Ever After by Rachel Lacey


Olivia Bennett is not having a happy birthday. Instead of blowing out her twenty-nine candles, she’s stuck in jail, caught red-handed in a graffiti incident that (perhaps) involved one too many strawberry margaritas. Worst idea ever. The only bright side is that she ended up in the strong arms of the most gorgeous lawman she’s ever seen.

Pete Sampson (aka Deputy Hot Stuff) faces intense pressure from the sheriff to find out who’s behind a string of vandalisms. And after her spray-painting spree, Olivia is suspect number one. Still, Pete can’t stop thinking about her. Wanting her. Now he’s torn between his duty and his overpowering desire for the vivacious waitress. But he may have to bend the rules because true love is more important than the letter of the law . . .

Ever After can be purchased from Amazon, B&N, Kobo & iTunes

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Rachel-Lacey-Head-Shot-croppedI grew up with a passion for reading and an unquenchable need to write stories of my own. As a girl, my journals and, later on, computers were always filled with snippets of stories and dialogue. These characters got inside my head and wouldn’t rest until I’d written them down. The number one item on my bucket list has always been to publish a novel, and I am beyond thrilled that my dream came true with Unleashed.

The first thirty years of my life led me around the globe on some amazing adventures. I’ve been climbed by a monkey on a mountain in Japan, gone scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef, and camped out overnight in New York City for a chance to be an extra in a movie. These days, I’m a work-at-home mom with a seven-year-old son, and the majority of my adventures take place in the books I write. I currently live in warm and sunny North Carolina with my husband, our son, and a variety of rescue pets.

Rachel can be found:

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Red paint dripped from Olivia Bennett’s fingers. She tightened her grip on the metal canister in her right hand and gave it a solid shake. Beneath her feet, the ladder wobbled. With a startled squeak, she sent a burst of spray paint onto her boots.

“Sorry, Liv,” Terence called from below.

“Watch it, will you?” She pressed her palm against the cool, corrugated metal of the factory wall and took a deep breath. Then she lifted her right hand and pressed the valve on the spray paint canister, forming a brilliantly red “S” on the side of the building.

“Almost done,” Kristi said.

Easy for her to say, standing safely on the ground next to Terence. At the top of the ladder, Olivia fought to keep her balance as the remnants of several margaritas sloshed in her stomach. Hell of a way to end her twenty-ninth birthday.

The beam of Kristi’s flashlight cast Olivia’s shadow in stark silhouette over her red-painted message. She leaned right to spray another “S” but couldn’t reach. She’d have to come down and move the ladder to continue, but a muffled sound captured her attention.


The sound was soft yet keening. A kitten? Some other baby animal? She craned her head, peering into the darkness. “Did you guys hear that?”

“Hear what?” Terence asked, his tone wary.

“It sounded like a kitten.”

Kristi panned the flashlight around them, plunging Olivia into darkness. She leaned a hip against the side of the building to steady herself.

“I don’t see anything,” Kristi said.

“Okay, put that light back on me so I can get down.”

The flashlight’s beam once more illuminated her, and Olivia scrambled quickly to solid ground. “I heard some kind of little animal crying while I was up there, so keep an eye out.”

“Will do.” Terence moved the ladder over so that she could reach the next section of wall to be painted and held it steady as she climbed back up.

Six letters to go, and they were out of here. Terence would drive them to his place for a post-graffiti celebration. Olivia was in no condition to drive herself anywhere tonight. Adrenaline mixed with trepidation as she stood at the top of the ladder yet again. The margarita buzz had faded enough to know she was doing a crazy, stupid thing that wasn’t going to do a damn thing to help the chickens who arrived here daily, their only hope that death would be quick and merciful.

Based on what the undercover cameras had captured, that hope was slim.

She ground her teeth, her fingers clenched around the spray can. It was inhumane the way those birds were treated. Actually, it was inhumane the way most factory-farmed animals were treated, but this was happening right here in her little hometown of Dogwood, North Carolina.


A flash of white fur caught her eye, disappearing into the bushes behind the factory. If it was a kitten, it was tiny. Was its mother nearby? There weren’t any houses for miles around. Dammit. Now she was going to have to go on a kitten hunt before she went home. She couldn’t leave it out here to fend for itself.

“Hurry up, Liv,” Kristi called from below her.

Olivia raised the canister and let loose another blast of red paint. She’d just started “I” when the sound of an approaching vehicle reached her. Her finger slipped, and a fresh coat of paint soaked her hands.

Kristi and Terence must have heard it too, because the flashlight shut off, leaving her at the top of the ladder in pitch darkness, afraid to move. Headlights slashed through the night from Garrett Road, some two hundred feet to her left. They slowed, then tires crunched over gravel as the car turned into the factory parking lot.

Christ on a cracker.

“Get the hell down, Liv. We’ve got to get out of here!” Terence whispered.

A swirl of blue lights turned the night into a kaleidoscope of oh, s***. She pressed against the side of the building, stymied by paint-slickened fingers as she fumbled for the top of the ladder.

She was so not getting arrested on her birthday.

Except that she so was. A spotlight shone from the cruiser, illuminating her in a blaze of light so bright she could do nothing but press a hand over her eyes and count how many ways spray-painting Halverson Foods’s chicken-processing plant had been a bad idea.

The ladder shifted beneath her, and she groped for the top rung. The combination of the spinning blue lights with the piercing glare of the spotlight was seriously disorienting.

“Hands where I can see them,” a male voice boomed.

She shoved her hands into the air, managing to smack herself in the face with the can of spray paint in the process. It fell to the ground with a muffled thump. Oh, this sucked.

“Come down from the ladder, nice and slow, and keep those hands up,” the cop instructed. He sounded nice-ish. Maybe he’d go easy on her. Maybe…

Awkwardly, she fumbled with her right foot for the next rung of the ladder. It swayed dangerously to the side. “Terence!” she hissed, her fingernails scoring metal as she tried to steady herself.

Silence. She looked down, but the spotlight’s glare blinded her, preventing her from seeing past her own paint-spattered boots. “Terence? Kristi?”

She managed to get her foot settled onto the rung and took a step down. No answer came from her friends. What the hell?

She lifted her left foot to take the next step, and the ladder just dropped out from beneath her. One second it was there, the next she was plummeting through space.

“Oomph,” came a masculine grunt, as she slammed into someone’s chest and big, strong arms closed around her.

