#Book Blitz #A Viscount for the Spinster by Samantha Holt #Historical Romance @Xpresso Book Tours30/7/2023
A Viscount for the Spinster
-- EXCERPT: The fierce beat of Apollo’s heart thudded against her palm. Warmth seeped into her fingertips and left her breathless. She glanced briefly to the side, spying the tile embedded inches into the ground. That could have been her. She met Apollo’s gaze, his pupils dark. His breaths were ragged and whispered through her hair. She smelled sweetness on his breath for a moment until it gave way to a soapy fragrance that wrapped about her. His arms framed her against the wall, a protective cocoon that should have slowed the pounding of her pulse. But he was so close. Inches away. And he was so warm. Her fingers remained splayed upon his chest. She couldn’t move them even if she wanted to. And she didn’t. The firmness of his chest and thump, thump of his heart eased away the breathlessness and brought her back to the world. A breeze tousled her hair, sending a curl tickling around her neck. Somewhere in the village a baby cried. And the tingle of awareness that came with touching Apollo continued, rippling through her and leaving her feeling as though her entire body was aflame. When she met his gaze, everything but the awareness dissolved. Gone were the sounds of life in the village. She swore she could hear the raging hammer of his heart which had yet to slow and each thick inhale she took. Maisie dragged her gaze over his features, lingering upon the white scar then to the slight stubble on his jaw and up again to meet a gaze that remained intense. All she needed to do was push him away. To utter a quick thank you for saving her life and retreat inside. Neither her legs nor her arms would obey such a command. His gaze flicked down and up again. He twisted the golden ring on his index finger, his body swaying ever so slightly forward. Her breaths quickened, rasping in her throat. A single word would stop him. All she had to do was force one from her throat and it would put an end to the inevitable. Perhaps she’d known this would always come, even from the moment she’d first spotted him. Perhaps that was why she’d hidden from him. Apollo had always held sway over her, and years apart hadn’t changed that. If anything, it was worse. She liked the man he had grown into far too much. “Maisie,” he murmured, his tone guttural. She blinked. Her name echoed in her ears, and a flash of recollection flared. He’d uttered her name in exactly the same manner when he’d sent her away. A word tinged with regret. Well, she wasn’t giving either of them anything to regret now. She ducked under his arm and backed up by several steps. He offered a rough curse and pushed away from the wall. “That was a mistake.” He scrutinized her, his face giving nothing away. Could he not at least show regret at his actions? It would make escaping what had to have been a near kiss easier—if he did not really want it either. She knew what she wanted, and it wasn’t a kiss from Apollo. Was it?
GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #Watch Your Back by Stacy Claflin (Ariana Jones 1) #Thriller @Xpresso Book Tours25/7/2023
Watch Your Back
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: “Rita, where are you?” he called. She readied herself to run again. His footsteps sounded close. “Ready or not, here I come.” She held her breath. Waited. Had to get the shoes off. “Rita…” A shiver shot down her spine. “You can’t hide forever,” he said, now sounding farther away. Stomach lurching, she peeked around the corner. He neared the swings, his back to her. She loosened the buckle on her right pump. It stuck. Resisted. Footsteps grew closer. Now he was heading her way. She froze. Tried to fix her buckle. Fumbled. “There you are!” Heart nearly giving out, she turned. He stood halfway between the playground and her. Rita leaped to her feet and ran. Her right shoe clung to her foot loosely, the buckle not fully undone. Made it hard to remain steady. She kicked, trying to free herself from it. Finally lost it as she darted between bushes. Rough bark dug into her bare foot. Then concrete as she reached the sidewalk. Her hips protested the three-inch difference between her two feet, one shoed and the other not. “Gotcha!” His arms wrapped around her middle. He squeezed. She struggled and kicked, barely able to breathe. “Help! I’m being—” He covered her mouth. She bit his finger. He swore at her. Didn’t let go. Pulled her back toward the park. Rita squirmed and flailed. Scratched at him. She wasn’t going down without a fight. They flew to the ground. She landed with a hard thud. He crashed on top of her. She pushed and strained to get out from under him. “This could’ve all been avoided,” he grunted. “I only wanted to talk.” “Could’ve fooled me.” She tried to push him off. “Don’t you see we’re meant for each other?” Rita almost laughed at the irony of his words. “This is your way of winning me back?” “You have to see the obvious.” The truth was clearer now than before. But pointing that out wouldn’t do any good. Just needed to get away. Get her phone back and call the cops. Had to think fast. “You think we can work things out?” she asked, and stopped resisting. “If you’re willing to change.” He loosened his hold. She bit back a sarcastic retort. Needed to get him to move off her. “What do you want me to do?” “You have to stop flirting with guys at the bar, for starters,” he said, giving her more space. Not enough to run. “Let’s talk about that,” she said. He rolled off her and started to say something. Rita jumped up and ran. He called after her. She raced to the park. Through it. He screamed profanities at her, getting closer. She yelled for help. For all the good that would do. Her restaurant came into view. All she needed was to get to her car. Her fingerprint would start it. Thank God for technology. She’d lost her keys and purse somewhere along the way. Hadn’t even noticed when. She reached her property. Something hard struck the back of her head. Rita flew forward. Landed hard on the ground, her car just out of reach. Another hit to the head. Everything went black.
GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #Lifestyle (Trust Fall 1) by Kasey Fallon #Contemporary Romance @Xpresso Book Tours24/7/2023
Lifestyle
-- EXCERPT: He wasn’t sure what to expect from Lexi’s hangover, but he hadn’t expected waking up to an empty bed. After adding a t-shirt to his lounge pants, he shuffled into the kitchen. No Lexi, but the coffeemaker had been turned on, and one mug had appeared in his dish rack. If it weren’t for her little duffel bag on the floor of his bedroom he would have thought she’d left. He was reaching for a mug when the note caught his attention. A paper towel had been laid flat, and the word run was looped in some kind of blue goop. Hair gel was his first thought, but as he picked it up he caught the scent. It was written in his dish soap. With a chuckle he pitched into the trash can. Since he wasn’t sure when she would be back and didn’t want to leave the apartment open, he settled for a quick workout in his living room. The scent of sausage was heavy through the kitchen by the time she came in, panting. Lexi didn’t say a word to him but passed him to stand at the sink. She turned the cold water on full and stuck her wrists under the spray. Grayson frowned. “How far did you go? You’re fighting tonight, today is supposed to be a rest day for you.” With her face flushed, she looked over her shoulder at him. It completed the look for him; flushed face, sports bra, and bike shorts that left little to the imagination, bent over in front of him. His mind immediately took a detour into being behind her in a different way. With her hair loose- “I only went like two miles, most of it walking, that was why I took so long. Quick sprint at the end.” She turned off the tap and dried her hands on a dish towel. He brought his imagination to heel and focused on the fact that she seemed comfortable in his place. He hadn’t been sure it was the right move, bringing her back here drunk; they hadn’t talked about it. He shifted the sausage in the pan as the sizzling brought his attention back to the stove. “So it’s okay that I brought you back here?” he asked. “Yeah, it’s fine. I mean I’m yours now, right?” Laughing dark eyes looked up at his, and though she spoke lightly, the statement hit him hard. Then she was talking again before he had time to think of a response. “And it’s definitely okay if I’m getting breakfast,” she said with a smile. “Good,” he said gruffly. “How do you like your eggs?” He had to force the words through the sudden tightness in his chest. She was his. But was she really? “I can make them,” she offered, and he shook his head. “Go stretch while you’re still warmed up.” “I don’t mind-” Lexi stopped mid-sentence when he turned and pinned her with a stare. She snapped her mouth closed with an audible snap, and stomped past him towards the living room. He smirked as he heard the music from her phone blast down the hall. Good girl.
