Category Archives: COVER REVEAL

#CoverReveal Unchaining You by Vic Tyler



If he hates me for what happened 8 years ago, just imagine how he feels now…

Do I feel bad for accidentally hooking up with the one who broke my heart?

… No.

Should I feel bad for extorting him for a job that I need?

… Probably.

But like I said, I need the job.

Life’s kind to some people.

Exhibit A: Devon Leo

Hot, brooding loner in high school → hot, brooding billionaire tech tycoon who’s an international mans!ut.

Exhibit Me: Skylar Kay

Your everyday average nobody → college dropout, moonlighting stripper nobody who’s drowning in debt.

The least he can do for breaking my heart is give me a job.

Yeah, the one I blackmailed him for.

I just didn’t think the job was for a position under him.

I’ll have to be careful not to get under him. Again.

Because this time, his reputation isn’t just on the line.

My heart is.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Skylar

A slow, synth beat starts to thump, muted, from the speakers all around the dim room. I was hoping for something a little more upbeat since I’m running on three hours of sleep, and the velvety couches lining the walls of the VIP Room are starting to look like plush black clouds at this point of the night. If I strain my ears, I can hear the enthused and muffled whomp-whomp-whomp in the main room where everyone’s hunting — for money or attention.

The VIP Room is just quiet enough for the patrons sparsely spread throughout the area to converse with the dancers whose time they’re procuring hourly. Of course, some of them aren’t really looking for conversation.

Like Bill.

The pudgy, leering man sitting in front of me looks up hungrily as I lean forward to fill his vision with my heavy breasts. Even though they’re taped down securely, I’m still paranoid that the thin, elastic straps of my black, lacy bikini are going to snap, leaving me with no more than black, lacy pasties with sad, dangly tentacles.

I say ‘bikini,’ but it’s the kind you’d never wear in public unless you want to scandalize parents at the public pool and become a budding teenage boy’s first wet dream. The kind that would never survive a cannonball, and the one that makes your nightmare of seeing your bikini pieces floating up right next to you come true. More like a skinny dip-kini.

“Destiny.”

Bill holds out a few Andrew Jacksons, and I push my hip toward him so he can slip it into the side string of my thong. He takes his time, his dry fingers grazing roughly against my skin, taking advantage of the one opportunity during our time together that I let him touch me. After all, he’s more generous with his tips when I let him brush a feel or two during our hour.

Lowering my voice to a sultry hum, I purr, “Stay for a little longer, Bill.”

He chuckles in that not smooth way — the sound gutturally choked by his bubbling lust.

“Can’t tonight, baby.” He lowers his voice, trying to sound seductive. “Unless you want to come home with me.”

He arches his brow with a cheesy smile as his fingers touch his wallet.

It makes me feel dirty. Very, very dirty. And not in the sexy way.

For eight hours a night, a few nights a week, my sensitive bitties of skin are slapped on with cash like I’m a papier-mache project. I’m basically rolling around in money, and if you mix in a little paste, you can make a cash cast out of me. But let me tell you, the whole ‘rolling in dough’ thing is an idea that’s only appealing to be entertained theoretically.

I mean, money’s pretty gross if you think about it. You never know where it’s been. Stuffed in wallets, forgotten in pockets, hidden in shoes or bras, dropped in gasoline-laden puddles on the street, handled by greasy, pizza-oiled hands, rolled to snort coke, slid into a stripper’s asscrack.

The first time I went home with a huge stack of tips, I did it. I spread out a bed of green and laid down on it. It’s really not that exciting. But go ahead and try. And if you’re more like me than you are Ebenezer Scrooge, you’ll find out that carpeting your floor with money doesn’t make it any softer.

It’s still cold, hard cash. In a cold, hard world.

I fight the urge to scrunch my nose, instead lowering them to watch my manicured fingers walk up his white dress shirt, his suit jacket lying forgotten next to him to minimize the layers between us. “You know I can’t go home with customers.”

Can’t, won’t, don’t want to. What’s the difference? In the end, it’s not going to happen.