“Terence?” Her voice was a squeak, because Terence was nowhere near this strong, and he didn’t smell as good either. This man smelled faintly of cinnamon, his arms solid as steel behind her thighs, and based on the hard bulge stabbing into her kidney, he was also armed.

Oh, crap. Crap. Crap!

“Sorry,” he answered her question, setting her roughly on the ground. “Not Terence.”

“Oh.” She staggered, still blinded by the spotlight aimed at her. Disoriented, she turned her back and blinked at her shadow on the factory’s gray wall. Terence and Kristi had deserted her. Bastards.

“Keep those hands where I can see them,” Invisible Cop said.

With a sigh, she placed them on the wall before her. Her hands glistened blood-red in the harsh light. She had been caught red-handed. Dammit. She’d always hated being a cliché.

Book Promo Feature – Reaper Mine by Christie Palmer

200x300ReapermineA war is brewing; the Tribunal wants to possess her. And on Reaper will give his soul to love her.
Victor is the Reaper over Violence he doesn’t do warm and fuzzy. He definitely doesn’t do damsel in distress. But apparently Dante didn’t get that memo. And Elle was most defiantly a damsel in distress.
Now he only needs to can keep her alive long enough to find out who wants to kill her? And why the hell did the Tribunal want her so badly?
She was a demi-goddess. A cursed demi-goddess, who had accidentally bound her soul to the Reaper over Violence in order to save her butt from a Freak trying to kill her in a graveyard.
Elle was having a really bad day.

Reaper Mine is available from Amazon, Kobo and CreateSpace

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IMG_0105Christie was born and raised in a suburb of Salt Lake City, Ut. She lives less than a mile from the home she grew up in. World traveler she is not. But what she lacked in travel she more than made up for in her imagination. Within her vivid imagination she has traveled the world over as well as different worlds and different times.
She works a full time day job to pay the bills but looses herself in books and her writing whenever possible.
She is a loving mother of two wonderful children that she admits she is obsessed with. She has been married for 18 years to a very tolerant man that is grounded in reality in order for her to fly to the heights of her own imagination.
She started writing when she was a teenager after reading a book that she didn’t like the ending too. Took a hiatus to raise her wonderful children but has dedicated herself to becoming a published writer for the last several years.

Christie can be Website, Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, Goodreads, Google+, Instagram, Tumblr

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He had almost lost her today and something deep in his chest had broken lose at the thought of losing her, and he just needed to feel her close to him. He would be damned straight to hell itself before he walked away from her right now.
So he kissed her, he wrapped his arms around her slippery body molding her against him under the pounding hot spray of water. Slanting her full lips over his, pressing them open he sank his tongue into her mouth to tangle with hers. She moaned into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck, making it easier to sink further into the kiss.
Victor lost himself in the kiss. The feel of the woman in her arms, full breasts pressed against him. And he grew light headed with desire; he broke the kiss to drag air into his starved lungs.
She tasted like warm sunshine, and the second he could breathe, he dipped his lips back to hers. Elle moaned into his mouth and Victor was lost, he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, rubbing against her and drawing her tongue into his mouth he sucked on it. Drawing her unique taste and flavor into his mouth. Memorizing her, gods he couldn’t get her taste deep enough into him. She made the most amazing sounds as he drifted from her mouth to the side of her neck. Elle burrowed into him resting her head against his chest, he thanked the gods he had left his boxer briefs on. As he tried to control the urge to press her against the shower wall and take her.
“Elle.” Her name came out more as a moan.

The Consequence of Choice By Felicia Honeybush

PrintWhen the stakes are high, every decision counts… and what stakes are higher than love? This choose-your-own-romance novel follows the same characters through 18 different stories on 747 pages. All fates are driven by your choices! Will you help bring Alice deep, satisfying love, or cause her heartbreak? Because of you, will she experience thrilling adventure or even untimely death?!

Alice is a young woman who loves her best friend, Gary… but he is dating Stacy. Her friends have staged an intervention to help her get over him, and in some scenarios, she moves on to a greater, more passionate love. But other choices result in Gary returning her love and enthusiastically consummating their new relationship. But then again, Alice may move to Spain or Australia and find a new lover there! In another of her potential fates, Alice’s friends must rescue her from evil scientists that use an aphrodisiac drug to harvest people’s love chemicals. The first and most important choice is for you to buy this book. :) What’s going to happen!!!???

The Consequence of Choice is available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and iTunes

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Screen-Shot-2015-07-31-at-5.09.52-PM1Ever since she began writing at age three, the theme of her stories has always been the same… Felicia has always written about connection. During her innocent years, she wrote about bees collaborating to make honey and the clouds connecting to make rain. Later in life, she was inspired by her mom’s friends who worked together to make bread, the way food connected with her cells and the power of a warm smile given to a sad stranger.

Then, as she learned the ways of the world, her perception of connection became more immediate. She wrote of flirting, touching, kissing, and then much later, of sex… sex between all species (fireflies, goats and humans) and their genders (male, female, both and unknown).

When she graduated from high school at fifteen, Felicia was confronted with a very easy choice: accept one of five full-ride Ivy League scholarships, or stay at home and write. Felicia’s parents supported her decision to forgo college for a year and submit to her desire pour her heart and mind onto reams and reams of paper.

Unfortunately, just as Felicia was ready to publish her first novel, her parents were taken from her by a tragic hovercraft accident. Still a minor, she was put into her prudish godmother’s custody. Instead of using Felicia’s inheritance to send her to college, the hellcat spent it all on DVDs of Two and a Half Men, porcelain cat and cherub statues and knockoffs of ‘dolls with big eyes’ paintings. Felicia would have been furious had she not been consumed by her writing.

When Felicia turned eighteen, she paused her prolific writing to put her squawking, canker blossom of a godmother into a nursing home. Felicia was crushed to learn that every penny of her inheritance was gone, but staying at home wasn’t all bad because she could still write. Luckily, her neighbor was willing to give her godmother sponge baths in exchange for short stories.

Over the course of ten years, the ogress shrank like a dried apple and finally died of severe orgasm deficiency. On the same day Felicia tossed her in the compost bin, she went to work publishing her novels. The first step was to raise money by selling her godmother’s shitty statues and paintings on eBay. Now, finally, The Consequence of Choice is available for all to enjoy. Felicia is eager to continue publishing the rest of her dozens of works, which are sure to warm millions of hearts, minds and crotches.

