. “It’s still dead!” Lucy snapped. Even I glared at him. Now wasn’t the time for his little comments. “I—I don’t know how to handle all this. Do I grieve for you? Or celebrate the fact that you’re still walking around? You’re a vampire, Anna. For frick’s sake, do you know what that means? You drink blood, you sleep in a coffin… you aren’t you anymore. How am I supposed to handle this?” My dead heart shattered. “You’re supposed to accept me as I am,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “We’re sisters. Always. Forever.” “Except always and forever means two very different things to us now,” she said. I forced myself to swallow. From the sounds of it, Lucy was breaking up with me. Which almost made me laugh. She was my longest relationship ever. And she wanted to walk away from it? All because of an accident I had no control over? I ran a hand down my face and turned toward my savior. Someone whose name I really needed to learn. I couldn’t keep referring to him as my savior or I was going to develop some major hero worship issues. “Anna, I’m sorry,” Lucy repeated. “But I think I need some time to process all this.” I nodded, all the while keeping my gaze trained on my savior. He was the only thing keeping me calm right now. The thought that I might lose my best friend over all this was too much. I couldn’t show her how much this hurt, because if I did, I might never recover. Lucy had stormed into a vamp club at my side, but apparently, she drew the line at death. And honestly? I didn’t blame her. This time, tears really did spring to my eyes, but I blinked them back before they spilled. If I started crying, I had a feeling I’d never stop. “I’m going to head back to the hotel,” she said. “I’ve been staying there the past few nights.” Wait, what? Past few nights? But before I could question that little tidbit, she continued speaking. “Do you want me to call your parents for you? Explain what happened?” “No,” I rasped. That wasn’t her responsibility. If anyone was going to tell them about my transformation, it would be me. “I’ll text you,” she mumbled, but her voice was already fading. She was leaving. Text me. Ugh. Why not just tell me you hope we can still be friends? I hated this. What happened to best friends forever? I’d like to think that if this had happened to her, I’d still be standing by her side. Lucy was my world. Nothing could have convinced me to leave her. “I’m sorry” was her final comment before I heard the door shut. I took a few minutes to absorb everything. Thankfully, my savior let me brood in silence. I appreciated that. I wasn’t in the mood to hear platitudes right now. Once I was sure I had schooled my expression, I turned toward him and nodded. It was embarrassing to have someone witness a break-up, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that now. I needed a distraction. I didn’t want to think about Lucy right now. I’d reserve that for later, when I was alone and could process everything myself. Instead, I stared up at him, once again stricken speechless when our gazes met. Why did I find him so enthralling? So fascinating? It felt like I could stare at him for hours. Clearing my throat, I rubbed the bridge of my nose and asked, “Well, do you have a name?” His brows shot upward, and an amused smile claimed his lips, exposing the tips of his fangs. Intrigued, I reached for my own, poking them with my fingertip. They must have been what scraped my tongue earlier. Seemed they were a permanent fixture too. I’d have to remember that when talking and laughing. Vampires might be public knowledge now, but as seen by Lucy, humans weren’t one hundred percent ready to accept them yet. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice deliciously rumbly. “I’m so accustomed to being recognized wherever I go that I often forget to introduce myself.” So, he was like vampire royalty or something? Fangs still peeking out from behind his lips, he gave an old-fashioned bow, one he executed flawlessly, then peered at me through long, dark lashes. I shit you not, the boy almost breathed life back into me. He was just that gorgeous. “My name is Vlad.” He took my hand and lifted it to his lips before brushing a gentle kiss across my knuckles. “But most know me as Dracula.” I wish I could say I absorbed that information with grace and poise. But that would have been a lie. Instead, I burst out laughing, and said, “No shit!”