Some of my clients are sweethearts. Just lonely ones. But some men, like Bill, wave around their money using the carrot-and-stick approach. The cash being the carrot, and the stick being… well, their stick. When I say I don’t provide those services, they don’t back down.

They raise their offer.

Bill’s eyes travel over me as he continues fingering his bulge. The wallet, of course. It’s not the only thing bulging in his pants, but at least he knows which of the two I’m interested in, period.

The lines in his shoulders relax as he gives up for the night and leans back against the couch. His doughy cheeks pull back into a smile.

“Shame,” he drawls pointedly, hinting at how much I’m missing out.

Considering that chipmunk sized tent he’s pitching, I’m pretty confident I’m not missing out on much.

But I hood my eyes seductively and pout a little bit. “You can always stick around for a little longer. You know how much I love spending time with you.”

Ten months ago, I would’ve never imagined I could make a man empty his wallet just by changing where and how I look at him.

I still remember my first day at Starlette when Sage, the strip club’s house mom, pulled me back from making my awkward rounds waddling around the floor. It was my first wearing six-inch fuck-me heels when I’ve only ever worn two-inch-high Mary Janes for church.

She pursed her lips and said, “Honey, if these men wanted to look at a woman who looks as miserable as you do out there, they’d go home to their wives.”

She made a science out of flirtation and laughed when I whipped out my trusty pen and paper. Gave me a big “mhm, you do that” when I said I’d go research all about ‘the art of seduction.’

Even now, Sage likes to joke that her greatest accomplishment to date is turning “Sunday School Skye” turn into “Devilishly Dazzling Destiny.”

Flashing a toothy, hopeful smile, Bill changes tactic. “Then how about dinner? Tomorrow night?”

I’m obviously not going to get him to stay another hour tonight. Lowering my voice huskily, I brush back his hair with the lightest of touches. “Dating is against the rules. But you’ll be the first to know if that ever changes.”

My own rules. Nothing against the other dancers who do date their customers. Believe me, I heard some of the cute love stories shared in the back, and even I’ve dreamed about a sexy, respectful millionaire who can’t resist me after a crotch grind, a motorboat, or an hour of very fulfilling conversation in the half-nude who wants to get to know the real me. And then I remember my clientele includes… well… Bill and his ilk.

No offense. Bill behaves (most of the time), and some of my regulars are nice. But even if I were interested in any of them (which, spoiler alert, I’m not), my stomach doesn’t get all fluttery with butterflies when they’re talking about their wives and kids. A club isn’t exactly ideal breeding grounds for a relationship… or breeding.

That doesn’t mean I don’t pretend I want them. I do. I pretend hard.

Winking at Bill, I peel myself off the couch and straighten as I turn around, looking at him cutely over my shoulder. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to handle a heartbreaker like you.”

He chuckles low in the back of his throat. “Baby, I’d never break your heart.”

I feel a little bitter on behalf of his wife. She’s probably sitting home right now on a Wednesday night, helping their six-year-old son with his alphabets or maths or coloring homework, while he’s here, dishing out his paycheck for a few boob shimmies and butt rolls.

But I shouldn’t complain. After all, Bill is a platinum donor to the Skylar Kay Survival Foundation.

“You break my heart every time you leave.” I wink before walking away, swaying my hips and letting my ass shake.

A couple of wandering eyes flit over to me as I sashay through the room. This is about as private as it gets for those who don’t have enough dough to cough up for some actual one-on-one time in one of the Champagne Rooms.

Nothing sketchy happens back there, of course. At least, it’s not supposed to. But it’s not unusual for a dancer to take off her bikini top for the several extra hundreds she’s getting for the same hour-long session.

I’ve never, and I won’t ever. Not because I think I’m better than any of the other women (God knows I’m in just as much of a shithole, if not in a worse one, as some of them). But I’m just not that comfortable with exposing my nips to strangers who don’t even know my real name. Only my ex-boyfriend has ever seen my bare nipples, and that’s not going to change for any amount of money.

I envy the girls who dance here because they love flaunting their gorgeous bodies and basking in the spotlight. But I’m not one of them.

