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Never Plan a Billionaire’s Wedding
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Carolina was introducing him to his former fiancée. Fine. Near fiancée. It had been a promise ring, not an engagement diamond, but still. The run he’d just finished was apparently unnecessary from a cardio standpoint, since his heart was now racing, crashing into his ribs as if it were fleeing a crime scene. Not that he was the bad guy. But still. Kari. No way. It was his Kari. And okay, maybe she was never formally his fiancée, but until college and distance broke them up, they always planned on it. He’d given her a promise ring in high school, so that was close enough. When Carolina had mentioned she was meeting two wedding professionals named Katie and Carrie, he’d heard it as the more familiar spelling. She’d never spelled it out, and she hadn’t bothered to tell him Kari‘s last name. “Caleb, have you swallowed your tongue along with your manners? Shake the poor woman’s hand, for goodness sake!” Carolina crooned, giving him side-eye while managing a puzzled smile at Kari as the two stood awkwardly in front of each other, gaping. Kari had changed in some ways, for sure, but it was her, alright. Her brown hair was a darker shade but still thick and shiny, framed in soft layers around her face, brushing the edges of straight, strong shoulders. He recognized those whiskey brown eyes, deceptively sleepy unless you knew her, knew that behind them, her brain was working constantly at warp speed. She was taller now–or anyway, she didn’t wear four-inch heels back then–so instead of having to bend to kiss her lips, he could just dip his head. If he wanted to kiss her. If wanting to kiss her wasn’t the only thing he could think about.
GIVEAWAY! --
Vanished
-- EXCERPT: You have a possible concussion. Even a mild one isn’t anything to play at.” “I’m not playing with anything.” Mabel gripped the metal bumper with her uninjured hand and ignored how her stomach pitched. “I’ve had migraines worse than this. If it still hurts tomorrow, I’ll get it checked out.” The EMT stepped back and peered down at her as if she were a naughty twoyear-old who just got caught raiding the cookie jar. Her eyes slid over his name badge identifying him as Buck. “I promise.” Mabel offered the most saccharine smile she could muster. “I just really need to get home.” “Can’t let you go just yet.” Sergeant Corrine Michaels, first officer on the scene, stepped out from behind the ambulance door, her dark brown hair knotted at the base of her neck. Her Black skin glistened against the glow of the streetlamps. “Why not?” Mabel couldn’t keep the frustration out of her voice. “I’ve given you my statement, and you and your partner took care of boarding up Mrs. Lancaster’s window.” She gestured to the now-wood-covered frame on the second floor. “So, tell me why …” Mabel trailed off at the sight of the all-too-familiar black SUV that pulled up to a screeching stop right in front of the ambulance. “You have got to be kidding me.” So much for keeping this low-key. Quinn wasn’t alone. In yet another surprise of the evening, the sight of Paul Flynn slamming out of the passenger side of the vehicle sent her already overwrought emotions into an out-of-control spiral. There was only one way to control that storm of emotions, and that was with forced hostility. “What are you doing here?” “Answering a damsel’s call of distress.” In the pale glow of the streetlamps, what little humor twinkling in Paul’s eyes was muted by concern. It unnerved her that her first reaction upon seeing him was relief, followed quickly by gratitude before annoyance hit dead center of her chest. Since she’d left his office, he’d earned himself a five o’clock shadow, and damn if that didn’t increase his sexiness factor. The man looked like a knight in shining armor or at least a rival for a once-upon-a-time movie hero who would have taken over not only the silver screen but the town that built them. An uncontrolled bubble of laughter climbed into her throat at the very idea. Instead of armor, Paul carried a briefcase. Normally. But not now. She wondered if it was bulletproof. She almost … almost let herself sag into him at his cautious touch. That was how long it took for his words to cut through the fog in her mind. Her spine went steel-girder stiff. “Who are you calling a damsel?” “You,” Paul countered with a quick look at Quinn. “Told you that would work.” Quinn’s grin was quick, and her annoyance grew. When did these two become friends? “How is she?” Paul asked Buck. “She is fine.” Mabel looked from Quinn to Paul, back to Quinn. Her eyes ached from glaring so hard. She might be one big