Felicia can be found:

Blog  |  Goodreads  |  Facebook  |  

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After a rip, zip and rustle of leaves under his knees, Cleave was making love to Alice again. Smoothly and without impatience, he relieved her from the grand tension of wanting him. He delivered her to that rejoicing place of round and flowing amorphous shapes.

Cleave went on to set up a rhythm that coaxed her into an intensified closeness, led her to a rippling rawness, and then resolutely sawed away the parts that kept them separate. Finally she reached that point just before climax. “Soon, Cleave,” she cried.

“Why not hope big!? It sounds like you two really like each other!”

“Alice,” Bea said in a strained voice, “he’s ridiculously hot.”

“Wait,” Seela abruptly asked Alice. Her thick eyebrows, the most expressive feature of her face, huddled together like scheming caterpillars. “Wait. I… I’ve been out of the dating loop for a while… did things change? Is ridiculously hot now a bad thing? I mean has the lumbersexual movement really taken hold?”

As Alice and Seela laughed, Bea looked confused. “Don’t tell me!” Bea slowly thought out loud: “Lumbersexual. Someone who… gets hot around lumber?! No… Someone who has sex with lumber!… No, because splinters. A guy who sexes up anything that gives him lumber, which is probably everything… and every guy.”

Alice tipped her head at Seela to prompt her to give the answer. “No. Metrosexual is out, Lumbersexual is in. So, goodbye Italian merino wool crew neck sweaters, hair gel and loafers. Hello flannel shirts, heavy boots, dirty jeans and scruffy beards.”

Alice added, “And axes.”

Bea asked, “How did I not notice?”

Alice replied with the obvious, “You’re distracted by what’s-his-face’s ax.”

After another block, Trytan asked, “How do you feel about trespassing?” When Alice shrugged, he said with a glimmer in his eye, “There’s something I want to show you.” He took her hand and ducked them between two buildings. They serpentined through a maze of narrow, interconnected alleys until Trytan stopped them at a tall brick wall.

There were no windows, just two doors: a small metal door in front of them and another a few floors up that led to a fire escape. Trytan jiggled the door handle to find it was locked. He pushed it to the side, jiggled again pulling up, then pushed his shoulder against the door. “Got it!” he whispered, though there was no one there to hear them.

They slipped into a completely dark, quiet space. After he shut the door behind them, Trytan turned to face her and said, “Wow, there’s literally zero light in here. You okay?” Alice felt herself blush from intense déjà vu as the warmth of his body and cloud of his breath revealed how very close he was. Since they were about the same height, she knew his lips were a mere six inches away from hers. She felt a slight twinge in her vulva and started to sweat.

“I’m good,” she stammered. He felt for her shoulder and slowly slid down it to grasp her hand. He paused and she closed her eyes. Four long seconds passed.

“Let’s go,” he whispered. He pulled her forward, taking each step carefully, then stopped. He squeezed, then dropped her hand and cracked open a door. Light shone into the room, which she could see contained a couch, a small refrigerator and a TV set.

He led her down a hallway, up a tight flight of stairs and through one last door. The room they entered was small and packed full with crookedly stacked banker boxes, a couple brooms, boxes of paper towels and a couple dozen rolls of toilet paper. Trytan closed the door quietly and then wheeled a few carts away from the wall to their right. He waved her to the newly-exposed back corner and dropped to his stomach. She stood watching as he lifted a small flap in the wall and hooked it into place. It left a hole about two-feet wide and six inches tall. He looked up at Alice with a huge smile on his face.

She peered through the hole to see an expanse of empty red velvet seats. As she kneeled, a stage came into view. And when she settled on her belly close to Trytan, she was eye-level with a beautiful dome of stained glass. Before she had a chance to ask for more details, an echo of quick footsteps preceded a rotund, bald man wearing black yoga pants and a long white tunic. He strode to his spot on the stage, chest high and bent arm extended, then watched a small woman hop up on the piano bench, stretch her arms above her head, then begin to play.

Each chord swelled like a wide-winged eagle gaining altitude. Alice closed her eyes, as the blocky chords separated into random notes, then tightened into an intentional melody. It swelled like an ocean’s wave and pulled her into its spiral. When the man’s voice joined in, she gave herself to the undertow. Her spine prickled and she felt tears welling in her eyes. She’d heard piano before, and opera too, but neither had ever affected her this way.

Alice opened her eyes to admire the dome of stained glass. It was a random spattering of colored tiles that spilled down and tapered to meet the wall on either side of the stage. It formed a canal that carried the music up to the ceiling where it rained down on the audience from all sides.

Alice’s eyelids became heavy. As they dropped, so did she. She was inside the music, in its womb where it was conceived. She could taste and smell the music’s source. It was vanilla, grapefruit and rose, an essential oil distilled from the performers’ hearts. But at the same time, she felt she was outside the music, surrounding it with her ears, her sinuses and the space between each of her cells.

When the singing stopped, the piano also ceased. The musicians’ feet shuffled and they chatted. Alice turned her head to see that Trytan had been watching her, his head lying on his crossed arms. He was smiling gently.

“Wow,” she mouthed as she wiped the tears from her eyes. When the man on the stage started singing again, they maintained their gaze. Without the piano behind his voice, it was less like an ocean and more like a serpent weaving through her insides and between their reclining bodies. She noted different sensations as the singer approached and surpassed each octave.

Trytan reached over and gently wrapped Alice’s hair behind her ear, then squeezed her earlobe lightly. After he rested his hand on her bent elbow, she closed her eyes and smiled. Many years later, when her granddaughter asked her to name her happiest moment, she would recount that one immediately without question. Not only did the music unpack her senses and lay them out for her to feel with no interference, she was also joyously suspended in a cloud of anticipation of the moment Trytan would touch his lips to hers.

After the music stopped and the people left the stage, the two interlopers observed the hush with almost as much reverence as they had given the music. After the house lights shut off, the silence packed in their ears like gauze. After a long minute, Trytan squeezed her elbow and whispered through the dark, “What did you think?”

Alice replied, “I’ll never be the same.”

“I’ll tell you some time how I found this place. It’s a long story, but one of my favorites.” He added, “I’ve never shown it to anyone before.” The significance of his whispered words boomed.

