Special Edition Paperback Blitz ~ ‘If I Were You’ by Lisa Renee Jones.

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If I Were You by Lisa Renee Jones
Inside Out #1
Genres: Erotica, Romance, Contemporary

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IF I WERE YOU has a brand new cover and is in WALMART stores NATIONWIDE beginning TODAY! This is a limited edition mass market paperback and 99% of the paperback copies can only be found in WALMART stores.

**This is book 1 in the INSIDE OUT series, previously published with a different cover. The INSIDE OUT series, is currently in development for TV with Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland, Must Love Dogs, The Boiler Room, Austin Powers and more!). To read more about the show and to get ready for a BIG update soon, please visit the series page**.

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SYNOPSIS

From New York Times Best Selling author Lisa Renee Jones, a story with the heat of 50 Shades and the mystery of Pretty Little Liars. Now in development for cable TV with acclaimed producer Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland w/Johnny Depp)

How It All Started…

One day I was a high school teacher on summer break, leading a relatively uneventful but happy life. Or so I told myself. Later, I’d question that, as I would question pretty much everything I knew about me, my relationships, and my desires. It all began when my neighbor thrust a key to a storage unit at me. She’d bought it to make extra money after watching some storage auction show. Now she was on her way to the airport to elope with a man she barely knew, and she needed me to clear out the unit before the lease expired.

Soon, I was standing inside a small room that held the intimate details of another woman’s life, feeling uncomfortable, as if I was invading her privacy. Why had she let these items so neatly packed, possessions that she clearly cared about deeply, be lost at an auction? Driven to find out by some unnamed force, I began to dig, to discover this woman’s life, and yes, read her journals–dark, erotic journals that I had no business reading. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I read on obsessively, living out fantasies through her words that I’d never dare experience on my own, compelled by the three men in her life, none of whom had names. I read onward until the last terrifying dark entry left me certain that something had happened to this woman. I had to find her and be sure she was okay.

Before long, I was taking her job for the summer at the art gallery, living her life, and she was nowhere to be found. I was becoming someone I didn’t know. I was becoming her.

The dark, passion it becomes…

Now, I am working at a prestigious gallery, where I have always dreamed of being, and I’ve been delivered to the doorstep of several men, all of which I envision as one I’ve read about in the journal. But there is one man that will call to me, that will awaken me in ways I never believed possible. That man is the ruggedly sexy artist, Chris Merit, who wants to paint me. He is rich and famous, and dark in ways I shouldn’t find intriguing, but I do. I so do. I don’t understand why his

dark side appeals to me, but the attraction between us is rich with velvety promises of satisfaction. Chris is dark, and so are his desires, but I cannot turn away. He is damaged beneath his confident good looks and need for control, and in some way, I feel he needs me. I need him.

All I know for certain is that he knows me like I don’t even know me, and he says I know him. Still, I keep asking myself — do I know him? Did he know her, the journal writer, and where is she? And why doesn’t it seem to matter anymore? There is just him and me, and the burn for more.

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Chris maneuvers the 911 into the drive of a fancy high-rise building not more than four blocks from the gallery. Before I can question the fancy location being home to a pizza joint, as he’d called it, a valet is already opening my door.

“I’ll come around to get you,” Chris says with a touch on my arm. He doesn’t wait for a reply, climbing out of the vehicle and disappearing from full view.

I am both charmed and embarrassed at the prospect he believes the extra wine has made me a helpless lush. Worse, it wouldn’t be an assumption completely without merit, and this night is exactly why I never let myself lose control. It always backfires.

I unsnap the seat belt about the same moment Chris appears at my door. Holding my skirt down, I slide my legs to the ground, all too aware of his scorching gaze on my legs.

His hand appears in front of me, and I hold my breath, preparing for the impact of his touch, as I press my palm to his. He pulls me to my feet, onto the sidewalk beneath an awning, his hand settling possessively on my hip. The rich sensation of desire spreads through my limbs. I have never in my life reacted to a man this intensely.

Behind me, I hear the car door shut, and the engine rev, before the 911 pulls away. “This doesn’t look like a place that serves pizza,” I comment, but I am not looking at the building. It is Chris who has my full attention.

“Two blocks down,” he explains. “We can walk there if you want, or we can go upstairs to my apartment.”

Chris lives here, at least when he’s in the States. The implications of our location are clear.

His long fingers curl around my neck, under my hair, and he lowers his mouth to my ear. “Be warned, Sara. I’m no saint. If I take you upstairs, I’m going to strip you naked and fuck you the way I’ve wanted to since the moment we first met.”

The shockingly bold words ripple through me, and I am instantly aroused, squeezing my thighs together. He has wanted to fuck me since we first met. I want him to fuck me. I want to fuck him. Yes. Fuck. I want to give myself permission to forget good, proper behavior and fuck and be fucked. Wild, hot, uncontrollable passion, with no worries during and regrets in the aftermath. I’ve never let myself feel those things. When in my life have I ever experienced such a thing? When has any man ever made me think I could?

I press against his chest and lean back, my eyes seeking his. “If you’re trying to scare me off, it’s not working.”

“Not yet,” he says, dark certainty to his tone, to the lines etched in his handsome face. It is as if this is simply a seed already planted that cannot be stopped.

“Not at all,” I counter.

He doesn’t immediately respond, and his expression is a mask of hard lines, his jaw set, tense. Slowly, his fingers slide from my neck to caress a path down my arm until his fingers lace intimately with mine. “Never say never, Sara,” he murmurs, and starts walking, pulling me with him.

Anticipation sizzles through me as we walk toward the automatic doors to be greeted by a man in a dark suit with an earpiece and buzz cut.

“Evening, Mr. Merit,” he says, and glances at me. “Evening, miss.”

“Evening, Jacob,” Chris replies. “Pizza coming our way. Don’t frisk the delivery guy.”

“Not unless he’s a delivery woman, sir,” Jacob comments, and I get the sense these two are familiar beyond the casual exchange.

I lift a tentative hand at Jacob. “Hi.”

“Ma’am,” he replies, and there is a slight shift in his gaze I’m certain he doesn’t intend for me to notice, but I do. I read it as surprise at my presence, and I can only assume I am far from Chris’s normal choice in women. It isn’t hard for me to imagine Chris being a blond bombshell kind of man, and where I hadn’t felt insecure moments before, I suddenly do now. I am angry at myself for feeling such a thing when I’ve promised myself no more self-doubt. When I crave the escape, the freedom, I was so close to experiencing only moments before.