walking bruise in the morning, but she could fake it until then. “She’s okay,” Buck corrected. “Glass puncture on her hand. Other abrasions and bruises. Bruised larynx, no doubt because of the choking. Possible concussion, which we’ve discussed at length.” “More like ad nauseam,” Mabel muttered, and only now did she hear how raspy her voice sounded. She touched a hand to her throat as if she could ease the roughness. “I guess I don’t have to ask how you heard.” She narrowed her gaze at Sergeant Michaels who looked far from repentant. “Quinn, it’s after seven. I need to call Keeley, and they won’t let me back upstairs to get my phone.” As anxious as she was to call her daughter, the idea of going back up and into that room left her nauseated. Quinn handed over his cell, and Mabel gripped it as if it were a lifeline. “Thanks for the head’s up, Corrine.” ‘Following orders,” the officer assured him. “You want a rundown of events, Detective?” “Yes, thanks.” Quinn touched a hand to Mabel’s shoulder. “You really okay?” “Yep.” A little freaked out. More than a tad unsettled. And really, really restless to get home and put all this behind her. Most of all, she just wanted to hug her kid. All the rest of it could wait until she was alone and could scream into her pillow. “I’ll be back in a sec.” Quinn moved off out of hearing distance, and Mabel looked down at the phone. Only then did she notice her hands were trembling. “I have to call her.” It was as if Mabel had to convince herself, but she looked up at Paul. “I don’t know what to tell her. How do I explain this without freaking her out?” “Maybe you don’t just yet. Give us a few minutes?” Paul asked Buck, who snapped his medical kit shut and hoisted himself into the ambulance. “I don’t need coddling,” Mabel said when he sat next to her. “You’re a stranger,” she insisted in an effort to explain these feelings to herself. A stranger who displayed such concern and affection for her, he made her feel as if they’d known each other forever. She didn’t want to feel comfortable with him. She didn’t want to want or need him. “I don’t need …” The warmth of his body surged against hers. When he raised his arm over her shoulders and drew her in, she stiffened. “I said I’m fine.” She squeezed her eyes shut as the soft fabric of his shirt caressed her face. Tears she’d been trying to hold onto escaped, and when she fisted her hands to make them stop, an involuntary whimper of pain escaped. “Humor me.” Still holding her close, Paul reached for her bandaged hand and turned it palm up. “How did this happen?” It felt good, letting go for a moment. Being held. Having someone to lean on. For however short a time, she surrendered to it.
GIVEAWAY! --
The Dasher
-- EXCERPT: I took a cigarette from my purse and stuck it between my lips, staring at the rain. The water hitting the asphalt was getting louder in my brain. Before I lit the cancer stick, I stepped out from under the overhang and into the downpour. This kind of rain wasn’t common in Southern California. I was compelled to embrace it every time it poured like this. I didn’t give a shit that my hair, makeup, and $700 Gucci sneakers would be ruined. Fat water drops hit the cigarette I had between my lips, reminding me it was there, and I lifted my hand with the lighter. “Good luck getting that lit,” I heard from behind me and spun to see Ben standing with his hands in the pockets of his baggy shorts—his chain wallet swinging, and his arm tattoos on full display. I wasn’t sure how long I stood there staring at him. In an act of defiance for him and mother nature, I flicked the metal of the lighter several times. Then threw the damn thing, followed by the cigarette. “Let me ask you something.” He had to shout over the rain, but his tone was calm. That pissed me off. I was standing in a rainstorm. Soaked from head to toe, I tried to light a cigarette. How in the fucking hell was I qualified to answer any question right now? I hadn’t even taken a breath yet. “Is it about the money? Or is it a fuck you to your old man to prove him wrong about you? Or to fix something that you think is broken?” he asked. I had to blink to keep the water from getting in my eyes that was now dripping from my forehead. “That’s three questions.” I shook my head. “Why are you even out here? What do you care about any of this? Who the fuck are you, Ben?” He stepped closer. “Now you asked me three questions.” God, he was impossible. What did he think would happen, some romance movie moment in the rain where I jumped into his arms, and we lived happily ever after getting matching tattoos and motorcycles? In my silence, he answered one of my questions: “I’m Billy-fucking-Joel.” My heart clenched then