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Shopping for a CEO’s Honeymoon
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play / Audible / iTunes / Amazon Audible FREE NOVEMBER 10-30, 2021 -- EXCERPT: Amanda It’s Monday. Our home looks like the set for Extreme Home Makeover, except there’s no bus to move and all of the workmen act like I’m invisible as I wander downstairs after waking up naked in an empty bed. I throw on clothes and am down the stairs when I spot my husband. “What is going on?” I ask Andrew, who is huddled over blueprints with some guy who looks like he runs a union hall in South Boston. Tight eyes, distrustful look, goatee, and an intensity that makes it clear you want him on your side. Andrew breaks away, kisses my cheek, and gives me a saucy half grin. “Just like you wanted. Here we go.” “Here we go what? We barely talked about what we wanted!” “We did,” he says, suddenly defensive. “In bed,” he whispers. “What I want in bed has nothing to do with tile colors and three-season sunrooms!” I say. Loudly. “The guys aren’t working on anything like that,” he hisses as a few workmen suppress smiles. “We’re putting in new backup systems.” “Backups for what?” “Power outages. Acts of God. Hurricanes. Bomb cyclones that leave six feet of snow.” I snort. “What, no alien contingency plan? Got a blueprint for a universal extraterrestrial language translator in there?” Andrew reddens and avoids eye contact. I frown. “Andrew?” I grab his arm and pull him aside, his muscles tense. “What are you doing? This isn’t how I envisioned remodeling and spending our honeymoon. For one, we didn’t have sex that second time this morning.” He looks at the clock. “It’s only 7:53. Plenty of time for that.” He grabs me at the waist and pulls me close, trying to divert me with a kiss. It works. “We’ve got the geothermal heat unit figured out, and when we redo the gutter system and the roof, in addition to the solar panels, we’ve got an evaporation system set up for clean water collection. Storage is next,” he says to me. “All that in the first hour of work?” I’m stunned. “I’m efficient. Two weeks of my focused attention is like five years of a normal human “Efficient and humble. I love that in a man.” “You’d better, because you’re stuck with me forever.” “Is that a threat or a promise?” I get a pat on the ass in response. 
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Crossroads
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GIVEAWAY! Hosted by: #Book Blitz #Your Vileness by R.R.Orange #Fantasy #Mystery #Young Adult @Xpresso Book Tours22/11/2021
Your Vileness
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: The staircase terminated in a heavy wooden door that concealed whatever lay ahead. It looked like an ordinary door, but she sensed foreboding and gloom as if they were etched into its wooden panels. Amandine pushed it open. A rush of cool air caressed her face, bringing the scents of burnt sugar, oranges and gingerbread treats the spectators were enjoying below. She stood in a broad, open-aired gallery just below the belfry—the rope dangled down through an opening in the ceiling, and she could have reached for it to ring the bell. Without wasting another moment, Amandine drew the pistol from her left pocket and fired a bolt of energy behind and above her. The crackle of electricity was brief, but as she turned around and beheld the octopus-like limbs of the Strangler writhe wildly and fade into nothingness, the piercing scream of the ghost went on for quite a while until it too faded along with any traces of its physical existence. “In broad daylight,” she muttered, “the nerve of it.” Then she remembered someone else had quite a nerve. “You knew this was here,” she stated, facing Prince Ivan, who stared at her with his big blue eyes, dumbfounded. “That was impressive,” he finally said, his charming smile returning. “You led me here on purpose,” she continued. Stranglers were not dangerous and technically, being incorporeal, could not really strangle anyone. They did like to wrap their tentacles around a human victim, instilling a sense of dread, misery and damp coldness. No one had ever died from it, but some people had been known to faint from sheer terror. “Damn, Klinghoffer,” Ivan said, evidently forgetting his resolve not to swear and walking into the dark corner where the spectre had been moments ago, “You destroyed it without a trace.” “I should hope so. The electrical charges in this weapon are strong enough to unbind the faint energy keeping ghosts in our physical world. And it’s Mademoiselle Klinghoffer to you. Actually, I don’t even feel like speaking with you after you lured me here, hoping to embarrass me.” “Just another test of your skill,” Ivan said, looking completely unconcerned by her anger. Her face moved of its own volition into a cynical smile. “Your surprise at my success tells me you expected me to fail.” “But how did you know where to aim?” he asked, ignoring the accusation, “You fired the shot without even turning around.” She shrugged, trying not to be softened by his admiration for her skill. “After a while, you develop a sense for these things.” Amandine did not feel hurt exactly but perhaps slightly saddened by the fact that he was just as predictable as her schoolmates had been. Even his ruse of luring her into a haunted church proved fairly weak and pathetic. “I wonder what sort of thing died to create that?” he asked. “It’s not one thing but two or three people whose fates were intertwined in unfortunate ways. If they’re unlucky enough to die at the same time or in fairly close succession, the resulting ghost is a Strangler.” Amandine explained. “Anyway, I shall make my way to the royal palace now. I don’t suppose you actually brought me up here to see the Fairy News.” “Of course I did. Come on!” He made to take hold of her hand, but Amandine dodged his grasp. She had little interest in being led about by this royal manipulator. He looked hurt, or pretended to. “Oh, come now,” he coaxed, “haven’t you ever heard of letting bygones be bygones?” “A very Glamweinian sentiment,” she remarked, standing aloof and folding her arms close to her body. “True, we don’t like to hold on to grudges. We like to say, ‘if you look back, you get a smack.’ Isn’t it a wonderful tradition?” “Sounds a little violent,” Amandine said, “I think it’s wise to look back and learn from your mistakes, especially when the most recent incident only happened a few seconds ago.” Ivan kneeled down on the grey stones, opening his arms dramatically. “I beg your forgiveness, fair Klinghoffer,” he said in a solemn voice, his lips quivering as he suppressed a grin, “and I promise, no more pranks while I show you the Fairy News.” “All right,” Amandine said coldly, “Please rise up. You’re being ridiculous.” He leapt up and rushed to the edge of the gallery where a tall arch framed his dapper figure. “It’s already started!”