The elevator is right off the fancy lobby and past a security booth. Chris punches the button, and the doors open immediately. I follow him inside and watch as he keys in a code. The doors shut, and he pulls me hard against him.

My hands settle on his hard chest, inside the line of his jacket, and warmth spreads through me. “What just happened?” His hand brands my hip.

My breasts are heavy, my nipples aching. “I don’t know what you mean,”

“Yes. You do. Second thoughts, Sara?”

I scold myself for being so transparent. “Do you want me to have second thoughts?”

“No. What I want is to take you to my apartment and make you come and then do it all over again.”

Oh . . . yes, please. “Okay,” I whisper, “but I think you should feed me first.”

His lips curve into a smile, his eyes dancing with gold specks of pure fire. “Then you can feed me.”

The bell dings, and the doors begin to open. Chris wastes no time pulling me to the edge of the elevator, and I watch in surprise as a gorgeous living room appears before me, rather than a hallway. Chris has a private elevator, and I am entering his private world, a world very unlike my own.

Chris releases my hand, our eyes lock, and I read the silent message in his. Enter by choice, without pressure. On some level I sense that once I enter his apartment, the decision to do so is going to change me. He is going to change me in some profound way I cannot begin to comprehend fully. I think he might know this, and I wonder why he would be so certain, what is etched with such clarity to him beneath the surface.

He has misplaced doubts of me in this moment, as he’d doubted me at the gallery. I can see it in his eyes, sense it in the air. I refuse to allow his lack of confidence in me, or anyone else’s for that matter, to dictate what I can or cannot do ever again. I’ve been there, and I ended up on the sharp edge of a cliff, about to crash and burn. I’d recovered, and I am beginning to see that locking myself in a shell of an existence isn’t healing. It’s hiding. Regardless of what happens at the gallery, I’m done hiding.

My chin lifts, and I cut my gaze from Chris’s and exit the elevator.

My heels touch the pale perfection of glossy hardwood floors, and I stop and stare at the breathtaking sight before me. Beyond the expensive leather furniture adorning a sunken living room with a massive fireplace in the left corner is a spectacular sight. There is a floor-to-ceiling window, a live pictorial of our city, spanning the entire length of the room.

Spellbound, I walk forward, enchanted by the twinkling night lights and the haze surrounding the distant Golden Gate Bridge. I barely remember going down the few steps to the living area, or what the furniture I pass looks like. I drop my purse on the coffee table and stop at the window, resting my hands on the cool surface.

We are above the city, untouchable, in a palace in the sky. How amazing it must be to live here and wake up to this view every day. Lights twinkling, almost as if they are talking to one another, laughing at me as they creep open a door to the hollow place inside me I’ve rejected only moments before in the elevator.

I swallow hard as the song “Broken” from the band Lifehouse fills the room, because Chris doesn’t know how personality is to me. I’m falling apart. I’m barely breathing. I’m barely holding on to you.

This song, this place with the words, and I am raw and exposed, as if cut and bleeding. Who was I kidding with the refusal to hide anymore? This is why I’ve hidden. The past begins to pulse to life within me, and I am seconds from remembering why I feel this way. I refuse to process the lyrics and shove them aside. I don’t want to remember. I can’t go there. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to seal those old wounds, desperate to feel anything but their presence.

Suddenly, Chris is behind me, caressing my jacket from my shoulders. His touch is a welcome sensation, and when his arm slides around me, his body framing mine from behind, I am desperate to feel anything but what this song, no doubt aided by the wine, stirs inside me.

I lean into him and hard muscle absorbs me. There is a strength to Chris, a silent confidence I envy, and it calls to the woman in me.

His fingers, those talented, famous fingers, brush my hair away from my nape, and his lips press to the delicate area beneath, creating goose bumps on my skin. And still, I barely block out the words to the song and their meaning to me.

As if he senses my need for more—more something, anything, just more—he turns me around to face him, and his fingers tangle almost roughly into my hair. The tight pull is sweet, dragging me from other feelings, giving me a new focus.

“I am not the guy you take home to Mom and Dad, Sara.” His mouth is next to mine, his clean male scent all around me. “You need to know that right now. You need to know that won’t change.”

But the song does change, and this time to another track on what must be a Lifehouse CD. “Nerve Damage” begins to play. I see through your clothes, your nerve damage shows. Trying not to feel . . . anything that’s real.

I laugh bitterly at the words, and Chris pulls back to study me. And I am not blind to what I see in the depths of his green eyes, what I’ve missed until now but sensed. He is as damaged as I am. We have too many of the wrong things in common to be more than sex, and the realization is freedom to me.

I curve my fingers on the light stubble of his jaw, the rasp on my skin welcome, and I have no idea why I admit what I have never said out loud. “My mother is dead, and I hate my father, so don’t worry. You’re safe from family day and so am I. All I want is here and now, this piece of time. And please save the pillow talk for someone who wants it. Contrary to what you seem to think, I’m no delicate rose.”

A stunned look flashes on his face an instant before I press my lips to his. The answering moan I am rewarded with is white-hot fire in my blood that he answers with a deep, sizzling stroke of his tongue. He slants his mouth over mine, deepening the connection, kissing me with a fierceness no other man ever has, but then, Chris is like no other man I’ve ever known.

His tongue plays wickedly with mine, and I meet him stroke for stroke, arching into him, telling him I am here and present and I’m going nowhere. In reply to my silent declaration, his hand cups my ass and he pulls me solidly against his erection. Arching into him, I welcome the intimate connection, burn for the moment he will be inside me. My hand presses between us and I stroke the hard line of his shaft.

Chris tears his mouth from mine, pressing me hard against the window, and I know I’ve threatened his control. Me. Little schoolteacher Sara McMillan. Our eyes lock, hot flames dancing between us and some unidentifiable challenge.

Some part of me realizes the window behind me is glass, and all things glass can break. He knows this, too, it’s in the dark glint of his eyes, and he wants me to worry about it. He’s pushing me, testing me, trying to get me to break. Because I slid beneath his composure? Because he really believes I am out of my league? And maybe I am, but not tonight. Tonight, as the song has said, I am broken, and for the first time perhaps ever, I am not denying the truth of all of my cracks. I am living them.