Book Promo Feature – Jack Gets His Man by D. E. Haggerty

Cover2a2Jack’s life is awesome. His store is making money hand over fist and his best friend has found love. So what if he’s feeling a bit restless and put out about his upcoming birthday and his ex is being a pain in his fabulous behind? That’s nothing he can’t handle. But then his smoking hot new bookkeeper discovers things at the store aren’t actually as they seem. Someone is playing fast and loose with the finances. Jack’s bestie and his gal pals, the gray-haired knitting detectives, jump at the chance to solve Jack’s problems. When they aren’t re-enacting scenes from spy thrillers, they’re setting Jack up on dates and generally insinuating themselves into his love life. They’re determined to find love for Jack as well as his missing money. Will Jack catch a thief or find love? Either way Jack’s going to get his man.

Jack Gets His Man can be purchased from Amazon, B&N and Smashwords

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another-author-picI was born and raised in Wisconsin, but think I’m a European. After spending my senior year of high school in Germany, I developed a bad case of wanderlust that is yet to be cured. My flying Dutch husband and I have lived in Ohio, Virginia, the Netherlands, Germany and now Istanbul. We still haven’t decided if we want to settle down somewhere – let alone where. I’m leaning towards somewhere I can learn to surf even though the hubby thinks that’s a less than sound way to decide where to live. Although I’ve been a military policewoman, a commercial lawyer, and a B&B owner, I think with writing I may have finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up. That’s assuming I ever grow up, of course. Between playing tennis, running much slower than I would like, trying to adopt every stray dog within a 5-mile radius, traveling to exotic new locales, singing off tune, drinking entirely too many adult beverages, addictively watching new movies and reading books like they are going out of style, I write articles for a local expat magazine and various websites, review other indie authors’ books, write a blog about whatever comes to mind and am working on my sixth book.

D. E. can be found:

Blog  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Google+  |  Pinterest  |  Goodreads

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Jack took a big breathe and forced a smile on his face. “Your man candy has arrived, ladies!”

The group of grandmas immediately began to giggle like they were teenagers and not the senior citizens that they were. “Jackie my boy,” shouted Betty. She patted the seat next to her. “Come sit here.” Jack raised an eyebrow at her. He didn’t trust Betty any more than he could knit a purl stitch, whatever the heck that was.

Although Jack loved this club of gray-haired knitting wonders and would do just about anything for them, he knew what they really were under their perfectly coiffured looks – troublemakers. They fooled most people into believing they were sweet, little old ladies who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Yeah right. They were troublemakers with a capital T and wouldn’t hesitate to bring him, Izzy, or Noel into a shit storm of their own creation, laughing the entire way.

Jack sighed and went to sit next to Betty. Betty was the head honcho of the so-called knitting club. If she wanted you to sit next to her, you were going to sit next to her come hell or high water. Unfortunately, that usually meant she was up to no good. Although to be fair when was she ever not up to no good?

Izzy, wonderful woman that she was, handed him a glass of lemonade and winked. He took a sip and it burned all the way down. “What the hell,” he coughed.

Izzy shrugged. “I didn’t taste test it. Too strong?”

The knitters peered at Izzy with questions in their eyes, but Jack was oblivious. “Just a bit. I’ll be sending you the bill for my esophagus transplant.”

“I don’t even think they do those.” Izzy murmured as she tripped onto Noel’s lap. Noel righted her and he pulled her close.

Betty set down her knitting and looked at Jack. When she crossed her hands in her lap like a prim old lady, Jack knew he was in for it. “Are you seeing anyone at the moment,” she asked.

Jack choked on another sip of lemonade. “What?”

“Are you seeing someone?” Betty asked again slowly as if he hadn’t understood the first time. Uh oh. He was most definitely in trouble.

“He’s not,” Izzy answered for him. “And he needs to get laid.”

Giggles erupted all around him except for Ally who blushed and hid her face. Ally was really a sweet old lady although she had a naughty streak, which sometimes ended with Jack getting his butt pinched. He thought it was cute, but still acted outraged whenever she managed to gather the courage to come near his tight tush.

“Oh good,” Betty clapped her hands. Clapping hands was never good. He raised an eyebrow at Betty and waited. “We have the perfect man for you!”

Jack groaned and hid his face in his hands. This is what his life was reduced to? Getting set up on blind dates by 80-year-old grandmas? He was pretty sure this was the definition of pathetic.

Betty slapped him on the shoulder although between his muscles and her dainty hands it was more like a tap. “Shush you. He is absolutely lovely. Comes to church every Sunday. All alone. Such a lovely young man.”

Martha placed a piece of paper in his hand and he looked down to see a phone number. “Now that’s Tommy’s telephone number,” Betty filled in. “He’s expecting your call. Don’t disappoint us.” Instead of getting guilt-tripped by his mother and grandmother, he had a whole group of grandmas to guilt-trip him.

Jack looked up and smiled at Martha who was still touching his arm after having placed the paper in his hand. “He’s a cutie pie,” she whispered and Jack held back from snorting. Was there any young man that these women didn’t find cute?

“Cutie pie?” Betty grunted. “That man is hot. H-o-t, hot!”

Izzy giggled from her perch on Noel’s lap. Jack gave her his best evil eye but she just stuck her tongue out at him. “You’ve got nothing to lose, Jack. Just go for it!” He raised his eyebrow at her enthusiasm. Before she could push him any further, Noel put his hand over his mouth. She bit him but kept quiet.

A Mighty Good Man by Rebecca E. Neely

Rebecca-E-Neely-A-Mighty-Good-Man400Her personal and professional life on the skids, a family emergency forces writer Hank Jerry to return to the small town and the aunt she left behind.

Fresh out of prison, Jack “Gent” Darcy is bent on cutting ties with the Creds, but when you’re a war counselor in a national gang, they don’t let you just walk away.

Injured and on the run, Jack lands on Hank’s doorstep, and makes her a proposition she can’t refuse: write his story about life inside one of the most powerful gangs in the country. It’s simple—she’ll get her career groove back, and he’ll bury the gang, then disappear—his version of freedom.

The only problem? They can’t help falling for each other, and they’ve both got something to hide that could blow up in their faces. With time running out and gang enforcers closing in, will the trust they’ve forged survive the ultimate test?

A MIGHTY GOOD MAN is a fast, punchy read that puts a new spin on family, second chances, and the power of love.

