Spotlight Post – The Sentinels by Tory Richards

The Sentinels

Erotic Biker Romance

sentinels2.jpg

Blurb

As the president of the Sentinels MC Tanner his hands full. It’s Daytona Beach Bike Week and Daytona is his town. Then trouble by the name of Ruby rolls in, pretty, sassy, and with enough curves to tempt a saint. Well, Tanner isn’t a saint, and she’s his kind of gal, except his onetime only rule isn’t for girls like Ruby. But then, aren’t rules made to be broken?

Excerpt

I heard the distant sound of what I thought was thunder, until it grew closer and I realized that it was actually the rumble of motorcycles coming our way. I expected them to ride on past us, but when they slowed and pulled up behind Pops’ truck I straightened nervously. They weren’t just weekend bikers, I could tell that immediately by the way they were dressed and the air of danger that they exuded. The six men belonged to an honest to goodness motorcycle club, and their worn, leather cuts were decked out in colorful patches and name tags.

They looked serious, and mean as hell. As I watched them climb off their large bikes and slowly approach us, I added big and handsome to their description. I glanced at Pops, looking for a sign that he knew these bikers. If he didn’t, I was going back to my car to retrieve my baseball bat out of the back seat. He just smiled and gave me a wink.

What was I worried about, anyway? We were on a busy public highway. I took a deep breath, smiled, and said in my usual, cheery tone, “Hi, boys.”

I couldn’t tell where their eyes were focused, since they were all wearing dark sunglasses. The man who appeared to be the leader, the hunk wearing the president’s patch, came to a stop a couple of feet away from us. I began to feel self-conscious of my clinging, wet clothes, especially when I felt my nipples turn hard against my thin tee. I crossed my arms, but the quirk of the man’s lips told me that it hadn’t been fast enough.

Jerk!

“You pickin’ up strays now, Pops?”

Ohmygod! The deep, gravelly tone of his voice was sexy as hell, and it did something quirky to my core. The man wasn’t too bad on the eyes, either. He was taller than most, his sun-tanned skin pulled taut over his super hot muscles. He oozed dominance, and the clunky silver rings on his fingers screamed that they were his backup.

“’Bout damn time you got here,” Pops grumbled, pushing away from his truck. “And be nice to cutie, here, she stopped to help, and fed me, too.”

“Cutie?”

Now I knew that his eyes were full on me, and I could tell by the tilt of his head that he was looking me up and down, as if he had the right to. I didn’t like his intimidation tactics, even if his presence was having an unexpected affect on my lady bits, something I’m sure he was accustomed to when it came to the opposite sex. The devil in me prompted me to lower my arms and slap my hands on my curvy hips in a move that I knew was challenging. A big mistake, I knew, when his sexy mouth turned up at both corners.

“Looks like a drowned rat to me.” The bikers behind him laughed.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I responded sarcastically, meeting what I thought were his eyes. I turned my attention back to Pops, putting my hand on his thin shoulder. “Now that your boy is here, I’ll be on my way. It was nice meeting you.” I glanced back at the group of bikers. “Goodbye, boys.” I gave them a wave, eager to be on my way.

“Baby–” The sound of his growly voice made me stop in my tracks to look back at him. “You call me a boy again, and I’ll be only too happy to show you that I’m a man.”

 

Author Bio

XzXtVCuc_400x400.jpg

Tory Richards is a fun-loving grandma who writes smut. Born in 1955 in the small town of Milo, Maine, she’s lived most of her life in Florida. Today she lives with her daughter and her family. She has her own woman-cave which she shares with four felines whose main goal in life is getting as much cat hair on everything that they can.

Penning stories by hand and then on manual typewriter at the age of thirteen, Tory was a closet writer until the encouragement of her family prompted her into submitting to a publisher. She’s been published since 2005, and has since retired from Disney to focus on family and writing.

Website/Blog

 Amazon

 Smashwords

 Barnes and Noble

 Apple

 Facebook

 Twitter

 Goodreads

New Release Spotlight – It Takes A Thief by Layla Wolfe

We are super excited to bring you the latest book in The Bare Bone MC Series, It Takes A Thief.  Trust us!  This is one series you do not want to miss!

 

19576759_1829290090714498_335640699_o

Great outlaws lost their lives to Ford.

Ford Illuminati, Prez of the famed Bare Bones MC, is in the crosshairs of Noodlum, a whacked thug recently joined with the Cutlasses.  When Ford’s company steals some highway workers of theirs, Noodlum lashes out with subterfuge, placing fake news stories about the club and stealing their identities to charge Cialis and penis weights.

But the clincher is when Noodlum targets Ford’s old lady, Madison.  His twisted obsession with Madison puts Ford on the alert, and Santiago Slayer on his trail.  But things haven’t been going well between Ford and Maddy lately.  His two jobs—Prez of the MC and his construction company—have got him working more than double time.  Neglected and feeling unloved, Maddy has a meltdown when a patient of hers dies.  She needs to do something different–something fulfilling.

When she works at a clinic on the Indian Rez, a heartthrob doctor catches her eye.  But he’s not the real menace.  Noodlum has come unhinged, targeting the light of his life—Madison Illuminati.  Ford is forced to play along with the whacko’s games, step by step.  It will take the combined forces of his club and his company to emerge triumphant…to save his one true love and reclaim their marriage.

Great ladies lost their hearts.

19251181_1829987513978089_573080712_n

Add To Your Goodreads TBR

Available Now!