I lift my chin and let him see my answering rebellion. His fingers curl at the top of my silk blouse and in a sharp pull, material rips and the buttons all the way down pop and clamor in all directions. I gasp, in unfamiliar territory, and burning alive with the ache I have for this man.

He turns me to the window, and my hands flatten on the glass. Wasting no time, Chris unhooks my bra, and it and my blouse are off my shoulders in moments. He is behind me again, his thick erection fit snugly to my backside.

“Hands over your head,” he orders, pressing my palms to the glass above me, his body shadowing mine. “Stay like that.”

My pulse jumps wildly and adrenaline surges. I’ve been ordered around during sex, but in a clinical, bend over and give me what I want kind of way I tried to convince myself was hot. It wasn’t. I hated every second, every instance, and I’d endured it. This is different though, erotic in a way I’ve never experienced, enticingly full of promise. My body is sensitized, pulsing with arousal. I am hot where Chris is touching me and cold where he isn’t.

When he seems satisfied I’ll comply with his orders, Chris slowly caresses a path down my arms, and then up and down my sides, brushing the curves of my breasts. He’s in no hurry, but I am. I am literally quivering by the time his hands cover my breasts, welcoming the way he squeezes them roughly, before tugging on my nipples. I gasp with the pinching sensation he repeats over and over, creating waves of pleasure verging on pain, and the music is fading away, and so is the past. There is pleasure in pain. The words come back to me, and this time they resonate.

His hands are suddenly gone, and I pant in desperation, trying to pull them back.

Chris captures my hands and forces them back to the glass above me, his breath warm by my ear, his hard body framing mine. “Move them again and I’ll stop what I’m doing, no matter how good it might feel.”

I quiver inside at the erotic command, surprised again by how enticed I am by this game we are playing. “Just remember,” I warn, still panting, still burning for his touch. “Payback is hell.”

His teeth scrape my shoulder. “Looking forward to it, baby,” he rasps. “More than you can possibly know.”

For More information on The INSIDE OUT series page including: buy links, and excerpts for the additional books in this series.  Visit Lisa’s website here: http://bit.ly/1fWXnem

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If I Were You (bk 1) Special Edition Paperback

Get your copy $4.37 copy at:  http://www.walmart.com/ip/44978692

**Shipping NOT included in price**


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Prizes include:

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$500 gift card (winner’s choice!)

INSIDE OUT prize basket (full set of SIGNED INSIDE OUT books)

20 Chris Merit and Tote Bag sets

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A Rafflecopter Giveaway ~


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lisa renee jones bio

Lisa Renee Jones

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT SERIES, and is now in development by Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland) for cable TV. In addition, her Tall, Dark and Deadly series and The Secret Life of Amy Bensen series, both spent several months on a combination of the NY Times and USA Today lists.

Watch the video on casting for the INSIDE TV Show HERE

Since beginning her publishing career in 2007, Lisa has published more than 40 books translated around the world. Booklist says that Jones suspense truly sizzles with an energy similar to FBI tales with a paranormal twist by Julie Garwood or Suzanne Brockmann.

Prior to publishing, Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by Dallas Women Magazine. In 1998 LRJ was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.

Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at on her website and she is active on twitter and facebook daily.


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 Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Pinterest | Goodreads


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Release Day Blast ~ ‘Endless Nights’ by Karen Erickson.

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Endless Nights by Karen Erickson
(Vegas Nights Series #2)
Genre: Erotic Romance

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SYNOPSIS

The sex is crazy good. Is it crazier to want something more?

Vegas Nights, Book 2

Andrea and her two best friends have shed their nurses scrubs for a long-awaited weekend in Las Vegas, and nothing—flight delays, lost luggage, or the slightly weird guy with the sketchy invite to an exclusive bash—is going to stop their fun.

Within minutes of arriving at the opulent party, she’s deep in conversation with gorgeous, funny Luke Nelson, wide receiver for the Seattle Seahawks. For some crazy reason, he can’t seem to keep his eyes—or hands—off her.

Luke isn’t looking for a hookup, he just wants to relax…until he gets one look at the classy brunette in the barely-there dress. One minute they’re talking, the next they’re all over each other in a dark corner. It’s like he’s an addict and she’s the fix he’s been searching for all his life.

One night of hot sex isn’t nearly enough. But after a weekend spent never more than a few inches apart, the time is quickly approaching when they’ll have to make a long-distance relationship work—or break it off.

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“Andrea.”

She whirled around…and there he was. Tall. Broad. Casually dressed in a navy blue T-shirt and jeans, a smile on his face, his dark eyes sparkling. Oh, he looked amazing. She could hardly believe he was standing there in front of her.

“Hi.” She hiked her purse strap over her shoulder, clinging to it like a lifeline. What should she do? What should she say? Did she have permission to throw herself at him like a lovesick girlfriend or was she supposed to act cool and composed?

“Come here.” He grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her into him, giving her a lingering kiss. Then another one. His lips were warm and damp and when he pulled away, releasing her slowly, he looked about as dazed as she felt. “We need to get the fuck out of here, and quick. You have luggage to pick up?”

She shook her head, stepping aside to display her suitcase. “This is all I brought.” Why did they need to leave so quickly? She didn’t understand.

His smile grew and he rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “Then let’s go.”

Luke took her suitcase for her despite her protests, grabbing her hand with his free one as he escorted her out of the airport. He kept his head slightly bent, as if he didn’t want people to recognize him, and she followed his lead, glancing around as discreetly as possible to see if anyone recognized him.

If they did, they gave him his privacy, and she was thankful for it. He seemed extra determined to leave unnoticed, practically dragging her outside toward a giant parking structure. They took an elevator up five floors, the interior of it freezing cold, and he slung his arm around her shoulder and held her close, his mouth at her forehead as he whispered to her.

“I missed you.”

She rested her hand on his stomach, noting the way the muscles tensed up at her light touch. “I missed you too,” she admitted. Damn it. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t make any sort of confession like that and there she went, not even five minutes into the visit.

“You hungry?”