I love dancing — heck, I wanted to be a professional dancer — but I’d rather dance with clothes on and not on a stage with a pole on it. I’m a statistical cliche working here out of desperation.

“You can always come home with me,” Bill says optimistically, trying one last time as we head toward the exit. “You know I’ll take real good care of you.”

It does make me wonder whether men’s bedroom skills improve if they pay for sex. Do they try to make the most of their money? Or is it an easy done deal since the sex is an expectation?

I’d assume the latter.

Is it terrible that I assume they’re mediocre at sex? Maybe even bad at it? Horrible? The lose-faith-in-mankind’s-manhood kind of sex?

Either way, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been around one and a half naked guys. The second one was a Tinder date that finished with a handjob that lasted twenty seconds. We took a longer time taking our pants off. Not our clothes. Just our pants. Like I said, he didn’t even see my nipples.

Tinder Dude definitely made me lose faith in Tinder, and I haven’t even tried hooking up with anyone since. Why bother if I’m just a heated, fleshy replacement for some Kleenex?

At the door, the bouncer stands menacingly with his thick, meaty arms crossed, glaring at the pasty, Pillsbury Doughboy-esque businessman.

Bill knows the drill. He pulls his wallet out so fast, I would’ve missed it if I blinked.

I brush my fingers along his elbow as I press my boobs against his arm, drawing his attention to my cleavage.

“Come see me again, Bill,” I coo. “You know I’m here from Wednesday to Saturday, eight to four.”

Maybe I should become a camgirl instead. I got the script down pat.

Thanks for watching my strip show! Don’t forget to click on that Subscribe button to watch me fiddle my channel!

Bill doesn’t bother hiding his disappointment when I pull away, but the tease is what keeps him coming back every week.

“Destiny,” he murmurs, his eyes still glued to my tits. He raises them to wink at me. “You’ll warm up to me one day.”

Internally, I cringe. I really, really doubt it.

But winking with a perfectly practiced, sugary sweet smile, I croon, “See you next week, Bill.”

About Vic Tyler:

Vic Tyler is a new author of contemporary romance novels.
She has a tinkering sense of wanderlust and loves to travel to new places, explore new cultures, and most importantly, eat delicious new food (yummm). Her dreams include finally having nice handwriting, owning a collection of onesies, and making a croquembouche.

Stay up to date with VT’s new works  → http://eepurl.com/dKoTO-/

Check out VT’s books  →  https://amazon.com/author/lovevictyler

Connect with Vic Tyler

Website  →  https://lovevictyler.wordpress.com

Facebook Group  →  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorVicTyler/

Twitter  →  https://twitter.com/LoveVicTyler/

Instagram  →  https://www.instagram.com/lovevictyler/



#CoverReveal Unchaining You by Vic Tyler

If he hates me for what happened 8 years ago, just imagine how he feels now…

Do I feel bad for accidentally hooking up with the one who broke my heart?

… No.

Should I feel bad for extorting him for a job that I need?

… Probably.

But like I said, I need the job.

Life’s kind to some people.

Exhibit A: Devon Leo

Hot, brooding loner in high school → hot, brooding billionaire tech tycoon who’s an international mans!ut.

Exhibit Me: Skylar Kay

Your everyday average nobody → college dropout, moonlighting stripper nobody who’s drowning in debt.

The least he can do for breaking my heart is give me a job.

Yeah, the one I blackmailed him for.

I just didn’t think the job was for a position under him.

I’ll have to be careful not to get under him. Again.

Because this time, his reputation isn’t just on the line.

My heart is.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Skylar

A slow, synth beat starts to thump, muted, from the speakers all around the dim room. I was hoping for something a little more upbeat since I’m running on three hours of sleep, and the velvety couches lining the walls of the VIP Room are starting to look like plush black clouds at this point of the night. If I strain my ears, I can hear the enthused and muffled whomp-whomp-whomp in the main room where everyone’s hunting — for money or attention.

The VIP Room is just quiet enough for the patrons sparsely spread throughout the area to converse with the dancers whose time they’re procuring hourly. Of course, some of them aren’t really looking for conversation.