GIVEAWAY! Wonder Land
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GIVEAWAY! Runners
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo --
GIVEAWAY! Above the Fold
-- EXCERPT: TRISHA STAGGERED to her motorcycle just as hangover dizziness hit full force. She dropped to one knee on the slimy blacktop of the narrow alley, clutching the soft leather of the bike’s seat for balance. A deep breath brought a whiff of urine and wet rats into her nostrils. The rising sun peeked over the far corner of the four-story brick monstrosity that held the punk club where she’d spent the night. Best time to see the sunrise, when I’m ready for bed. But the beeper in her jacket pocket vibrated. Her fingers fumbled over a wad of tissues, breath mints, quarters, and subway tokens before she finally clutched the beeper. Her editor’s number stared at her from the display. Chief, making the bike’s Indian head logo seem like it was mocking her. Her sunglasses cut the morning glare enough for her to stumble past the dumpster to the back door of the club from which she’d come. She slapped her hand against the bricks for balance, inadvertently placing her palm right in the middle of the “beware” in the “Beware Out-of-Towners” message spray-painted on the wall. “Dick!’ she called. “Jesus, Red, you don’t have to shout,” Dick answered from his post behind the bar. “Thought you’d gone. I’m just about to clear out the refuse.” Trisha’s eyes adjusted to the light, seeing several people passed out on stage. They’d be in for a rude awakening. Dick wasn’t gentle, she knew by experience. She made the universal gesture for a phone. “Need to make a call. Now.” She held up her beeper. “Aren’t we important this morning.” But Dick slammed the club’s phone on top of the bar. “Hell, yeah, I’m important. The paper can’t run without me,” she shot back, sliding onto the stool. She could ask for water, but who knew what was swimming in it. “How about a Coke?” Dick rolled up his shirtsleeves, dug into the ice, and tossed her the can he’d found. She caught it with one hand. Jolt. Perfect. “Nice reflexes after all that tequila,” Dick said. “Thanks.” She searched her back pants pocket and dropped a five on the bar. It stuck to something. Not her problem. Let Dick peel it off. She cursed as it took forever to dial the old rotary phone. least bit sorry. An alcohol-induced migraine, centered just above her left eye, made it hard to focus on his words. “—but I need you to get to City Hall in the next hour, to cover a press conference about the new zoning regulations.” “Zoning regulations?” It sounded worse when she repeated it. “Joe, I’m a crime reporter. Why am I covering zoning regulations? Put a stringer on it.” “Cardoza wants it covered, which means a stringer won’t do, and Tony’s in court all day. We need someone who can write something catchy, not boring, about this.” “Hell.” Cardoza, the publisher of the New York Herald. Joe’s boss. Trisha cradled the phone in her ear and pulled out the little notebook and pencil she kept in the inside pocket of the black leather jacket. “Exact time. Which room at City Hall. Anything else you got.” Joe rattled off the information, adding the names of the deputy mayor holding the press conference. Behind her, she heard Dick hauling the remnants of his customers to their feet. “Got it,” she said. “Anything else?” “Be aware of any undercurrents. Word is that this is just a money grab by developer friend of the deputy mayor. The rest of the reporters will ask polite questions. You won’t.” A chance to harass a deputy mayor at City Hall? The assignment was looking up. Some water and aspirin, and she’d be able to focus. “Oh, and be presentable, Trish. Cardoza is watching this story. He’ll hear if you roll up to the press conference looking like a punk.” “He wants me to wear a dress, he can buy me a damn car. He wants me to get there on time, I need to use the Indian.” “Look half-businesslike, at least. Don’t show up looking like one of the Ramones.” “The Slits are the female punk band.” Trisha took inventory of her clothes. The blue jeans, faded T-shirt, leather jacket, and motorcycle boots weren’t even half-businesslike. Not to mention the smell from the whiskey someone had spilled on her. Dammit, this was supposed to be her day off. A long pause followed, broken by one of Joe’s familiar long-suffering ‘what-the-hell-are-you-doing-with-your-life’ sighs. “Trisha, have you even been to bed?” “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” tough spot, “I know,” she said. “I’ll be there and get what you need.” She chugged the rest of the Jolt and dialed another number. grabbed the phone out of her hand, but the kid stumbling out the front door threw up, drawing his attention. David, be home, she thought. She was only five blocks from David’s place near the Village. He answered. Score. must have been forwarded to his car phone. one. Now there’s some minor deal about the alarm and Grayson’s being fussy about it, so I got dragged out of bed to check it out.” “You sure everything’s okay?” Dick slopped a mop at the mess on the floor. She figured she had sixty seconds before he cut off her call. “It’s fine. Like I said, it’s probably Grayson overreacting.” David shouted again at the other drivers, this time in English. “Look, Trish, what did you want, anyway?” “I need to get a change of clothes from your place. Is the coast clear?” David’s fiancée wasn’t her biggest fan. The sound of squealing tires echoed in the background. “Yep, Darlene’s at her mother’s place this week, studying. Take whatever you need,” he said. “Thanks. Be careful out