“No.”
“Thirsty?” He pulled away from her when the elevator came to a stop, his hand falling to her lower back as he escorted her out into the garage.
“Um, no.” What was up with the weird questions?
“Good. We’ll go straight to my place then.” The look he shot her was full of heat, his gaze running over her quickly, and she shivered as if he’d actually touched her. “You are a sight for sore eyes, I hope you know.”

That saying had never made much sense to her, but that didn’t matter at the moment because he’d missed her. Looked at her as if he wanted to gobble her up, which she was a big fan of because the man had a very talented mouth. And hands.

Hands that could catch footballs, sure, but they were also magic hands that had her trembling and falling apart rather quickly…

“Here’s my truck.” He stopped at a gleaming brand-new blue Toyota pickup and unlocked the doors with a keyless remote, going to the passenger side to open the door for her. She hopped into the truck with his assistance, turning to look at him and say thank you, but he cut her off with his lips, kissing her so fiercely she had no choice but to lean back against the seat.

She grabbed hold of the back of his neck, her mouth opening to his, letting his tongue slide inside. A groan escaped her and she tunneled her fingers into his soft hair, gasping when his big warm hand maneuvered beneath her shirt and settled on her stomach.

“We keep this up, I’ll be fucking you in the parking garage—I don’t give a damn who sees us,” he said when he finally tore his lips from hers.
Exhaling a shuddery breath, she released her hold on him. That sounded perfect, which was totally crazy. She couldn’t allow him to do any such thing to her in a public parking garage. “Take me to your place,” she murmured, making him smile.

“Will do, baby.” He shut the door and rounded the back of the truck, opening his door so he could slip her suitcase on the bench seat behind them before he hopped into the driver’s seat. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

She smiled. “I can’t believe it either.”

“I’m glad, though.” His deep voice washed over her, making her shiver, and she watched as he settled his big hand on her knee and gave it a squeeze. “Fucking ecstatic, if you want me to be honest.”

Andrea laughed, loving his honesty. Probably way too much. “Me too.”


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Amazon | BN | Kobo | iTunes

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WICKED WEEKEND (Vegas Nights Series #.5) by Karen Erickson
Erotic Romance
Amazon | BN | Kobo | iTunes
SYNOPSIS

What happens in Vegas…could be a fantasy come true.

Vegas Nights, Book 0.5

Between nursing school and starting their careers, Reagan, Andrea, and Natalie have had no time for dating. After saving up for a special vacation, they’re on their way to Vegas for a long-awaited weekend of fun, sun, gambling and partying.

When their luggage goes missing, an impromptu shopping trip leads them to James, who makes them an unusual offer—to be part of the female scenery at his boss’s upcoming party. Not just any scenery, but women who are pretty in a real way, not the nipped, tucked and dyed Hollywood version.

Accept a “private party” invitation from a complete stranger? These ladies weren’t born yesterday. Yet before “no thanks” crosses their lips, Reagan discovers who James’s boss really is: Declan Carter, an actor she’s crushed on for, well, forever. Now she’s determined to be the eye candy who catches Declan’s eye. No matter what it takes…

RECKLESS NIGHTS (Vegas Nights Series #1) by Karen Erickson
Erotic Romance
Amazon | BN | Kobo | iTunes

SYNOPSIS

Sometimes dream crushes do come true.

Vegas Nights, Book 1

Reagan can’t believe her luck—and not in a good way. One minute she’s hanging out with her friends at an exclusive party in Las Vegas. The next, she’s attracted the attention of a famous actor. Not just any actor. Declan Carter, the man on which she used to—okay, might still—have a fangirl crush. Whose blue eyes leave her embarrassingly tongue tied.

All Declan wants is to meet a nice, normal woman who won’t use him as a stepping stone to fame. Something about Reagan tells him she could be that rare woman, and he follows his instinct to invite her back to his suite—where they proceed to have wild monkey sex. All. Night. Long.

What was supposed to be one night of no-regrets sex stretches out into a blissful weekend of two people who can’t get enough of each other. But when the glamour of Sin City wears off, they’re standing on the edge of a once-in-a-lifetime chance to turn a weekend fling into something lasting. Will they take the jump?


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 Karen Erickson

USA Today bestselling author Karen Erickson writes what she loves to read – sexy contemporary romance. Published since 2006, she’s a native Californian who lives in the foothills below Yosemite with her husband and three children.


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Excerpt Reveal ~ ‘Silver Bastard’ by Joanna Wylde.

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Silver Bastard by Joanna Wylde.
(Silver Valley #1)
Release Date: 7th April 2015.
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotica.

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SYNOPSIS

First in the new Silver Valley series from the New York Timesbestselling author of the Reapers Motorcycle Club Novels 

Fourteen months. For fourteen months, Puck Redhouse sat in a cell and kept his mouth shut, protecting the Silver Bastards MC from their enemies. Then he was free and it was time for his reward—full membership in the club, along with a party to celebrate. That’s when he saw Becca Jones for the first time and set everything in motion. Before the night ended he’d violated his parole and stolen her away from everything she knew.

Five years. It was five years ago that Puck destroyed Becca and saved her all in one night. She’s been terrified of him ever since, but she’s even more terrified of the monsters he still protects her from… But Becca refuses to let fear control her. She’s living her life and moving forward, until she gets a phone call from the past she can’t ignore. She has to go back, and there’s only one man she can trust to go with her—the ex-con biker who rescued her once before.

Puck will help her again, but this time it’ll be on his terms. No more lies, no more tears, and no more holding back what he really wants…

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Prologue

California

Five years ago

Puck

 

Motherfucker that burned.

The shot was a double, and the fact that it’d come cradled between two beautiful, giant tits attached to a stripper with endless legs and a tight ass didn’t hurt one goddamned bit. Tequila hit my stomach, the alcohol shocking my system, and shit finally got real.

Freedom.

Fourteen months since the last time I’d had a decent drink—all but forgotten what it felt like, too. That sweet, harsh pain that comes from losing the surface layer of skin all the way down your throat? Gorgeous. Never felt better in my life, and that’s a fact. Helped that the queen of body shots had sucked me off right after we’d pulled up to the party.

Spent the last year trying to decide what I’d do first when I finally got out. Kept going back and forth between getting laid and getting drunk, but God apparently has a soft spot for assholes because we’d found one hell of a good compromise.