Like Bill.

The pudgy, leering man sitting in front of me looks up hungrily as I lean forward to fill his vision with my heavy breasts. Even though they’re taped down securely, I’m still paranoid that the thin, elastic straps of my black, lacy bikini are going to snap, leaving me with no more than black, lacy pasties with sad, dangly tentacles.

I say ‘bikini,’ but it’s the kind you’d never wear in public unless you want to scandalize parents at the public pool and become a budding teenage boy’s first wet dream. The kind that would never survive a cannonball, and the one that makes your nightmare of seeing your bikini pieces floating up right next to you come true. More like a skinny dip-kini.

“Destiny.”

Bill holds out a few Andrew Jacksons, and I push my hip toward him so he can slip it into the side string of my thong. He takes his time, his dry fingers grazing roughly against my skin, taking advantage of the one opportunity during our time together that I let him touch me. After all, he’s more generous with his tips when I let him brush a feel or two during our hour.

Lowering my voice to a sultry hum, I purr, “Stay for a little longer, Bill.”

He chuckles in that not smooth way — the sound gutturally choked by his bubbling lust.

“Can’t tonight, baby.” He lowers his voice, trying to sound seductive. “Unless you want to come home with me.”

He arches his brow with a cheesy smile as his fingers touch his wallet.

It makes me feel dirty. Very, very dirty. And not in the sexy way.

For eight hours a night, a few nights a week, my sensitive bitties of skin are slapped on with cash like I’m a papier-mache project. I’m basically rolling around in money, and if you mix in a little paste, you can make a cash cast out of me. But let me tell you, the whole ‘rolling in dough’ thing is an idea that’s only appealing to be entertained theoretically.

I mean, money’s pretty gross if you think about it. You never know where it’s been. Stuffed in wallets, forgotten in pockets, hidden in shoes or bras, dropped in gasoline-laden puddles on the street, handled by greasy, pizza-oiled hands, rolled to snort coke, slid into a stripper’s asscrack.

The first time I went home with a huge stack of tips, I did it. I spread out a bed of green and laid down on it. It’s really not that exciting. But go ahead and try. And if you’re more like me than you are Ebenezer Scrooge, you’ll find out that carpeting your floor with money doesn’t make it any softer.

It’s still cold, hard cash. In a cold, hard world.

I fight the urge to scrunch my nose, instead lowering them to watch my manicured fingers walk up his white dress shirt, his suit jacket lying forgotten next to him to minimize the layers between us. “You know I can’t go home with customers.”

Can’t, won’t, don’t want to. What’s the difference? In the end, it’s not going to happen.

Some of my clients are sweethearts. Just lonely ones. But some men, like Bill, wave around their money using the carrot-and-stick approach. The cash being the carrot, and the stick being… well, their stick. When I say I don’t provide those services, they don’t back down.

They raise their offer.

Bill’s eyes travel over me as he continues fingering his bulge. The wallet, of course. It’s not the only thing bulging in his pants, but at least he knows which of the two I’m interested in, period.

The lines in his shoulders relax as he gives up for the night and leans back against the couch. His doughy cheeks pull back into a smile.

“Shame,” he drawls pointedly, hinting at how much I’m missing out.

Considering that chipmunk sized tent he’s pitching, I’m pretty confident I’m not missing out on much.

But I hood my eyes seductively and pout a little bit. “You can always stick around for a little longer. You know how much I love spending time with you.”

Ten months ago, I would’ve never imagined I could make a man empty his wallet just by changing where and how I look at him.

I still remember my first day at Starlette when Sage, the strip club’s house mom, pulled me back from making my awkward rounds waddling around the floor. It was my first wearing six-inch fuck-me heels when I’ve only ever worn two-inch-high Mary Janes for church.

She pursed her lips and said, “Honey, if these men wanted to look at a woman who looks as miserable as you do out there, they’d go home to their wives.”

She made a science out of flirtation and laughed when I whipped out my trusty pen and paper. Gave me a big “mhm, you do that” when I said I’d go research all about ‘the art of seduction.’