A Mighty Good Man can be purchased from: Amazon

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REN-Pic-June-23-2015Raised on a down home blend of Johnny Cash, Jack London, Sherlock Holmes, the Steelers, and all things small town, Rebecca feels blessed to have grown up in a close knit, fun loving and artistic family. Her mother, a voracious reader and scratch cook, and her father, an entrepreneur, English teacher and lover of literature, taught Rebecca and her brother to work hard, aim for the stars, and live life.

With music, books and laughter as constant companions, she grew up working, cooking and eating in the family’s restaurant business. A certified book and hoagie junkie, Rebecca thrives on live music, mysteries and the outdoors. She’s a cheddar enthusiast, lover of cats, teddy bears, hot coffee, cold beer, thunderstorms, the blast of a train’s whistle, the change of seasons, country roads, woodpeckers, spoon rings, cool office supplies, and the Food Network.

She’s a sucker for a happy ending, and strives to write the kind of stories she loves to read—those featuring authentic, edgy and vulnerable characters, smack dab in the middle of action that explodes from page one.

Careers, past and present, include freelance writing, accounting, mother, problem solver, doer and head bottle washer.

She is a PRO member of Romance Writers of America, and is honored to serve as a judge for several writing contests each year.

Rebecca can be found:

Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads  |  Pinterest  |  Google+

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A Mighty Good Man excerpt – CHAPTER 2

“They pulled it.”

Hank sucked in a breath and clutched her stomach like she’d been punched. Her smartphone pressed to her ear, she ceased her inventory of the walk-in cooler and slumped on the overturned five-gallon bucket she’d been using as a step stool.
Of course they’d pulled her story. The final betrayal. And it hurt almost as much, if not more than the first blow the bastard had dealt her.

She’d gunned for it, poured her heart into it, worked the angles, taken to the streets to do research. She’d given the underage prostitutes she’d interviewed a voice, a way to spur action. Their eyes, haunted, hopeless, would always stay with her. Hot tears clogged Hank’s throat. Her story, buried—a fate she hoped wouldn’t befall the young men and women she’d met. Goddamn him—and her—to hell.

The surprise and shock she’d thought herself immune to, that she no longer had a right to, reached out and took hold of her heart with two icy hands. As she shifted on the bucket, her foot struck an open gallon container of dill pickles, upending it. She sat, staring, motionless, as cold brine sloshed out of the jar and soaked her pink high top Converse, her sock, the floor.

“Hank? Are you there?”

She forced away the tears. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Ana was a friend; she didn’t, couldn’t know all that had happened. Hank’d never told anyone about Maurice. How could she? By calling her, Ana had done what a friend would do, and given her the dirt.

“What the hell is going on?” Ana’s voice was low, guarded. Hank pictured her in her cubicle, her head down, wary of discovery through the fabric dividers.

“I can’t talk right now. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Okay.” Ana sighed. “How is your aunt?”

“She’s going to be okay.” Hank had moved to auto pilot on that topic.

“Good. Well, call me . . . if you need anything.”

Yeah, maybe she would—for a reference. “I will.” Hank ended the call, then rested her chin on her phone, eyeballing the design of colored pencil shavings on its protective case. She set it down on one of the stainless shelves and rubbed her bare arms, her plans for taking inventory and rotating stock in the cooler forgotten for the moment. She was cold, but she didn’t care. She’d steal a moment’s peace where she could find it.

At this rate, she’d be punch drunk before long. Christ! The story was the icing on this morning’s cake. Criminals, guns, ex-cons—she hadn’t seen this much action living in New York City during the past year. She patted her pocket containing the .32, then leaned forward on the bucket, pushed the cooler door open, just enough so she could see Jack, plating up orders. Everything appeared to be under control. For the moment. She eased away, let the door swing shut again.

She toyed with the silver spoon rings on three of her fingers, one of her thumbs, noting they could use a polish. She almost snorted. So could I. Each ring was unique; some were delicate, their patterns intricate, others were wider, simpler. Each one she’d bought for herself, and in so doing, she’d begun an unplanned collection, and owned about ten now. They’d evolved into a powerful symbol of self, of her pride in non-conformity, beauty, strength. Quite a beating that self, that pride had taken.
She dug in her pocket, noted her dwindling supply of Cowboy killers. None of those highfalutin’, slim line cigarettes for her. She went at her nicotine the same way she did life—whole hog. She started to reach for her coffee in its insulated mug, but it was hours cold, and she’d already had her fill. Her belly churned, reminding her she’d missed breakfast.

How ironic was it she was right back where she started? Here, in Fiddler’s Elbow—the very place she’d resolved to escape—her career imploding, her dreams shattered, and betrayed to boot. Her aunt had made a life here, had fought to give her one, but Hank wanted more; way more than the confines of this rural hell, where football and deer hunting held reverence alongside Sunday services.

Saved by the Alien Lord by Mina Carter

517EiKp8K6L._UY250Earth girls might be popular…but they’re definitely not easy.

Kidnapped by sexy aliens, Cat and the women of the Sentinel Five base are looking for a way home. Their captors might be ripped, hot warriors looking for that one special woman, but these girls have this little thing against being slaves. Even if their leader is well on his way to stealing Cat’s heart as well as her body…

Then a new player enters the arena. A dangerous rival war-commander has challenged the K’Vass claim on Terran held space and all it’s women. Tarrick K’Vass can’t afford to let any of the earth women be captured, especially not his little human, Cat.

When his human is taken, he’ll do anything to rescue her… Anything. Up to and including starting an intergalactic war.

**Please be aware that this is a romance short. Shorter fiction is a fun and quick read, not a full length novel.**

**For greatest enjoyment, please read Captured by the Alien Lord, first.**

Saved by the Alien Lord can be purchased from Amazon

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Screen Shot 2015-06-05 at 7.01.14 AMMina was born and raised in the East Farthing of Middle Earth (otherwise known as the Midlands, England) and spend her childhood learning all the sorts of things generally required of a professional adventurer. Able to ride, box, shoot, make and read maps, make chainmail and use a broadsword (with varying degrees of efficiency) she was disgusted to find that adventuring is not considered a suitable occupation these days.

So, instead of slaying dragons and hunting vampires and the like, Mina spends her days writing about hot shifters, government conspiracies and vampire lords with more than their fair share of RAWR. Turns out wanna-be adventurers have quite the turn of imagination after all…

(But she keeps that sword sharp, just in case the writing career is just a dream and she really *is* an adventurer.)