I’d been free nearly four hours now. Still felt like a dream. The California Department of Corrections took its own sweet time with everything, up to and including processing a man out. I’d spent half the wait wondering if the cockwads would change their minds or if the club lawyer had forgotten something. Figured they’d find some way to fuck with my head.

FBI, state cops, even Homeland Security—they all wanted a piece of my club, the Silver Bastards MC, and not a week went by inside that they didn’t try to cut it out of my hide. Guess they figured a prospect made an easy target.

Not fucking likely.

My old man died for the Bastards. If I turned, he’d haunt my ass the rest of my life because that shit does not stand in my family. I’d been born to wear a Bastard cut. And tonight? For the first time I finally had the right to show those colors off.

A hand slapped my shoulder, then a burly man caught me up in a hug so tight it hurt. My fucking ribs creaked.

“That patch feel right on your back, brother?” asked Boonie. He was the president of the Silver Bastards in Callup, Idaho, and I’d heard him call me a hell of a lot of things—but never brother. Felt good. Damned good. Until an hour ago, I’d been a prospect and I’d never gotten any special treatment because of my old man.

That’s how I wanted it.

“Best night of my life,” I admitted. He pulled back, and his face grew serious.

“Proud of you,” he said. “You did what you had to. Protected the club, took care of business. Painter told us how things were inside, how you took his back. You earned this, earned it with your life and your blood. I know you won’t shame this patch, Puck.”

“I won’t,” I replied, his words almost too much. Boonie grinned suddenly, then grabbed my arm and turned me toward the bar again.

“Drink up,” he told me. “Then find yourself some pretty little thing to play with, because tomorrow we’re ridin’ home. Your bike’s in good shape—took care of it for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Another shot, baby?” the stripper asked. She rolled onto her side, reaching out to catch my neck with her hand, pulling me in for a kiss. That brought me a little too close to her face. She was sweaty, and her mascara had started running. Didn’t smell that great, either.

“More shots,” I said, pulling away. I’d appreciated the blow job, no question. But she wasn’t exactly the fantasy I’d been jacking off to the last year and I’d promised myself I wouldn’t settle once I got out. I wanted someone fresh—someone clean and soft and sweet enough to eat. I’d play with her for a while before letting myself go, punching through all that softness until she screamed and begged for mercy.

Mouth, cunt, ass.

That’d been what got me through those long nights wondering why the fuck I’d let myself get caught.

Ignoring the bitch on the bar, I reached across and grabbed the bottle of tequila, chugging nearly a third of it down. Christ, there went the rest of my throat. Then I turned to look out across room. Four of my new Silver Bastard brothers had come down from Callup—Boonie, Miner, Deep, and Demon. Joining them were four Reapers and two Reaper prospects. They were here to welcome Painter, who’d gone down with me on a weapons charge. This sucked, but such is life. We’d been fighting for our clubs, so no regrets there. Through a combination of luck and well-placed payoffs, we’d managed to stick together for the duration of our time served. The clubs provided the funds and the attorneys—to protect them, we matched that investment with our silence.

Painter caught my eye from across the room, grinning. After so much time together I could almost read his thoughts. I gave him a nod, one of those chin jerks that speaks volumes.

Congrats to you, too, asshole.

“You havin’ fun?” a man asked. I looked down to find a painfully skinny, greasy little man missing half his teeth standing next to me. Tweaker called Teeny. His face was just a little too eager, his eyes a little too bright. Unfortunately, Teeny was our host for the night so I had to be nice to him. We were out in the middle of nowhere, tucked back in a canyon where this douche had somehow acquired a house. The Longnecks MC—one of our “allies,” although their loyalty was questionable—had a warehouse set up in a shop right next to this guy’s house.

This Teeny asshole wasn’t even part of the club . . . Apparently his brother Bax was patched in, though, so they used him as a pit stop. Something didn’t quite add up about the situation, but fuck if I cared. In the morning I’d be riding for home. With luck my future association with the state of California in general and Teeny in particular would be extremely limited.

“See anything you like?” he asked. “That’s my old lady, there. “You want her? She’s real good, welcome you home right.”

I shrugged, glancing over toward his woman. She was probably in her midthirties, I decided. Pretty enough, but she had a hard, tired look around her eyes that didn’t appeal. Not only that, she was wiry and skinny as fuck. Probably smoking meth to block out the fact that she had to live with this dickwad.

“No, she’s great but not my type,” I said, casually taking another drink of tequila. Wasn’t burning so much now, which in retrospect should’ve been a sign to slow down. Maybe things would’ve turned out different.

Shitty thing about time—only runs the one direction.

“What’s your type?” he asked. I shrugged. The day I needed some tweaker to find me pussy, I’d cut off my own cock and get it over with. Swallowing another drink, I glanced across the room, pointedly ignoring him.

That’s when I saw her.

Now, I fuckin’ hate clichés, and shit like this only happens in movies . . . but I swear to fuck, I think I fell for her in that instant. She was small, with long brown hair in one of those knot things on top of her head. Not dressed to show off her figure, either. I could still see she had a tiny waist, though, along with generous tits and the kind of round, healthy curves you just know will cradle your hips perfectly when you’re pounding her.

I had to have her.

Like, needed her. Now.

“Good call,” Teeny said. I ignored him, focusing on the angel I had every intention of owning just as soon as I talked her out of her pants. God, she was pretty. Kind of out of place, too. Not flirting with anyone, and not a ton of makeup. Just wandering around, picking up empties, and avoiding conversation. Fascinating.

“I’ll introduce you.”

Teeny walked across the room toward my Dream Fuck. I started after him, because I didn’t want the asshole speaking on my behalf. Then Boonie caught my arm.

“Heads‑up,” he said, his voice pitched low, difficult to hear through the noise of the party. “We think somethin’s going on with that guy. Don’t be afraid to talk him up, okay? Can always use good information.”

I nodded, wondering why the fuck Teeny had to pick me to buddy up with. Tonight was for relaxing, enjoying myself. Just looking at him made me feel dirty, and considering some of the shit I’ve pulled in my life, that’s an accomplishment. Another hand slapped my back, then Painter caught me by the neck, squeezing me as he laughed.

“Never ends,” he said. “Boonie cock-blocking you?”

I punched him in the gut—not hard. Just enough to make him back off.