there, okay?” “Always am, unlike you,” he said. “Wait, Trish, you’re not in trouble, are you?” “Not yet. But it’s early.” and slipped out the back door again. This could work. If her memory served, David had a blazer she could borrow that would be suitable over one of his T-shirts. Not strictly businesslike but, hey, Miami Vice style jackets with T-shirts were all the rage now. She might even have time for a shower there. Waitaminute. She hadn’t concentrated on what David said because she’d been worried about her own problems. But he’d said his boss rousted him out of bed to answer a possible alarm at the museum. David’s security firm had installed a sophisticated system to protect a high-profile art exhibit at the Museum of Historic Arts. Several anonymous threats had been made against that exhibit, which contained artwork once lost in World War II. (Presumably, the museum had bought the art from Nazis or their heirs.) An alarm might mean a break-in and that would equal a big story, espe- cially given the Nazi connection. A story that would beat the hell out of some press conference about mind-numbing zoning regulations, even if the developers were paying off the deputy mayor. Political corruption equaled business as usual. Nazis and a museum art theft on the other hand? That was a juicy story. An above-the-fold headline story. Option one: take the sure thing, file the required story, and get in good with Cardoza. Option Two: Disobey a direct order on a hunch that, if it fizzled, would get her fired. Her hand hovered over the scars carved into her midsection. Following the rules had never gained her a damn thing. She jerked the gloves out of her jacket and shoved her hands into them, using her boot heel to push the kickstand up. A bald guy dressed in skinny black jeans and the remains of a T-shirt stumbled into the alley. His eyes widened. “Well, hey, sweetheart,” he drawled. “You are a damn fine sight this morning.” Skinhead. Thrash metal dude. The club had been full of them last night, even though the band had been pure three-cord punk. But hardcore fought to replace it. Gah. Another great scene lost. “Buzz off,” she said. He stumbled closer, aiming to cut her off. “Aw, c’mon, I saw you in there, redhead, fooling around. Give us a kiss to celebrate the morning.” With a flick of her wrist, the switchblade appeared in her hand. Another flick, and the blade opened. “Get the fuck out of my way.” “Shit.” He scrambled backwards. “Jesus, bitch,” he said as he vanished around the corner. Bitch is right, she thought, as she closed the switchblade and dumped it back into a pocket. The Indian roared to life, echoing in the alley. Trisha burned rubber as she turned and accelerated onto the street.
GIVEAWAY! Still Sky
-- EXCERPT: I was walking along a peaceful path in the woods when a branch snapped beneath my barefoot. Birds flew away, shrieking in the distance. For some strange reason, I was not wearing any shoes. I wiggled my toes and continued my peaceful journey. But I came to a screeching halt when I noticed splotches of blood on the ground. My heart raced, and I thought about turning back. But my feet continued to carry me forward. The splotches were getting larger and becoming more frequent as I walked. And then I saw it. I saw him lying there on the ground in a pool of blood. Mateo. He was lying motionless with his eyes closed. Squealing louder than I’ve ever squealed in my life, I sprinted over to him. “No. No. Teo,” I screamed, rocking his body back and forth with force. I lifted his shirt to see where the blood was coming from. But there was no indication of where it was escaping. His body was intact. I checked his neck for a pulse. Pulse, pulse, where the heck was his pulse? I checked his inner wrist. I couldn’t feel it. “Where is it?” I sobbed, clasping his shirt. “Teo. Please. Please. Come back to me.”
GIVEAWAY! If I Asked You to Stay
-- EXCERPT: Johnny’s hand cradled the back of my head as he brought his mouth to my ear. “Every moment we’ve been apart, there hasn’t been a single second when my thoughts weren’t of you. How your blonde strands feel like silk against my fingers. The way your blue eyes remind me of sweet summer days filled with your laughter. And how your cute button nose crinkles when you’re frustrated or thinking too hard about something. But most of all”—his thumb grazed the bottom edge of my lip, tugging it down slightly and I swore an entire field of butterflies flew came to life in my stomach—“I missed these pretty pink lips and how they taste like honey pulled straight from the hive.” I closed my eyes as his hand slid up to cup the side of my cheek and a quiet moan escaped from my lips. When I opened my eyes again, I said, “Coming back to our home made me realize that there is no place I’d rather be because this is where you are, Johnny. I’m not staying for a few more weeks just to see what might come of this thing with my mother’s journal. I’m staying forever to see if I might have a chance of you loving me again.” A raspy chuckle and then, “Darlin’, haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? Since the first time I held your hand in the garden behind the orphanage, and probably even before then, every breath in my lungs, every beat in my heart has been for you. I love you, Willow Mae. Nothing has and nothing ever will change that.” And then he kissed me. Slow. Tender. With such agonizing gentleness, it brought tears to my eyes because this was what I had held onto for twelve long years of his absence. The song his heart sang to mine when he was near—and even when he was far, far away.