The boring part: A full time author and cover artist, Mina can usually be found hunched over a keyboard or graphics tablet, frantically trying to get the images and words in her head out and onto the screen before they drive her mad. She’s addicted to coffee and would like to be addicted to chocolate, but unfortunately chocolate dislikes her.

Mina can be found:

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Catch My Breath My Lynn Montagano

CMBHighResLia Meyers’ plan for a relaxing Scottish vacation is short-lived when one uncharacteristic moment of clumsiness lands her in the arms of a dangerously attractive Englishman.

The perfect opportunity for a much needed holiday romance? Wrong! Lia’s still reeling from the mother of all bad breakups, and she really doesn’t have the patience for Alastair Holden – despite his effortless charm and sexy British accent.

Arrogant and totally inscrutable, he’s exactly the sort of guy she wants to avoid but can’t: the man behind the mystery proves just too tempting to resist.

Drawn to him, Lia is forced to battle with her own insecurities, and the closer they become, the more she recognizes her own weaknesses as she peels away his layers with every night they spend together. Discovering the past Alastair is so desperate to conceal, Lia must decide if they can heal one another together or if their deepest fears will tear them apart.

Catch my Breath can be purchased on:

Amazon  |  Barnes & Noble  |  Kobo  |  iTunes

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Screen Shot 2015-05-16 at 7.04.45 AMA fresh, new voice in contemporary romance, Lynn is a former TV news writer who decided to take the plunge and write a novel. She’s thrilled that her debut series is being published by Harper Impulse. The first two books, Catch My Breath and Unravel Me, were released to rave reviews.

Lynn grew up in a small town in Rhode Island before venturing out into the world. She’s lived everywhere from Los Angeles to Boston to Orlando. An avid traveler, Lynn’s been as far away as Australia and as close as Canada. Her favorite place to visit is London.

The small town girl is back on the east coast after a brief stint in Northern California. Lynn currently resides in Massachusetts, comfortably close to her beloved football team.

Lynn can be found:

Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Google+  |  Pinterest  |   Goodreads  |  Instagram

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My heel snagged on the carpet, sending me flying. I landed nose-first in a charcoal gray tailored Armani suit. Momentarily stunned, I clutched onto the toned arms that were wrapped around me. As I looked up my heart nearly stopped.
Wide emerald eyes fringed with long lashes gazed down at me with guarded curiosity. His sculpted mouth twisted into a cautious smile, softening his jawline.
“Are you alright?” he asked as he loosened his grip on me. His voice was rich and smooth, like a full-bodied wine. The English accent he had could charm the pants off a nun. It made me want to fall into his arms again.
I stepped back, smoothing down my dress. He didn’t look much older than thirty, but his worn eyes betrayed his youth.
“I’m fine. I’m not usually that clumsy. Sorry.”
His brows furrowed. “I kept telling them someone was going to stumble over that patch of carpet. You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Aside from my bruised ego and general lack of grace, I think I’ll be alright.” I smiled up at him in an effort to thwart the growing blush from creeping up my neck. I wasn’t the type who embarrassed easily and needed to regain some sort of composure. No luck.
His expression altered subtly as his stare intensified. Something shifted in the air between us. It was as though he’d tethered me with some freakishly strong invisible rope. My pulse quickened. I was caught smack dab in the middle of his magnetic pull without any means of escape.
Not that I wanted to get away. His tall frame filled out the suit with powerful elegance. The quiet control with which he held himself mirrored royalty. A tousled mass of thick, dark red hair framed chiseled features that would inspire Michelangelo. But it was those eyes that got me.
They were so astute, yet veiled. I wanted to know what was behind them.
“Would you like a drink?”
How he made such an innocent question sound so seductive was beyond me. His dark stare was unflinching. If I said no, he’d probably take it as a personal insult. And I did want another one of those fruity-minty drinks; I just couldn’t articulate the words.
“I hear the signature drink is rather good. Would you like that?”
“Yes, please,” I finally managed to say.
Forget my cheeks, my whole body flushed as I watched him move toward the bar. A silver cufflink glinted off his crisply pressed gray and white pinstriped shirt. I noticed he paired it with a solid gray tie before he caught me looking. A smile ghosted across his lips as his languid gaze traced my curves. I made a big deal out of inspecting the carpet for more hidden traps that my shoes could fall victim to.
He handed me the drink, my fingers brushing his when I clasped the glass. Against my better judgment I fell captive to his stare once more. Luckily, I remembered my manners and thanked him.
“My pleasure. Have you been enjoying yourself?”
“Yeah. Well, aside from making an ass of myself just now.”
A flash of white appeared revealing a dazzling smile. It was extremely sexy and charming. And dangerous. I felt myself falling deeper and deeper under his spell.
“Trust me, stumbling on a carpet is not the worst thing I’ve seen at these events.”
“Stick around long enough and you just might see some of these well-dressed ladies toss off their shoes and throw some shapes when the band starts playing.” He grinned.
“Throw some what?”
“Dance.” His eyes flared with humor.
“You Brits and your crazy sayings,” I laughed.
“We like to keep you Americans on your toes.”
I took a long sip of my cocktail to prevent a stupid grin from spreading across my face.
“Don’t have too many of those. They’re rather potent.”
“But they’re so good. Don’t piss on my fireworks.” I smiled broadly.
A deep, throaty laugh filled the space between us.
“’Throwing shapes’ baffled you, but you know ‘piss on my fireworks?’”
“My sister only taught me the fun slang,” I laughed.
“Does she live here?”
“Not in Glasgow, no. She lives in London.”
“Well then, you’ll have to thank her for me,” he said, smoothing down his tie.
“Thank her for what?”
“Pretty Americans who know British slang are rare in these parts.”
“Interesting.” I looked up at him through my lashes.
“Someone just warned me that you guys have a thing for American girls.”
His eyebrows arched. “And what did they say?”
“It has something to do with our accents.”
“You have an accent?” He angled toward me. “I hadn’t noticed.”
The way that he was looking at me caused me to completely forget my exhaustion. His dark eyes and sexy grin woke me up in more ways than one, pushing several of my hot buttons.
“Be careful,” he said, clasping the glass in my hand. “You don’t want to spill it all over your dress.”
Way to go. “You must think I’m a hot mess. First I take a nose-dive into your suit and now I’m dropping drinks.”
“Like I said, I’ve seen worse.”
The longer I held his gaze, the faster my heart raced. There was something…forbidden in the way he looked at me.
“I should probably get back to my friends.”
“Do you have to?”
A suffocating aura of want enveloped me. He was closer, dominating the space between us. Our quick, breezy exchange was light years away from the hazy, thick fog of desire that hung in the air. Get it together, Lia. Walk away.
“You’re rather deep in thought.”
I blinked. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I thought maybe I was boring you.”
A shrill ring sounded from his pocket. He fished out a cell phone, frowning at the screen.
“I have to take this.”
And just like that, I was pulled out of his engaging aura and plopped back into reality.