fell into my stomach. He knew. Of course, he knew what I’d thought last night when Jason described “Uptown Girl” as a man falling in love with a woman out of his world and how it had changed him. Was Ben in love with me? I didn’t expect him to change for 1. He shouldn’t even like me or, God forbid, love me. I wasn’t worthy. “I don’t need this shit right now,” I shouted at him. “Answer my question, Lisa.” I wiped the rain from my eyes. “Which one?” “Is it about the money?” “Yes, damnit, and my father and fixing broken things. It’s all of it.” “Lisa—” “No.” It was too much. I couldn’t keep this up. His questions, his mysterious look, the mere presence of him. My desire for him. My lust for him. My fear of him. My fear of him and me together. I wasn’t strong enough. I was too broken. “You have to stop. You want to fix me—” “No, I don’t. I like you like this.” “What? Having a breakdown, standing in the fucking rain? You like this? You’re a sick fucker.” He laughed. He fucking laughed at me. I was having a stage-three meltdown, and he was laughing. I threw my arms up and spun away from him. “You’re the only one who can fix you,” he hollered to my back. “All of the business stuff, though, you can figure that out. Just think about it. We all know you’ll make it work.” I turned back around. “Why? Why do you think I can? I can’t even figure out that a lighter doesn’t work in the damn rain.” He laughed again. “You are so fucking hot.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Road to Ruin
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Pity Party
-- EXCERPT: “Your total is two thousand forty-eight dollars,” I tell the beaming bride-to-be who’s nearly blinding me with her over-the-top white teeth. She’s like Ross Geller from that one episode of Friends. I used to dream of being just like her—hopeful, excited, no visible baby bump while planning my impending nuptials. Unfortunately, life has kicked me in the teeth often enough that I’m slowly stepping away from that fantasy. Instead, I’m focusing on the fact that women like her are probably more stressed out than your average sky diver during a tornado. Will he say yes? Does his mother hate me as much as I think she does? Should we really be spending this kind of money on one party? And the most important—Does he know I was serious when I said I don’t clean toilets? The list goes on and on. “You’re the best, Melissa!” the petite blonde with the unnatural orange tan gushes. She says this like I just brought her bail money at two in the morning. As she hands me her credit card, she adds, “You must love owning a bridal shop! I mean, could there be a better job?” I didn’t think so ten years ago when I became my mom’s partner at Bride’s Paradise. I had recently graduated from college and was so full of hope and anticipation about my own wedding I couldn’t imagine anything better. Not that I was engaged or even dating anyone at the time, but I was raised on television shows like Say Yes to the Dress, Bridezilla, and David Tutera’s My Fair Wedding. I’d fantasized about my big day for over a decade at that point. For a generation that is meant to believe there’s more to life than marriage, we sure spend a lot of time dreaming about it. Being fed a constant visual diet of what our big day is supposed to look like wreaks havoc with expectations. Somehow a wedding has become more about the show and what we wear than about true love. Had I only gotten hooked on Law and Order or Dr. Who, I might have become a lawyer or even a Time Lord. Note to self: investigate the kind of credentials needed to become a Time Lord. I hand the credit card back to Brooklyn as her wedding party circles around her. Her maid of honor squeals—loudly—“Oh, my GOD, Brook! This is it!! You said yes to the dress!” We’ve already taken pictures with the requisite signage and hashtags to ensure that everyone the bride has ever met will know where she bought her gown. Hashtags are the backbone of my business. #BridesParadise #ElkLakeWisconsinWeddings #LoveIsInTheAir #ImSoSickOfMyJobICouldSpit
GIVEAWAY! --
One Bossy Disaster