GIVEAWAY! The Lying Kind
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Chapter One I turn the lock on the door and slump against it, sinking to the old oak floor. My sweaty thighs suction to the hardwood so that every time I shift, my skin peels and springs back, leaving me stinging. The phone falls to my side and clatters on the floor. The noise sounds out of place, snapping my brain awake and forcing me back to awareness. Resting my head in my hands, I attempt to steady my breathing and stop my body from shaking. I close my eyes, trying not to think. It doesn’t work. Through the windows across the room, the moon reflects off the lake like a mirror. There’s an outline of a loon adrift on the water. Its soft, sorrowful cry fills the silence. My dress hangs off the curtain rod, the epitome of femininity, reaching to the floor and billowing in an opulent cloud of white. Hundreds of hand-stitched Swarovski crystals glisten elegantly in the moonlight. Even at this moment, such beauty isn’t lost on me. A bitter taste fills my mouth, like the tip of a tarnished spoon lingering too long on the tongue, sending a dull ache all the way to the pit of my stomach. I’m frozen. The throbbing lump in my throat swells painfully, and I can’t fight it anymore. Tears fall freely, and I sob as quietly as I can into my hands. I gasp, but it sounds like someone else. A disembodied intruder. A lost soul, grieving in such a way that should only be done in private. Vulnerability rolls through the air, thick like fog, permeating my lungs and heaving my stomach. My muscles tense at the thought of their prying eyes and saccharine sympathy. At least I have the refuge of this room. No one will try to find me until morning. I glance at the clock on the dresser, 11:43 PM. I have, at best, seven hours to figure this out. How can I decide what I’m going to do by morning? The simple task of moving from this spot is daunting. My body’s unsteady, and my mind’s foggy from the storm of emotions whirling through me. Shame surges above the rest like a rogue wave. How could this be happening? Now? Why now? My stomach dances, vying for center stage. I dig my nails into my scalp, curling my fingers around fistfuls of hair and tugging. I’m so angry at him but also at myself for how pathetic this devastation is. Resolving to get up from the floor, I stumble to the large four- poster bed. At its foot is a long cream-colored ottoman. It reminds me of a gymnast’s vault. Like I should take a running leap and spring onto the pillows in Olympic form. I slip off my shoes, leave my dress on, and clamber over the ottoman and onto the bed. Wrapping the duvet around me, I shield myself from the world like a child hiding from pretend monsters that aren’t so imaginary anymore. The crystals on my gown wink at me one after another, assuring me that it belongs in a fairytale. Vainly, I wish time stood still for me. Or maybe it could rewind a few hours, to ignorant bliss. Better yet, go back ten years to before Mark. The loon continues his mocking song. In the lull of its calls, the chirping of crickets fills the silence, then its cry rings out again. I’m trying not to be drawn in by the splendor of my dress hanging in wait, fearful of its lure. Its beauty entices, and with it, holds a promise of a life I thought was mine to unfold. Perhaps my life isn’t created by my choices, not mine to shape at all. Instead, it reveals itself to me, and I bow to it. I close my eyes to shut out the dress and all it symbolizes. This promise is broken.
GIVEAWAY! The Sorceress Transcendent
-- EXCERPT: “I was beginning to wonder,” Theira said, cool amusement in her voice, “if you thought that this time for sure you would be able to simply stare me into submission.” It was the sound of her voice after all this time more than even the vision of her alive and well and free and gorgeous that almost undid him. His knees tried to buckle, and Varius caught himself. Theira tracked the movement, and the thorny vines withdrew abruptly. She never missed anything, even if she didn’t speak. How long had he stood at the door like a dumbass? And now she also knew he was at her mercy, that he had no hidden strategy she needed to counter, that she could kill him at any time without worry. A first, for them. Varius might have been ashamed if he hadn’t suspected she was nonplussed. He stared at this sorceress, his once-best enemy, who waited with endless patience for him to get to the godscursed point. He sucked in a breath to greet her politely and make his case, to explain and formally request her forbearance, but what made it out was: “I had nowhere else to go.” The words dropped into the night like a stone in a pool. Theira’s deeply expressive eyes flickered, knowing. Unimaginable, that his life had somehow come to this. But the empire he had given his life and body and soul to had betrayed him—betrayed them all. No one there could protect him or anyone else any longer. Varius had spent almost his whole life at war, and now it was only an enemy he could turn to. Theira held his gaze for a long moment and then said, “You’d better come in.”
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