Night of the Blue Moon by Lynn Crain

NightOfTheBlueMoon_LoResAll his life he felt he hadn’t belonged but it wasn’t until Clarity Langford appeared did he know the truth of it. Once that truth was revealed there was no going back for Connor Angus, only forward. He discovers he is the long thought dead son of pack Elite leader, Charles Langford. And with that knowledge comes a family full of sisters, mystery and longing for things he’s not sure he has any right to obtain and one of those things is Cordelia Sinclair.

Night of the Blue Moon is available from:

Amazon  |  B&N  |  Kobo  |  iTunes  |  Smashwords

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Screen Shot 2015-05-16 at 7.19.23 AMAward winning author Lynn Crain has done it all in her life. From nursing to geology, her life experiences have added to her detail rich stories. She loves writing full time as she weaves contemporary, fantasy, futuristic and paranormal tales, tame to erotic, for various publishers. Her home is in the desert southwest though her latest adventure has taken her to Vienna, Austria with her husband of many years as he works his dream job. You can find her on the web at www.lynncrain.blogspot.com. She loves hearing from her readers at lynncrain@cox.net.

Lynn can be found:

Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Google+  |  Pinterest  |  Goodreads  

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Falling back into the kitchen cabinets, he briefly clutched his side. “Damn it, you’re just not going to give up easily, are you?”

“Why should I?” She eyed him cautiously.

“Because I could seriously hurt you.”

“Now why don’t you just give it your best shot then we’ll see just who gets hurt.”

The man slowly shook his head. “All right, now remember, you asked for it.” He threw a punch that landed squarely on the left side of her head.

Cordelia shook it off but it still left her ear ringing. Grabbing his other arm, she charged into his stomach with her head and flipped him over her back. He landed with a resounding thud on the floor next to the table and on top of the broken china. She was only able to stand there a moment, her sides heaving, when she was knocked off balance by his leg making a wide sweep. It almost knocked the air completely out of her but she managed to throw another punch on her way down.

He grabbed her fist and twisted her arm, picking her up and shoving her facedown once again on the table.

“You have no right being on top of me, so get the fuck off.” She gasped for breath, his added weight making it hard to even move a centimeter.

“You know, I think you’re a little bit sexy when you’re pissed like this. I can smell your pheromones. You want me.” He took a long, slow whiff of her, as if to imprint her on his memory.

“I don’t even know you!” She screamed and tried to buck him off her even as her nipples hardened under her. Heat swelled in the V of her thighs and feelings began to overwhelm her. Feelings that she had never felt before in all her life. Not even with her husband. It was like her body already knew this man intimately.

He leaned down into her softness, and she could feel his body coming to life. His hardness pressed into her butt and all she wanted to do was to get herself out of her pajamas. Thank God, she had decided to sleep with them on last night.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you like it this way.” He ground his body into hers a little more. “Take that back, I know you like it. I can smell it on you and your wet body is telling me exactly what you want. Your body is betraying you.”

Enraged, she slammed her head against his nose. “You don’t know me well enough to know how I like it. And you don’t know anything about my body.”

She heard him groan as she cracked his face. Still, he wouldn’t let go.

“It’s not going to be that easy,” he whispered close to her ear. He started to rock his now very hard cock into the gentle curve of her ass as he rained light, feathery kisses on her neck.

God, he almost had her undone. “What are you doing to me?”

“What do you want me to do to you?” he questioned and flipped her over to stare into her face. Reaching down, he placed his hands on either side of her head and pulled her up to meet him. Lips and tongues met forcefully, pulling and tasting and testing. Gently, he nipped at her bottom lip.

He felt so good up against her. Greedily, she put her hands under his T-shirt and felt the muscles. There was no way that she could have beat him no matter how hard she tried. Letting her hands roam up his chest, she plucked his nipples until they were hard, delighting in the sound he made.

“God, woman, you make me crazy.” Reaching for the collar of her shirt, he ripped it down the center, revealing her taut breasts.

“That’s not fair,” she whispered. “Take this off.” Cordelia tugged at his T-shirt until she pulled it over his head. He looked at her for a long moment, before leaning down to take her nipple in his mouth. She could see the bruises spreading across his cheeks and knew she must have some too. The original question of who he was floated into her mind, but at this very moment she didn’t give a damn.

Book Promo Feature – Ruby Ink by L.J. Wilson


Screen Shot 2015-04-15 at 6.44.12 AMBlurb: How far can seduction take you?

The answers unfold in Ruby Ink, the first Clairmont series novel. Aaron Clairmont has been granted an early parole.

He returns home to Nickel Springs and finds employment at Abstract Enchantment, a trendy new inn. But Aaron’s mind can’t let go of its predecessor, the vintage Rose Arch Inn, the setting for his passionate love affair with Ruby Vasquez.

Ruby—the girl he lost after his secret underworld life unraveled, shocking everyone who thought they knew him. Freedom comes fast at Aaron—a family desperate to reconnect, an employer cast as his savior, and the steamy memories he can’t escape. Just as Aaron surrenders to starting anew, he realizes the diabolical trap he’s been lured into—a fresh hell that makes prison look like a country club. Lives are at stake, his family and Ruby’s. Ruby Vasquez—the woman Aaron never thought he’d see again. The one destined to collide with his future.

REVIEW “A sultry, tantalizing story… intensely emotional and full of heart. L. J. Wilson is a discovery.” –Shannon McKenna, New York Times bestselling author

Ruby Ink can  be purchased from Amazon

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ABOUT L. J. Wilson writes sensual romance for discerning book lovers. The Clairmont series novels, by design, blend sizzling romance with character driven plots. The seductive new series was inspired by requests from readers for more of the romance that is an integral part of her women’s fiction novels as Laura Spinella, Beautiful Disaster and Perfect Timing. Her mainstream work has garnered multiple awards, including the distinguished Golden Leaf and Golden Quill awards for Best First Book, as well as being name a RITA finalist. Written with a “best of” mindset, L. J. Wilson novels delve deeper into her characters’ relationships and romances while never sacrificing plot.