-- EXCERPT: “Um, a little help? I can’t get out.” I make another half-hearted attempt to stand up in my kayak and fail comically. Shepherd stares at me for a second before he laughs. He laughs--a real belly laugh—and it’s a happy sound that vibrates through me. Not cruel, either, but warm and understanding. There goes my heart again as he strides over to where the waves meet the beach. He grabs the front of my kayak effortlessly and hauls it out of the water. No sweat. No big deal. No small favor with bigger muscle. Damn, I’ll admit it. Right now, I am thirsty as hell. I’ve been ogling him all day and he still hasn’t stopped getting hotter. “There,” he says when I’m safely on the sand. “Can you get out now?” I try. I really do. But my body simply won’t cooperate. I guess my legs forgot they’re supposed to be a flesh and bone team, and my arms feel totally disconnected from my shoulders. “This is so embarrassing,” I say, but he just releases the end of the kayak and steps closer. “Save it, Destiny. You worked your ass off today and there’s no point in feeling shamed. Even if I’m going to carry you.” What? He bends down, and before I can register what’s happening, he does it. Picks. Me. Up. As in, I am in his arms right now, damsel in distress style, legs hooked over one arm while his other arm lends back support. The world spins as I weakly wrap my arms around his neck. And oh. Oh. He’s almost superheated with exertion through his wet suit. The shelter of his arms makes me aware just how massive he really is. I’m so used to being the same height as most of the men around me—often taller—but this guy makes me feel small. That’s a miracle in itself. And he’s breathing harder now. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t when he dragged my kayak up onto the shore. His arms tighten around me, drawing me closer. I’m not sure I’m breathing. Scratch that, definitely not. There’s a wild look in his eyes. My arms are locked around his neck and we’re so close, I can feel his heart beating so, so fast. He isn’t alone. Mine strums like a guitar plucked by a rock star belting out a nasty breakup ballad. What is even happening? “It’s normal for first-timers,” he says softly, and I blink up at him in confusion. Shepherd Foster is never soft. …and first-timers? How do I explain that although I’m way younger, I’m not inexperienced. I’ve had my fair share of male attention, though none of the boys I’ve dated have ever swept me up like a storm. “Kayaking,” he clarifies, eyeing my blank face. Oh, crap.
GIVEAWAY! --
I’ve Watched You Die
-- EXCERPT: The creature’s eyes dart back and forth between me and Ryker, as if taking its time, contemplating who to kill first. Ryker takes advantage of its hesitation, shoving me away. “Dani, go! Run!” The command is raw and guttural, impossible to ignore. I take off, running as fast as I can toward the school. Adrenaline rushes through my bloodstream like a bomb went off inside me. There is no thinking. I have tunnel vision. All I see is the grass in front of my feet. The door that leads to sanctuary inside the school building. All I hear is blood pounding inside my skull and the rush of air as it bursts in and out of my lungs. It’s as if I’m breathing fire. I’m halfway there. He said he’d be right behind me. I can’t hear him. Where is he? I risk a glance back, over my shoulder. I expected him to follow. When I look behind me, I see he’s still staring the creature down. He has a dagger in one hand and he is slowly circling the monster, waiting for it to strike. Shit. What is he thinking? Is he trying to buy me time? I don’t need more time. I’m almost there. Worse, that thing huge, easily the size of four large men. Maybe it is, because I count eight legs sticking out of the goo. I slow to a jog, then stop, turning completely to watch him and the creature pace one another. As Ryker did with me, with each step he’s moving just enough not to incite an immediate attack, but positioning himself for a straight shot away, toward the school’s garden. No. Oh, God. Shit. I know how this ends. I just saw it. There are more of them, in the garden. Waiting. An ambush. They are here to kill him. Why? Why? Why? I sprint toward him, away from the school. Away from safety. I can’t allow him to run for the garden. More of those things are waiting. They’ll gut him. Cut him open. He’ll bleed out, blood soaking the gravel path. Just like my vision. No. No. No. “Ryker! Run! They’re in the garden! It’s a trap! It’s a trap!” I scream at him, my legs pumping as fast as I can make them go, faster than any track meet or workout I’ve ever run. A terrified part of me knows it’s not fast enough. I push my muscles to their limit, trying to reach him in time. I don’t know what I can possibly do to help him against that thing, but two is better than one. It has to be. We’ll run for the woods. Anywhere but that fucking garden. Literally anywhere. “Dani, no! Get back!” “The garden! It’s a trap!” I sprint, my gaze dropping to the abandoned high heels shoes on the grass. The four inch points aren’t exactly one of my grandad’s shotguns, but they’re better than nothing. That thing has eyes, doesn’t it? I’m forty meters away when the creature lunges at Ryker. He is looking at me, yelling at me to run. My heart stops dead in my chest. I yell out a warning, but it’s too late.