Even now, Sage likes to joke that her greatest accomplishment to date is turning “Sunday School Skye” turn into “Devilishly Dazzling Destiny.”

Flashing a toothy, hopeful smile, Bill changes tactic. “Then how about dinner? Tomorrow night?”

I’m obviously not going to get him to stay another hour tonight. Lowering my voice huskily, I brush back his hair with the lightest of touches. “Dating is against the rules. But you’ll be the first to know if that ever changes.”

My own rules. Nothing against the other dancers who do date their customers. Believe me, I heard some of the cute love stories shared in the back, and even I’ve dreamed about a sexy, respectful millionaire who can’t resist me after a crotch grind, a motorboat, or an hour of very fulfilling conversation in the half-nude who wants to get to know the real me. And then I remember my clientele includes… well… Bill and his ilk.

No offense. Bill behaves (most of the time), and some of my regulars are nice. But even if I were interested in any of them (which, spoiler alert, I’m not), my stomach doesn’t get all fluttery with butterflies when they’re talking about their wives and kids. A club isn’t exactly ideal breeding grounds for a relationship… or breeding.

That doesn’t mean I don’t pretend I want them. I do. I pretend hard.

Winking at Bill, I peel myself off the couch and straighten as I turn around, looking at him cutely over my shoulder. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to handle a heartbreaker like you.”

He chuckles low in the back of his throat. “Baby, I’d never break your heart.”

I feel a little bitter on behalf of his wife. She’s probably sitting home right now on a Wednesday night, helping their six-year-old son with his alphabets or maths or coloring homework, while he’s here, dishing out his paycheck for a few boob shimmies and butt rolls.

But I shouldn’t complain. After all, Bill is a platinum donor to the Skylar Kay Survival Foundation.

“You break my heart every time you leave.” I wink before walking away, swaying my hips and letting my ass shake.

A couple of wandering eyes flit over to me as I sashay through the room. This is about as private as it gets for those who don’t have enough dough to cough up for some actual one-on-one time in one of the Champagne Rooms.

Nothing sketchy happens back there, of course. At least, it’s not supposed to. But it’s not unusual for a dancer to take off her bikini top for the several extra hundreds she’s getting for the same hour-long session.

I’ve never, and I won’t ever. Not because I think I’m better than any of the other women (God knows I’m in just as much of a shithole, if not in a worse one, as some of them). But I’m just not that comfortable with exposing my nips to strangers who don’t even know my real name. Only my ex-boyfriend has ever seen my bare nipples, and that’s not going to change for any amount of money.

I envy the girls who dance here because they love flaunting their gorgeous bodies and basking in the spotlight. But I’m not one of them.

I love dancing — heck, I wanted to be a professional dancer — but I’d rather dance with clothes on and not on a stage with a pole on it. I’m a statistical cliche working here out of desperation.

“You can always come home with me,” Bill says optimistically, trying one last time as we head toward the exit. “You know I’ll take real good care of you.”

It does make me wonder whether men’s bedroom skills improve if they pay for sex. Do they try to make the most of their money? Or is it an easy done deal since the sex is an expectation?

I’d assume the latter.

Is it terrible that I assume they’re mediocre at sex? Maybe even bad at it? Horrible? The lose-faith-in-mankind’s-manhood kind of sex?

Either way, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been around one and a half naked guys. The second one was a Tinder date that finished with a handjob that lasted twenty seconds. We took a longer time taking our pants off. Not our clothes. Just our pants. Like I said, he didn’t even see my nipples.

Tinder Dude definitely made me lose faith in Tinder, and I haven’t even tried hooking up with anyone since. Why bother if I’m just a heated, fleshy replacement for some Kleenex?

At the door, the bouncer stands menacingly with his thick, meaty arms crossed, glaring at the pasty, Pillsbury Doughboy-esque businessman.

Bill knows the drill. He pulls his wallet out so fast, I would’ve missed it if I blinked.

I brush my fingers along his elbow as I press my boobs against his arm, drawing his attention to my cleavage.