“No, right now you have that honor,” I muttered, glaring at him. “Christ, we just spent a year together in a fuckin’ cell. Think we’ve covered everything, so let me get laid? Please?”

He answered by punching me back, and I reeled . . . damn, hadn’t realized how drunk I’d gotten. Still, I wasn’t about to go down easy. I swayed, watching him as our brothers started crowding around us. The wild gleam in his eyes—a mixture of almost manic happiness and pent‑up energy—matched my own.

“Take it outside,” Boonie said. “I got fifty on Puck.”

“Hundred on Painter,” Picnic Hayes, the Reapers’ president, answered and then we were bundled outside for the fight.

I couldn’t wait.

We’d sparred before, of course. Nothing but time to kill in the pen, so I knew Painter’s moves like they were my own— and he knew mine, too. We were a good match, could go either way. Neither of us had much in the way of formal training but we’d both picked up a fair amount along the way. Hell, I’d gotten caught in my first bar fight when I was fourteen years old, seeing as my pop wasn’t exactly Father of the Year material. Still loved the old bastard, though.

The sun was fading as we stepped outside, painting the sky in pinks and oranges shot through with smudged clouds. I paused a moment, struck by the incredible beauty all around me, and smiled, breathing deep. So fucking good to be outside again. Nobody knows what it’s like, trapped in a cell like an animal. Nobody but the guys who’ve heard the sound of those gates closing behind them.

Fortunately for me, I wasn’t exactly the first Silver Bastard to do time for the club, which meant my brothers got me. They knew what this was like.

“Okay, we got a circle here,” Pic was saying. I blinked, starting to process the fact that maybe boxing with Painter while I was drunk might not be such a hot idea. Of course, he was drunk, too, and the booze would numb the pain . . . “Fight goes until one of you is down or taps out. Time to make your bets, brothers.”

Boonie caught my arm, pulling me to the side and looking into my face.

“You ready?” he asked. I nodded sharply, because drunk or not, I wasn’t going to pussy out in front of my president on the same day I got my colors. I glanced across the dusty circle to see Painter, who gave me a friendly sneer. Laughing, I flipped him off, then shook my arms out, loosening up.

That’s when I saw her again. Off to the side, standing next to Teeny, who was talking rapidly and pointing to me. I frowned, because I really didn’t need or want that asshole on my side. Knowing my luck, the fucker would send her running. I nudged my brother, Deep, who was standing next to me.

“See that girl?” I asked, jerking my chin toward her. “Make sure Teeny doesn’t scare her off, okay?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thanks.”

Painter and I stepped into the circle together, and I felt the thrill of adrenaline cut through the haze of alcohol. My blood started pumping, pounding through me until I could all but taste it. Christ, but I loved to fight. Always seemed to clear my head, and I’d gotten good enough over the years that I won more than I lost. Inside, those skills had saved our asses, and I’d picked up my fair share of pointers from the very man I found myself facing.

Painter moved first, coming in with an experimental jab toward my stomach. This wasn’t a real attack, just him testing my limits. I’d had a lot to drink, which would slow my reflexes. So had he. That changed the baseline, something we both needed to feel out.

“Can’t believe they gave you a top rocker,” he said, taunting me.

I grinned.

“Try harder, old man. I know you too well.”

Painter laughed, then came at me again, suddenly. He punched me square in the stomach and I doubled over. Shit. I fell back and almost stumbled out of the ring, catching myself at the last minute. I heard the shouts of my brothers urging me on.

Oh, hell no.

No fucking way I’d lose a fight tonight. Painter could fuck right off, because he’d had his colors for years. This was my night. I owned this bitch and he’d just have to suck it up and deal.

Still staggering, I lurched forward toward him like I was out of control. Then I attacked, and this time I caught him. One hit, two. Three. Right in the gut. Painter gasped and I moved in for the kill.

Somehow he pulled himself together, catching me across the chin. My entire head rattled as I staggered to the side. I felt blood in my mouth, then found a loose tooth with my tongue.

Asshole.

I thought of the pretty girl I’d just seen, which pissed me off. The anger was good. Cleared my head. Didn’t matter if I won or not, she wouldn’t want to suck face with someone bleeding like a stuck pig. This wasn’t a fight—it was a cock-block.

Time to end it.

Painter waited for me, swaying. I’d gotten him pretty good.

He was definitely favoring his left hand, which was great news because he was left-handed. Lucky me. I was ambidextrous.

I launched myself at him, turning that to my advantage.

He tried to block me but his arm was weak. I landed a blow to his gut followed by one that caught the side of his cheek. Pain seared through my hand, parting the fog of alcohol.

“Dick,” he managed to gasp as I danced back, flexing my fingers. That last one had been bad—if I’d been any more off-center, I’d have a fist full of broken bones.

“You got him,” Boonie shouted. I stretched my hand again. Did I want to risk another head blow? I hadn’t even wrapped my knuckles. . .

Fuck it.

I caught his chin again and Painter went down, falling hard. Blood dribbled from his nose and for long seconds I wondered if I’d actually hurt him for real.

Then he managed to roll onto his stomach, tapping out and flipping me off, all in one gesture.

“Congrats on getting your colors, Puck,” he groaned. “I’ll give you this one. Enjoy it while you can because next time I’m killing you.”

I staggered back, grinning and raising my hands once I realized he wasn’t seriously hurt. It’d been a lucky shot and we both knew it—we were well matched, could’ve gone either way. As I heard my brothers shouting in victory I didn’t care. This was my night. I had my freedom and my patch.

Still needed that girl, though.

I looked around and spotted her standing next to Deep. Teeny stood on the other side of him, looking all sorry for himself. She was hugging herself with both arms, obviously nervous, and I felt my smile fade. Shit. I hadn’t wanted her scared. I shook my head, wishing things weren’t moving so fast. Waving off the men crowding around me, I headed toward her, half expecting her to run off.

She didn’t, though.

As I came to a stop in front of her, she gave me a wavering smile, then spoke. “Can I help you find another drink?”

“Fuck yeah.”

I took her arm and pulled her into my side, exchanging a satisfied look with Deep.

“Let me know if you need anything!” Teeny yelled after us, and

I felt the girl shudder.

“Christ, but he’s a nasty little shit, isn’t he?” I asked her conversationally, and she gave a startled snort of laughter. I liked the sound. Sweet and sort of innocent. Made my dick happy, that was for sure. Still, I didn’t want to fuck things up and push her too hard, because the skittish vibes were intense.