GIVEAWAY! --
Dragon Storm
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- Only 99c for a limited time! -- EXCERPT: “Among other things. I also am not unmindful that the choice to become drakaina was not Aria’s and that she also feels forced into a pair bonding with me.” Basil shrugged. “That has been the way for drakaina for thousands of years. Over the millennia, dragons have discovered that while the best way to our hearts might be through our stomachs, the best way to a drakaina’s heart is often found between her legs.” Darius chuckled. “I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I’m willing to believe.” “Take it from an old dragon who still finds his mate to be a handful, a well-sated drakaina is a happy drakaina.”
GIVEAWAY! --
Redeeming Rabbit
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: Rabbit Elenore hadn’t flipped out on me for invading her privacy. Nor had she asked me to leave. If she dropped her towel and started dressing right there in front of me, I’d likely cream the inside of my jeans. She was perfect. And not just because she was brainy, beautiful, and had her shit together, but because she was fucking weird. I’d been through her entire apartment, and nothing was out of place. Her closet was arranged by color with pictures of her goddamn outfits to keep them straight. Nobody was naturally this clean, organized, and meticulous. Elenore had a screw loose. Which meant I might actually have a chance with her. “You left the door open,” I blurted out, sounding like a fucking idiot. “To my apartment. Not my bedroom.” “It wasn’t locked.” She added pants to the pile of clothes in her arms and turned to face me. “I need to get dressed.” I wanted to tell her to go right ahead but decided not to push my luck. Still clutching the sexy photos I’d filched, I said, “These are mine.”
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Wicked Coven (Cursed Descendants 1) by A.S.Green #Urban Fantasy @Xpresso Book Tours14/9/2023
Wicked Coven
-- On sale for 99¢ for a limited time! **ALSO! There are 12 pop culture witches hidden in the book. Find all 12 (or as many as you can) and be entered to win prizes. Contest ends on Halloween. Details are inside the book cover!** -- EXCERPT: Ethan Mather spun Stella toward a corner of the dance floor, then suddenly stopped and pulled her so close she straddled his leg. “The way you dance,” she said. “It should be criminal.” Ethan’s eyes sparked with humor. “I’m surprised you think so.” “I could surprise you in more ways than that,” Stella said, wishing she could think of a spell that would put him in his place without calling her out as a witch. “Do you feel that?” he asked. His gaze bore into hers. “People staring at us? Yeah, I feel it.” Not that she blamed anyone. Ethan in his tux. Her O.T.T. dress. The fact that they’d been holding this highly provocative pose for way too long… Who wouldn’t want to watch to see what happened next? “No,” he said. “This. Do you feel this?” He tightened his arm around her waist, and Stella’s magic surged, heating her chest and sizzling through her veins. Oh, yeah. She felt it all right. The pulsing sense of power was impossible to ignore. She only wished she knew what it meant.
GIVEAWAY! -- |
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