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Unshackled
-- EXCERPT: Seventeen minutes later, I returned to my own place a changed man. A deaf man. I rubbed my ear and tossed my keys on the hallway table. Shan was sitting on the couch, sipping a drink. Vodka, judging by the bottle on the coffee table. “What’s the occasion?” I asked. He glanced over at me, and the languidness of his movements told me everything I needed to know. He’d been at it for a while. I removed the bottle and returned it to the cabinet. “I need a favor,” he muttered. “I…I can’t ask sober.” I frowned and sat down next to him. How bad could it be? Our guys in the syndicate turned to me for favors all the time. With my position, I was more connected than the boss himself, ’cause Finn had to stay clean. He couldn’t get his hands dirty for nothing. “Whatever you need, sir. You know that.” He nodded with a dip of his chin, then finished his drink and set the glass on the table. “You’ve set men up with mistresses and girlfriends before.” Shite. I’d been waiting for this, yet I hadn’t expected it so soon. “Aye.” I eyed him carefully. His pain was as evident as usual. But maybe it wasn’t so soon after all. It’d been over a year since Grace had died. “Do you want me to arrange something for you?” I asked. “I can get it done in a couple of hours.” He swallowed hard. “I miss human touch, but I don’t wanna see anyone.” I felt my forehead crease. I could relate to the yearning, but I wasn’t sure if he was talking literally about the last part. “You mean you don’t want a relationship, or you want it anonymous?” “Both,” he rasped. Then he cleared his throat. “I’m not looking for intimacy. Just physical. No faces, no names, no talking, no off-the-books apartment, nothing social.” I nodded slowly, the alternatives appearing in my head—or disappearing, one by one. I wanted to say intimacy was exactly what he needed, but it was his choice. There were still options. “That leaves you with massage parlors and fetish clubs,” I answered. “It has to be dark,” he insisted. “Pitch black.” Okay. He really didn’t wanna risk seeing a face. Fine, I could work with that. A certain underground club came to mind, and it was run by a friend of Colm’s. Aside from the main club being an essential location for our drug trade, it had an upstairs area with a VIP section, a hallway full of private booths, and a couple rooms with viewing windows for live porn. “Any other preferences?” I asked. “I reckon you don’t care if she’s a blonde or a redhead in the dark, but body type? Age? You want her screened and on birth control so you can go without rubbers? You care about safewords? You want a subservient little thing or a bossy—” “Jesus,” he muttered and rubbed his temples. “It suddenly feels too complicated. And at the risk of making it worse, I’d prefer a man.” Fuck my life. Fuck my life hard.