“Yeah, he is,” she agreed quietly, and I leaned down to kiss the top of her head. She smelled good—fresh and clean, just like I’d been fantasizing all those months inside. Fresh and clean and perfect.

I wondered what she’d taste like.

“They’re lighting a fire out back,” she told me, her voice soft. “By the kegs. Maybe we should go over there?”

Hmmm . . . I could work with that.

“Okay.”

She tried to pull away from me then, but I caught her hand playfully, tugging her back toward me.

“I can’t get you a beer if you don’t let me go,” she pointed out.

Fuck. She was right. Still, I wasn’t about to let her get away that easy—knowing my luck, Painter’d swoop in and take her, just to fuck with my head. If anyone could pull it off, he could. Fucker was pretty in his own weird way—even I could see it. I couldn’t compete, not with the nasty scar on my face.

I’d just have to keep a close eye on her, I decided. Protect what was mine.


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Joanna Wylde

Joanna Wylde is a New York Times bestselling author and creator of the Reapers Motorcycle Club series. She currently lives in Idaho.


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Book Blitz ~ ‘Little Wolf’ by Amélie S. Duncan.

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Little Wolf by Amélie S. Duncan
Publication date: December 9th 2014
Genres: Erotica, Romance
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SYNOPSIS
When twenty-three year old Tala Velsik appears in a last minute performance art piece, she has no idea that public nudity will be the least of her worries. Wearing nothing but silver paint and a pair of antlers, her body is bared to hundreds of eyes, but one penetrating stare simmers through the others, Adrian Caro.

Adrian Caro is one of the world’s most famous directors and photographers, but with striking features and a body made for sin, most would guess he belonged in front of the camera.
Of course, the last thing Tala needs is romance, even with a walking Adonis. Mounting bills, a dead end job and a set of childhood memories most therapists would pale at; love is low on her list. Assuming, of course, her new admirer allows her to have a say in the matter.

Shocked yet thrilled by Adrian’s passionate domination, Tala can’t help but feel she’s standing on quicksand. For all his wealth, fame and talent, Adrian is tormented by his own demons; hiding secrets big enough to destroy them both.

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I shook my head. “You did, but not anymore. I’m perfectly capable of tending to myself.”

“I’m also perfectly capable of tending to you,” Adrian said with a Gallic shrug.

I looked away. “You’re overwhelming me. I don’t like games or riddles. I like straight talk. I don’t like coddling—”

“You do like coddling, that’s a lie,” Adrian said. His tone was so full of disappointment that it made me spill out an explanation.

“Fine. I don’t trust coddling. Trauma growing up… snore. So no more of that.”

He cupped my face. “Tell me what happened.” His eyes bore into me, but I didn’t want to share a part of myself with a wealthy, famous man who couldn’t possibly understand, someone I was sure I wouldn’t see again anyway.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s in the past where it belongs and has no relevance to my job with you.” He swallowed and his mouth turned down. My heart stuttered. I didn’t understand why I felt bad, but I decided to offer him more of an explanation. I took a deep breath before blurting out, “My mother is a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic. She was unmedicated for most of my childhood.”

He stroked my face gently. “She hurt you.” His eyes flashed and his mouth curled up. He appeared pumped and poised to slay the demons of my past.

I licked my lips. “She’s better now. She lives at Newton House in Middletown, New York. It’s a partially private group home. She’s one of the reasons I agreed to come here. Helping her afford her home. So, I’m fine,” I babbled. “She had childhood trauma too, but she’s doing better, and I want her to stay there.”

“So you work and do day labor to cover the cost of her housing?” The look on his face showed he didn’t agree with my sacrificing for someone who had hurt me.

I moved on my side, facing away from him on the bed. “Newton House is more than housing. She gets doctors, therapy, counseling, and activities. My mom was good when she was on medication, and you have no right to judge me. I wouldn’t expect someone like a Carlotti to understand anyway.”

“Just because I have wealth doesn’t mean I have lived a charmed life. I’ve experienced pain and loss too. I lost my mother to breast cancer when I was twelve. There wasn’t enough Carlotti money to save her and keep her with me.” Something inside me melted, and I turned back over and didn’t protest as he moved me closer to him and embraced me.


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Amélie S. Duncan
Amélie S. Duncan writes contemporary, erotic romances with a dark edge. Her inspiration comes from many sources including her life experiences and travels. She lives on the West Coast of the United States with her husband.
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Book Blitz ~ ‘December Rain’ by A.L. Goulden.

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December Rain by A.L. Goulden
(August Fog #2)
Publication date: November 25th 2014
Genres: Contemporary, Erotica, Romance

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SYNOPSIS

Monica and Alex Waters have spent that last few months working to repair a broken marriage and rekindle their passion. Just as they start finding their spark, Quinn Matthews and his escalating career resurfaces, but this time Alex makes the decision to let Monica go.

The devastation of losing her high school sweetheart, her home, and even her dog twists Monica down a destructive path that alienates her from her closest friends and lands her on Quinn’s couch. Despite her efforts to resist jumping into his arms again, the spark between them reignites and sweeps her away on a whirlwind holiday adventure. She finds that falling in love with Quinn’s family and lifestyle is as easy as falling for his ocean colored eyes. The problem is that it’s all too easy, and when she sees that Quinn’s reinvented life has completely shifted towards her dreams, she starts to question whether he’s too good to be true.

Quinn has a secret that was never meant to be kept this long, but will Monica be able to trust another man who’s lied? And now that Quinn’s got his happily ever after in sight, he’s not about to let her go or share her with another man.

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The outdoor style shopping mall is bustling with tourist and local art lovers. Rows of art galleries surround the courtyard where a stage welcomes a local reggae band. Monica settles into a groove and starts dancing with the crowd. Alex tries to hang in for a couple of songs before he starts feeling claustrophobic and looks to the galleries and shops around them.

“Go ahead,” she says with a loving smile. “I’ll meet you down there… after one more song.”

He gives her a little kiss on the cheek and glides his hand across her behind before making his way out of the crowd. His attention is pulled by various pieces in gallery windows along the way.