“Come see me again, Bill,” I coo. “You know I’m here from Wednesday to Saturday, eight to four.”

Maybe I should become a camgirl instead. I got the script down pat.

Thanks for watching my strip show! Don’t forget to click on that Subscribe button to watch me fiddle my channel!

Bill doesn’t bother hiding his disappointment when I pull away, but the tease is what keeps him coming back every week.

“Destiny,” he murmurs, his eyes still glued to my tits. He raises them to wink at me. “You’ll warm up to me one day.”

Internally, I cringe. I really, really doubt it.

But winking with a perfectly practiced, sugary sweet smile, I croon, “See you next week, Bill.”

About Vic Tyler:

Vic Tyler is a new author of contemporary romance novels.
She has a tinkering sense of wanderlust and loves to travel to new places, explore new cultures, and most importantly, eat delicious new food (yummm). Her dreams include finally having nice handwriting, owning a collection of onesies, and making a croquembouche.

Stay up to date with VT’s new works  → http://eepurl.com/dKoTO-/

Check out VT’s books  →  https://amazon.com/author/lovevictyler

Connect with Vic Tyler

Website  →  https://lovevictyler.wordpress.com

Facebook Group  →  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorVicTyler/

Twitter  →  https://twitter.com/LoveVicTyler/

Instagram  →  https://www.instagram.com/lovevictyler/


#DebutAuthor #CoverReveal – Kit by S R Dyble

After her family was brutally murdered, Eve decided one thing.
Never to let anyone in.
To never love again.
EVER.
That way, she wouldn’t ever feel that hurt again.
For a year she’d done just that.

All that was about to change when Kit Carter, a cocky Australian boxer randomly enrolled onto her photography course at college and pushed his way into her life.
Kit was everything Eve hated about pretty boys.
Only, he wasn’t a boy.
He was all man.

Despite her dislike for him, even she couldn’t deny her curiosity.
Things were about to change drastically in Eve’s life, and secrets were about to spill out.
All at the hands of Kit Carter.


Goodreads

S R Dyble is a writer of Contemporary Romance, New Adult and Romantic comedy.
She is a Mother and DIY obsessor and lives a short drive away from her home, the city of Hull in the UK.
She enjoys using the cities unusual way of speaking in her books and laughing about it with her readers.

The first book in her series releases Thursday 16th May 2019.

#WOTR19 #CoverReveal – Sin by Elena M Reyes

Title: SIN
Author: Elena M. Reyes
Genre: Suspense/Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 29, 2019
Cover Artist: Black Widow Designs
I am both heaven and hell. Sin and pleasure.
The Devil she never sees coming…
Everyone knows that Malcolm Asher owns Chicago. Nothing—not a single move is made in my city without my authorization. I’m ruthless. Conniving. Worshipped by those around me, and yet, it means nothing the moment my eyes meet hers…
Clear blue and innocent, the delicate doll on this stage holds me captive against my will. She’s decadence personified—a corruptible angel I want to own.
I’m hard for her.
Starving for a taste.
Eager for her to feel me.
This little girl has no idea of the danger she’s in within my presence. How I will make her crave the darkness I control.
How I will make her…Mine.

Elena M. Reyes was born and raised in Miami Florida. She is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she would.
As a small child, she was always intrigued by all forms of art—whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she could get her hands on. Her first taste of writing came to her during her fifth-grade year when her class was prompted to participate in the D. A. R. E. Program and write an essay on what they’d learned.
Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with hours of pleasure. It wasn’t until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst to write overtook her world. She now resides in Central Florida with her husband and son, spending all her down time letting her creativity flow and letting characters grow.

HOSTED BY:

#WOTR19 #CoverReveal – Stolen Hearts by Anna Hague


Coming in June

Haley Marcum draws the attention of a bad boy on a motorcycle, but her father’s overprotective tendencies make rendezvouses difficult. She’s sick of him treating her like a child. She’s sixteen, after all, and according to her friends, very mature.