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Merry Ex-Mas
-- EXCERPT: Releasing her grip on the luggage, Laney wrapped her arms around her mom, pulling her into an awkward embrace. Ruth stiffened. “What . . . are you doing?” “Hugging you. Apparently it’s what people do when they’ve lost someone they love.” “Yeah, well, stop it. I don’t need your sympathy.” Whatever emotion Travis thought he saw when looking at Laney’s mother, it wasn’t there now. When she drew back and studied Ruth’s face, no tears clouded her eyes. No grief etched her expression. Only annoyance, pure and simple. Like always. Laney dropped her arms. Same old Mama. Lovable as a freaking porcupine. Deep breath, girl. You can do this. For Dad. She peered up at the house. Despite the generous square footage of the single-story bungalow-style house, from the outside, the home appeared smaller, darker without her father’s presence. She swallowed hard to dislodge the lump of grief wedged in her throat and forced herself to enter the house. Crossing the threshold tugged at the threads of memories she’d kept squirreled away. Not all of them welcome. It took only one whiff of the familiar cinnamon coffee scent before the years magically melted away, and she was eighteen again, chafing at the bit, dying for just one ounce of the freedom her friends possessed. Laney shook off the ghosts that held her hostage and tried to only focus on the positive memories. The ones with her dad. As she made her way through the living and dining room toward her old bedroom, a smile pulled at her lips as fond memories bubbled up. She’d been closest to her father and everywhere her gaze landed brought forth an image of him to warm her heart. Fingers drifted over the couch, threadbare now but still located in the same place against the wall. Her father’s most-coveted possession, a black leather recliner, nestled in the corner of the living room. The mantle above the stone fireplace where Christmas stockings once hung. The oil paintings of snow-covered barns in the middle of a forest. An image of her father wafted through the recesses of her mind. Happy and smiling. The world could be falling apart around him, and he’d still be as jolly as good old St. Nick. Hard to believe he was gone. The urge to cry swelled, but she tamped it down like a good girl and turned away, plastering a smile on her face. “Where on Earth are you going?” “To my bedroom.” “Your bedroom?” Her mama tsked. “Good heavens, child, it stopped being your bedroom ages ago when you moved out.” Laney used a foot to push open the bedroom door and stopped dead. “Good Lord Almighty, Mama, what have you done?” It was like Santa’s workshop had materialized right in the middle of the room. Her mouth hung open as she gawked at the atrocity. Where once stood a vanity filled with cheap cosmetics only a teenager would buy, now a fake Christmas tree loomed, wilting under the weight of too many ornaments. Garland hung from the high shelf spanning the top of all four walls. A toy train chugged its way around the room. A workbench sat along one wall with a dozen or so holiday crafts waiting to be finished. The walls had been stripped of the soft turquoise blue hue her sixteen-year-old self had painstakingly selected, and replaced with a dreadful shade of gold that mirrored the tree ornaments. And her daybed? Nowhere to be found. The half dozen or so NSYNC and Jonas Brothers rock band posters were conspicuously missing too. Gone were her hot-pink curtains, fuzzy beanbag, and black shag rug as well as anything remotely resembling her teenage years. All signs of her life there had been erased. She’d been erased.
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Dead Shift
-- EXCERPT: There should be a rule in the universe somewhere that said if someone--namely, me—had already dealt with enough shit, then no one could bother said someone for at least twenty-four hours. Or maybe forty-eight. A case could be made for seventy-two as well. But since such a rule did not exist—at least in this universe—I was stuck with my ass on the grass, staring at a bullshit note and wishing I could explode the sender’s brain with my mind. Exploding a brain couldn’t be too far outside my new scope of abilities. I’d twisted the heads off a group of ghouls’ shoulders a few days ago with no more than a flick of my fingers. Making one measly brain go poof should be child’s play, right? If only. Though, with my teeth rattling around in my head from the ground shaking beneath my feet, I figured maybe, just maybe, my new abilities may not be a good thing. I mean, the wind whipping through the church could possibly have been a fluke, but the ground shaking like a goddamn maraca? Probably not. Still, I couldn’t peel my eyes from that note to save my life, and more? I didn’t want to. Azrael lied to you. Killian isn’t where you think he is. Come find me when you’re ready for the truth. —Essex The man who I’d called “Father” my whole life was in the ground right now, his body moldering in his casket, and the man who’d set it all into motion had the nerve to pick at the bloody scab that was my wounded heart. I reached for that stupid note, ready to set it on fire or crumble it up, or something, anything but let it lie in the grass where my dad had been put to rest. A hard hand knocked my fingers away before they could make contact, startling me right out of my ill-conceived plan. My sister stared at me like I’d grown a whole new head—and for good reason. A few months ago, she’d gotten a similar note from our brother, one that would have killed her had she not been utterly and totally dead already. “Are you okay?” Sloane asked, rolling her eyes at herself as she did so. She’d asked me that same question quite a lot over the last few days, and each time she seemed to curse herself. I cradled the hand she’d smacked against my chest as I inspected her features—ones that seemed to flicker every couple of seconds from regular Sloane to one so fucking frightening it was a wonder I wasn’t running away screaming. Poker face, don’t fail me now. 