L.J. Wilson can be found on her website

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 THE SERIES Ruby Ink  is the first book  in this sensual romance series—journeys of intrigue, seduction, and satisfying storytelling. The Clairmont siblings, known as the “Tribe of Five”—Alec, Aaron, Honor, Jake and Troy— are complex characters whose individual stories and intricate love lives drive these dynamic new novels. Things heat up fast with Aaron’s story and his broken love affair with the innocent Ruby Vasquez. Is Aaron the Clairmont who truly went bad? And was Ruby right to swear him off forever? Just as readers learn the stunning truth, another Clairmont mystery is in motion, unearthing the secrets and romance of Sebastian and Evie, the never married parents of the Tribe of Five. Set to the rhythm of edgy romance and spinetingling drama, the Clairmont series novels strike an unprecedented beat in the pulse of the romance market. Readers will want to be part of this family—five siblings, six novels, tantalizing romances and memorable, well-drawn characters. Watch for Book Two where the surprising and intimate story behind the Clairmont family legacy is revealed. Ruby Ink, Book One Release Date: March 31, 2015 Published by AB Edge, 2015 L. J. WILSON pen name of author Laura Spinella I give permission for any and all of the information below to be used to promote my books. I love visiting blogs! I’m available for interviews and guest posts – just drop me a note here. s LAURA SPINELLA NOVELS Beautiful Disaster Golden Quill Award, Golden Leaf Award, Best First Book, RITA finalist, Best First Book, 2012; Named a Best Book of 2011 at SheKnows.co

Book Promo Feature – Dare to Kiss by S.B. Alexander

Romance Promo Central is happy to welcome S.B. Alexander to the blog! She’s here to share about her book, Dare to Kiss. If this book sounds like something you would be interested in reading, please find a buy link below and pick up a copy or two!

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DareToKiss-2500x1563-Amazon-Smashwords-Kobo-AppleBesides her family, Lacey Robinson’s only other love is baseball. She’s on top of the world when Arizona State University approaches her to discuss a scholarship. To play for a college boys’ team is beyond what she has ever dreamed. Her fastball is impeccable, her slider equally as good, and her curveball annihilates anyone who dares to step in the batter’s box. But fate has its own way of throwing curveballs. When she loses her mother and sister to a home invasion, baseball and her dreams die with them. Tragedy has a way of seeping deep into her psyche, causing nightmares, panic attacks and blackouts. Diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, her psychiatrist recommends a change of scenery and picking up the things that she loved to do, and for Lacey that is baseball.

After a move clear across the country, only two things matter to Lacey—overcome her PTSD and make Kensington High’s baseball team. But trying out for the team comes with complications—the captain, Aaron Seever, doesn’t want a girl on the team.

Adding to her new life, she never counted on meeting someone who wants her as badly as Kade Maxwell. The tall, sexy and drool-worthy bad boy has a magical touch that awakens her feminine side, and a kiss that slowly erases her nightmares. But getting involved with him may be dangerous when Kade’s arch-nemesis returns to town to settle a vendetta.

To complicate matters, her PTSD has taken a turn for the worse. She has to find a way to push away the demons otherwise she may not have a chance at anything in life.

Strong language. Sexual content. Intended for audiences 17 years and older.

Dare to Kiss can be purchased from:

Amazon  |  B&N  |  Kobo  |  iTunes

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Susan-Alexander-PhotoS. B. Alexander’s passion for writing began when she read her first Stephen King novel, The Shining. Over the years she kept telling family and friends she was going to write a book. Fifteen years later, on the advice of a friend, she sat down and wrote her first novel. One year later, she published two novels with three more slotted for release. Her books are targeted toward the young adult and new adult markets.

Her young adult series, Vampire SEALS, includes two books, On the Edge of Humanity, and On the Edge of Eternity, which have garnered high praise from readers. Dare to Kiss is the first book in her new adult series.

Alexander’s career has been colorful—a former navy veteran, high school math teacher and college professor, sales consultant, coach, and manager. She loves baseball, especially the Boston Red Sox. She enjoys playing golf, is moved by music and great stories, and will go out of her way to help people.

She currently works full time in Corporate America and writes any chance she gets.

She believes words are the key to opening the door to extraordinary places with amazing characters that tell a great story.

S.B. can be found:

Website  |  Twitter  |  Facebook  |  Google+  | Pinterest  |  Goodreads 

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He grinned with his infamous Maxwell smirk as he cupped my face.

I had barely caught my breath when his mouth was on me. I opened to him as his tongue dipped inside, twining with mine. He tasted like forever. I wiggled against his hardness, and he moaned. Abandoning my mouth, he trailed his lips along my jaw, my ear, and my neck. He licked over my racing pulse while the heat from his hands was scorching my back. His torment was too much, yet not enough. My clothes grew constrictive. I wanted to feel his bare skin against mine.

As if he sensed my need, he lifted my sweater over my head, throwing it to the floor. His eyes were seas of shimmering copper. The backs of his fingers ghosted up and over my abs to land on the clasp of my bra. For perhaps one second he hesitated before unsnapping it. When he did, I sucked in a breath, my nipples hardening. He removed one strap then the other before it fell behind me.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, as he traced the outline of my breasts, teasing, but never touching the sensitive peaks that ached for his magical fingers or even his mouth.

I pressed my hips into him, feeling his arousal. Desire swirled down my belly in a slow, sinuous slide.

He groaned, deep and sensual. “Baby, tell me what you want.”

My body tingled. My brain went blank. “You.” All I wanted to do right now was feel him and everything he had to offer.

His eyes widened with a savage intensity that frightened me, yet calmed me. He pressed a kiss to my breast, gliding his warm mouth over my nipple before sucking on it. I arched into him, rubbing against him. He moaned, giving my other breast the same attention.

I fisted my hands in his sweater, tugging it up. He eased back, raising his arms. I lifted his sweater and T-shirt over his head before tossing it aside. My gaze wandered over him, drinking in every muscled inch of him from the line of light brown hair that disappeared into his jeans, to the six-pack abs that sculpted his midsection, to the tattoos on his chest.

Pushing his fingers through my hair, he brushed his lips over mine. “Are you sure, Lace?” His voice was barely audible.