Jamey Marcum’s undercover past made him suspicious of everyone where his children are concerned. He tries giving Haley more freedom, but when he spots Tyler Reynolds watching Haley, his alarm bells go off. Reynolds is no teenager and with his long hair and Harley, the guy reminds Jamey of a past he wants to keep buried.

At odds with Haley over Tyler, Jamey believes he’s taken care of the problem, but Haley disappears into the night. He’s frantic because he knows what can happen to young girls who vanish.

Finding Tyler is the first step…exacting revenge is the second.

Author’s Goodreads Page

For 25 years, I’ve worked as a sports writer. I decided now was the time to pursue romance fiction as an author. I found a great group of RWA author friends who have helped me tremendously.
I get great support from my husband, and although they don’t know it, my three parrots and dog give me a huge boost everyday.

 

#CoverReveal – Obsessive Temptation Collection

Title: Obsessive Temptation Romance Collection
Authors: Peyton Banks ~ Posey Parks ~ Kiarra M. Taylor ~ Donna R. Mercer ~ Reana Malori ~ Theresa Hodge ~ MV Ellis ~ ML Preston ~ Nikki Landis ~ Julia Bright ~ Siren Allen and Sade Rena
Genre: Contemporary/Interracial Romance
Release Date: June 11, 2019
Temptation Collection Facebook

 

Obsessive Temptation is a limited edition collection of new, sexy BWWM romances, that will tantalize your every desire. These scorching hot tales are page-turning reads, that will entrap you for hours on end. Let us guide you into the world of pure, heart-pounding stories where love has no boundaries.
These alphas are downright possessive and fierce when it comes to the object of their desires.
The stories in the compilation are exclusive and can’t be found anywhere else. Don’t wait, this box set will only be available for a limited time before it is gone forever!
Note: This collection contains material for mature readers (18+ and older) only

 

#PreOrder #CoverReveal – The Pawn & The Knight by Skye Warren

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The Pawn and the Knight, a must read new boxed set from New York Times bestselling author Skye Warren is coming March 21st, and we have the sexy new cover!

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A ruthless billionaire determined to get revenge.

A woman with more to lose than her virginity.

And a sensual game that will break them both.

Gabriel Miller has thirty days to do anything he wants with her body. He can enjoy every inch of her, but he can never let himself fall for her. No matter how sweetly she surrenders.

Author’s Note: THE PAWN AND THE KNIGHT is an exclusive duet including two USA Today bestsellers in the scorching hot Endgame series.

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Pre-order your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2EEzK8E

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/ThePawnandtheKnight

Add GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2ISdugV

About Skye Warren

Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dangerous romance such as the Endgame trilogy. Her books have been featured in Jezebel, Buzzfeed, USA Today Happily Ever After, Glamour, and Elle Magazine. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, sweet dogs, and evil cat.

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Connect with Skye

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#WOTR19 #CoverReveal – Hitched by Britni Hill


Mark your calendars! Hitched is coming soon!

The final installment in the steamy Western Palm series releases March 18th!

Blurb: Western Palm University brought them together, making them a family.

               Tess and Blake stuck together and headed straight toward their happily ever after. They have everything they need and can’t imagine wanting more. Does that mean they’ve reached the end of their story?

               Jason stood up to his father. He made all the right choices for his family. Corinne and their toddler, Arianna, are the bright spots in his days. He thought he put his doubt and self-sabotage behind him. So why does he feel like everything is crashing down on him?

               Abby gave in, letting Adam break down her walls. She let him convince her that she needed him. It turned out he was right. And having a stubborn boyfriend isn’t as bad as she thought it would be. They’re going strong, sweetly in love, and happy with their relationship. Is it enough?

               Megan is far away from Western Palm attending law school. With Matt back at home and his ring on her finger the distance between them is tough. Does chasing your future have to lead you so far from the ones you love?

               Turns out they might have a few more things to learn …

Get notified: https://mailchi.mp/a802fd834cf1/hitched

Goodreads

Kindle Edition

To catch up on the series is  HERE

Britni Hill is an author with books ranging from new adult to contemporary romance. She spends her days as a hair stylist, and her nights with the characters in her head striving to write real, page turning romance.