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B Free
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Smashwords -- EXCERPT: Unable to process he was the last of his kind, B had searched for beings like him. There had been mentions of his model type in messages. He’d investigated every occurrence. 100.0000 percent of them had been futile chases, ghosts of brethren long dead. He projected an investigation into this planet rotation’s message would be a waste of resources also. Heze 478 was a sparsely populated Humanoid Alliance-controlled planet, a leisure site for high-credit and influential humans in their organization, a place where they could get away from the horrors they’d inflicted. It wasn’t rational that they would situate a secret laboratory there. It would be true to their devious natures to set a trap in that location for someone they correctly perceived as an enemy. He blew out his breath. They could be seeking to capture him, wanting to continue his torment. A fully operational warrior would ignore the communication. He wasn’t that being. B straightened to his full height and moved forward. His mechanics creaked. His body throbbed with an ache that matched the one in his soul. The rays of Mercury Minor’s single sun warmed his shoulders. One of the humanoid females looked up, up, up at him. Her head tilted back. Her eyes widened. She screamed, the sound piercing the chatter around her. The other females turned. Their eyes widened also. The crescendo of screams grew louder. Fraggin’ hole. B stepped backward, seeking to disappear once more into the shadows. He wouldn’t hurt the females. They were under his protection, as was everyone on the cyborg-claimed planet. But the females didn’t process that. All they saw was his huge form, his primitive B Model design. They had never viewed another being like him. He was different, and, to their gazes, scary. That damaged him. He navigated a maze of less-utilized pathways, staying to himself, sticking to the darkness. The screams faded. His emotional damage remained. He lumbered past a training ring positioned at the edge of the settlement. One set of warriors, all E Models, faced another set of warriors, all C Models. If there was a B Model force, he’d be the only one on it. “Join us, B.” Odium, the leader of the E Model faction, gestured at him. “The C Models need your skills.” The C Models objected to that. Loudly. They didn’t need him, and he didn’t belong on either side. He was a relic. His model type had been completely replaced. He was redundant. B shook his head and continued walking.
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Warming My Winter Heart
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: Before long, Mom has dinner on the table, and when we’re seated, she says grace. Mom’s always loved going to church on Christmas Eve, but after her big fight with Aunt Flora, she started going every Sunday and doing things like saying grace. Dad gives me a fully loaded, sideways look that says, “Yeah, your mother still hasn’t talked to your aunt and we still do these things to make it okay in her eyes.” I give him a nod. Does he know what they fought about that Christmas? He took a misdirected punch while he and Ian pulled Mom and her sister apart. That was before Ian became the biggest boob on the planet. Ugh. “Oh, Lexi, I almost forgot.” Mom draws my attention back to the present. She grabs a box from the kitchen. “I got Christmas crackers.” Ooh. Seems hardly worth it for the three of us, but I do love Christmas crackers. Their gold and silver foil shines as Mom hands one to Dad and me then places one next to her own plate. I look inside the cracker for the pull tab and grip it firmly then cross my arms, offering the Christmas cracker to Mom on my right and reaching for Dad’s cracker with my right hand. “Ready?” Mom says. I’m transported back in time as I nod then Mom issues her standard Christmas cracker instructions. “On three. One . . . two . . . three!” We all pull hard on our crackers against each other and our three little crackers pop and snap while bits of ripped paper scatter across the table. If Mom and Dad had a cat, it would have run for cover. “Ooh, look,” Mom says. “I got a magnifying glass.” An urge to make a snarky comment about Mom’s eyesight and “how did the Christmas elves know?” pops into my head, but I let it go. I just got here, no need to start a fight just yet. I check the table for my prize while Dad holds up a giant sparkly paperclip. “Not sure what this is about,” he says. “It’s a bookmark, dear.” Mom touches Dad’s hand as she says it. She must have splurged on the premium crackers that encourage you to spend more money by showing you on the back of the package what you’ll get. Something shiny catches my eye on the floor. “Ooh,” I say, leaning over in my chair to pick up my prize. “I got a pen.” I hold it up like it’s some kind of trophy. At least it’s something useful. I place it on the table right next to the fuschia paper crown that also spewed forth from the Christmas cracker. “Put on your crown.” Mom flutters her hand in my direction. She’s already wearing hers. Dad somehow “accidentally” ripped his, so it won’t stay on his head. Lucky guy. I put on the crown. My cheeks burn a bit, and I feel like I’m ten again—the last year I remember actually liking these silly crowns. I scan the table hoping a bottle of wine has materialized in the last few minutes. Nope.
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