There’s a large glass sea turtle in shades of green and gold followed by a painting of an autumn forest with heavy texture. He stands daydreaming for a minute until he’s distracted by a reflection passing in the glass. It’s so brief he’s sure it’s his imagination. He barely catches a glimpse down the mall as the backside of the man disappears into another gallery.

Alex follows the ghost, dodging through happy couples and pushy salespeople trying to get his attention. Before he can see inside the gallery, a painting that’s prominently displayed on a front wall stops him. A cold washes over as he stands there staring at it. He slowly moves inside, mesmerized by the familiar vibrant paint strokes until he sees a few people gathered in the back. A man talking to two smiling women stills himself as Alex’s eyes freeze on the back of his shaved head. No words were needed as the tropical air takes a chill. Even the women sense a showdown, and step back to give Quinn room.

Quinn turns. What do I say? Fuck! I thought that was him. I hoped it wasn’t. Quinn moves very slowly towards Alex. Is he gonna hit me? I do deserve it. Might as well get it over with. “Hey.” Quinn pauses near the center of the room waiting.

Alex swallows hard, his nostrils flaring and fist clenched. His jaw flexes as his breathing grows heavier, but the emotions just start to turn to mush. His eyes fill as thoughts of his new friend’s betrayal wash over and the painting draws his eyes again.

“I’m sorry Alex,” Quinn says quietly.

Monica nearly passes the gallery on her way to see their friends when Alex’s shirt first catches her eye. She halts and shifts backwards until she sees the painting and stops. It’s a female figure bent forward reaching for her toes. The abstract form of her body in swirls of orange and reds is cradled by a man swathed in blues and purple. Oh my God! That’s me. That’s us, stretching. It can’t be. He’s…

She struggles for air as the tears swell, and she can already feel him. As she stands there, not crossing the threshold, the two men watch her. When her eyes finally land on Quinn, electricity fills the room. She can only see him and the deep tan that backdrops the pale oceany eyes reaching for her. A warm drop gently slides down her cheekbone as her breathing syncs with his. His lips move slightly hinting at words that he can’t find, and she struggles not to run into his arms.

Alex’s discomfort is audible as he clears his clogged throat to rattle her attention to his worried eyes. She steps in and touches his hand briefly. “I’ll be outside,” she says, turning without another glance at Quinn.

Her feet move quick as her thoughts try to keep up. What are they doing? Alex is gonna hit him. I can’t believe he’s here. What are the odds? Did he know we’d be here? No. Maybe he moved here. That painting was him and I together. Would Alex know that? It’s pretty abstract. Fuck! This can’t be happening. Before she knows it, she’s at the other end of the mall near the parking lot. She settles on a bench to wait for the world to stop crumbling around her.

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A.L. Goulden

I’m a designer, author, wife and dog-lover living in the South Pasadena area of California. I got my BFA in Film Production from the Academy of Art University in San Francisco, but my love of a good story came way before college. I remember writing my first full story in fifth grade on a typewriter. I cut and pasted it into a book, complete with cardboard cover and taped binding. Things have changed a lot since then. With the magnificent digital age I can produce books and give them to the world without a sticky mess.

In college numerous instructors and peers praised my dialogue pushed me to hone my storytelling skills. Of course the need to cut and paste was still there, so I went into the world of Production Design and Art Direction for films and television. It gave me the ability to connect design to storytelling in a way that no other career can. The past 18 years have spun a unique perspective on visually emotional tales of relationships and the thread that ties all things together. Now I’m shifting focus on the driving force that brought me here… stories. I hope that I can share a unique perspective on life, love and the pursuit in all of the above.

 

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Release Blitz ~ ‘ ‘Til Death’ by Bella Jewel.

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‘Til Death: Volume One by Bella Jewel
(‘Til Death #1)
Release Date: November 25, 2014

BELLA JEWEL TIL DEATH AMAZON KINDLE EBOOK COVER

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SYNOPSIS

They say there’s a fine line between love and hate.

There is.

I married a douchebag.

I didn’t know it at the time.

He came in like a handsome stranger and blew me off my feet.

I fell madly in love, like the naive girl I am.

Then he left me high and dry.

Turns out, I was nothing more than a business plan for billionaire playboy, Marcus Tandem.

He needed to be married in order to obtain his grandfathers business, and I was the poor victim in his path.

I believed in what we had, until the truth reared its ugly head.

I never meant anything to Marcus. Not a damned thing.

With my world spinning on its axis, the girl I once was has long since died.

Instead he left me as this empty, emotionless shell.

I may have made a vow before God to love and cherish him ‘Til Death do we part, but it’s time for me to give back to Marcus, exactly what he gave me.

He has to pay.

And pay he will.

*This is part of a two book series and it will contain a HEA – Readers over 18+

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Bella Jewel

Bella Jewel is a self published, USA Today bestselling author. She’s been publishing since 2013. Her first release was a contemporary romance, Hell’s Knights which topped the charts upon release. Since that time, she has published over five novels, gaining a bestseller status on numerous platforms. She lives in North Queensland and is currently studying editing and proofreading to further expand her career. Bella has been writing since she was just shy of fifteen years old. In Summer 2013 she was offered an ebook deal through Montlake Romance for her bestselling modern day pirate series, Enslaved By The Ocean. She plans to expand her writing career, planning many new releases for the future.

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Release Blitz ~ ‘Untied Anthology’

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 Untied Anthology
A collection of the Hottest Titles of 2014!
Authors: Various
Genres: Romance, Adult.

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SYNOPSIS

What do you want?

Do you want sex?

Do you want love, happiness?

Or maybe you want a little suspense?

Could it be you don’t know what you want?

Could you be in just the right frame of mind to get mind-fucked until you’re looking at your kindle with tears in your eyes asking … What the hell just happened?

Maybe you’re ready to have it all?

Good. Because you’ve come to the right place.

These six best-selling authors have bound together the hottest romance novels of 2014.

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Books Included are:

BANG by E.K. Blair, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author

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TAKE ME FOR GRANTED by K.A. Linde, USA Today Bestselling Author

BELOVED by Corinne Michaels, Bestselling Author

Features an EXCLUSIVE Bonus Chapter only available in this Anthology

KICK by C.D. Reiss, USA Today Bestselling Author

PHENOMENAL X by Michelle A. Valentine, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author

Also featuring bonus chapters from Corinne Michaels and Claire Contreras

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