Britni lives in Indiana where she was born and raised. She has a rescue pup she adores and an unhealthy love of binge-watching cheesy, teenage dramas. If she isn’t writing, she’s reading or watching horror flicks.

To find out more visit www.britnihillbooks.com.

#CoverReveal – THE EX-FACTOR duet by Elisabeth Grace & Michelle Lynn

 

Release Day – February 28

Will I ever stop hurting the one person who’s never hurt me?

I’ve done things I can never undo.

No matter how much I wish I could, sometimes the wounds I inflict are too deep, too catastrophic, too septic to heal.

As I look into the eyes of the only man I’ve ever loved I know I’ve gone too far. I’ve finally crossed the line.

Even if he knew my reason for doing this, he’d never forgive me.

He always puts my needs before his own.

Now it’s my turn to protect him.

None of that matters though because the betrayal and disgust in his eyes comes from deep within his soul. There’s no coming back from this.

He will forever be tormented by what he’s seen, and he will never forgive me.

The last fragment of my heart to hold out hope that we’d share a future, withers and dies.

ADD TO GOODREADS

 

Release Day – April 25

Coming face-to-face with my past changes EVERYTHING.

I’m at the top of my game. All my struggles have finally paid off. Life should be great.

I mean, life is great.

Except for the fact that I can’t stop thinking of her. The woman who mangled my heart into a bloody pulp and never looked back.

If I could free myself of our shared memories, my future would be golden.

There’s only one way to move on—I have to confront the past, so I can move into the next chapter of my life in peace. Which means confronting her for the final time.

I had no idea that knocking on her door that day would turn my life upside down.

ADD TO GOODREADS

 

 

ABOUT ELISABETH GRACE:

USA Today Bestselling author, Elisabeth Grace, has a soft spot for romance novels with happily ever afters and a hot spot for alpha males! She currently lives outside Toronto, Canada with her hubby and two small children. Life is busy, but never too busy for a good story and to share her love of reading and writing with others.

For more of the lowdown feel free to visit her author website at http://www.Elisabeth-Grace.com

 

ABOUT MICHELLE LYNN:

Michelle moved around the Midwest most of her life, transferring from school to school before settling down in the outskirts of Chicago ten years ago, where she now resides with her husband and two kids.

She loves all thing romance and cries at happy endings!

Visit her at www.michellelynnbooks.com

 

#WOTR19 #CoverReveal #PreOrder- Queen, Restless Souls MC #1 by Kerri Ann

Title: Queen
Series: Restless Souls MC #1
Author: Kerri Ann
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: February 7, 2019
Tick tock. A chiming bell.
I’m your little slice of hell.
The King of cream. You made him fall.
A Queen. The heart, I’ll stand tall.
The pieces set. The places dealt.
There’s nowhere left to run.
I’ve set the board. I’ve set the trap.
Now your time has come.
Down and down, until I win.
Your downfall is my sin.
 
The Knights will fail,
one by one until all the King’s men fall.
Their power wanes, I’m ready to maim.
They’ll reap what they have wrought.
The Queen will win.
The victory is mine.
Brought out by their design.
Tick Tock. Tick Tock.
Time’s up.

                
Mother of two insanely (well trained) sarcastic men, wife to a dangerously smolder inducing grumble bunny (fireman), and friend to some amazing ladies (you know who you are). Thanks for reading, thanks for being a friend, and I look forward to meeting you in the future for drinks, danger and laughs.
 
Living in Northern Ontario, Canada, Kerri loves to read, travel and find new reasons to write you fantastic love stories. Remember, not all love is clean. Dark, light, angsty, sexually charged and twisted—that’s her genre.
 
It’s heart wrenching stories where the muse directs her. As the instrument of their lives, the stories are told piece by piece with emotion, that has the story read like a movie. You can hope for the good guy to win, but it won’t always happen. She can’t guarantee an HEA (happily ever after) or HFN (happy for now), because life doesn’t always have those. 
Enjoy the OMG’s and tears. Tear your hair out, toss a book or two, because I want you to feel their pain too. As they live it, absorb it on the pages.

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