Amazon

19551330_1829987450644762_909623550_n

EXCERPT:

I continued, “It’s not even just the recent fake news story.  Cecil came to tell me that someone got ahold of our corporate credit cards and is charging shit all over town.”

Everyone nodded and murmured.  Sax was the first to speak up.  “Maybe that’s why the bank texted me.  They were curious why someone had charged thirty copies of World of Warcraft from Rwanda.”

“I got the same thing,” said Knoxie.  “Someone was trying to rush order some penis weights from Sierra Leone.”

I pointed at Knoxie.  “See?  That’s the exact thing that not only tries to make us look like assmunchers, but rips us off into the fucking bargain.  I had a charge for twelve hundred bucks for ten model Ford Torinos.  The charge went through because of my name.”

Faux Pas, Duji, Speed and Gollywow nodded sagely.  But Roman asked, “Your name?  Because it was a toy model Ford?”

“A Torino,” explained Duji.  “Ford was nicknamed Torino by, ah…”

“His father,” said Faux Pas, almost in a whisper.

The silence this time was uncomfortable, with everyone looking everywhere except at each other.  Slushy tapped a pen on his desk and sucked on the inside of his mouth.  Wolf broke the silence by going,

“What’s a penis weight exactly?  Some kind of bondage thing?”

Everyone laughed with relief.  Lytton, the resident bondage king, said, “Not at fucking all, man.  Not that I know the details, but I believe it’s some kind of—”

“Penis enlargement device.”  Knoxie was bold to say that, because it cast him into a questionable light.  “I know, because I had to deal with the bank for an hour straightening it all out.  It’s definitely someone trying to make us look like dingbats.”

“And steal our money at the same time,” I added.  “Wolf, you’re in charge of shredding all the accounting and other paper at the Citadel.  Don’t you have an industrial strength shredder in your parts shed?”

Wolf looked like he was watching a tennis match.  A shady look if ever there was one.  “Well, sure,” he said uncertainly.  “I bag up most of it and this recycling company hauls it away after it’s shredded so no one can sit there putting the pieces together again.”

“But?”

“But, ah, see, we’ve started up this organic garden outside the Unexploded Ordnance shed.”

I wasn’t sure I heard correctly.  “What?”

“The hippies always out there meditating by the vortex gave me the idea.”

“And me,” said Slushy.  “I’m all about the organic.”

“Especially eggplant.”  Duji kissed his fingers.  “I make the finest moussaka around.”

“I thought you were Italian,” said Faux Pas.

I couldn’t fucking believe it.  One, that they had an organic garden outside the Citadel.  Two, that I hadn’t noticed it.  I’d been so fucking busy lately, I rarely looked at, much less answered, my texts.  My bank had probably texted about the strange charges, too.  What else had they charged on my corporate card?  A shipment of butterfly vibrators?  “So what does this have to do with the shredded documents?”

“Well,” said Wolf, “the hippies gave me the idea to start a compost pile.  It’s really awesome, actually!  But you need a certain amount of greens, water, dirt, and paper.  You need to get the balance just right.  Lytton helped me with the science of it all, and—”

“You put our shredded documents into your fucking compost pile?”

“They get wet!  And dirty!  And bugs come to eat them, and—”

There was some rustling outside the closed office door.  Wolf eagerly looked at the door, glad for the interruption.  But I shot him a look that said “I’m not done with you yet.”  I’d make him clean the bathrooms for another year, always the Prospect’s job.  Wolf had done it for a year.  Now he’d do it for another.  I couldn’t believe these fucking guys.  Even my old-timer brothers from the shorts pants days were acting like a bunch of hipster goofballs.  Where did we live, Marin County?  Sedona?  They were more concerned with their intestinal flora than with the fact someone was obviously trying to push up on us.

At last, it was fucking Tobiah Weingarten in all his nerdy glory.  He slammed shut the office door behind him in a rush, squeaking over in his tennies.  He pivoted on one heel in the center of our chairs as though about to do a standup routine.  In fact, he did grin under that eagle’s nose of his and point dazzlingly at Wolf.  “Sorry I’m late.  I ran into Tracy in town and we had a nice chat.”

The ire in Wolf’s face seemed to imbue the entire room.  He’d been sitting backward in his chair, and now he half-rose, gripping the seat back, and bashed the chair angrily.  “Where the fuck—”

See, they’d been having a rivalry over this chick for quite some time.  Tracy wasn’t totally eye-banging, but those two nerds had it bad for her.  First, she’d lived with Tobiah.  Then she’d lived with Wolf.  I guessed she was currently with Wolf—not sure, really.  I knew I should take more interest in the ins and outs of my brothers’ true lives, but fuck it.  I was a busy man.

Tobiah held out a calming hand.   “Sorry to shit on your campfire, Nerdulent.”  Everyone burst out into a hearty round of laughter, seeing as how Tobiah was way nerdier than Wolf.  Wolf at least dressed the part of a brother at heart.  Tobiah wore white belts, skinny velveteen jeans, and turtlenecks.  “We just had coffee.  Nice girl, though!  Pretty green eyes—”

Before Wolf could rise like the Incredible Hulk, I put the kibosh on this whole affair.  “Enough!  Tobiah!  Explain your findings.  Who’s behind the fake news stories?”

“Well!”  Tobiah was always glad for a chance to be the center of attention, and now he literally was.  His X-Files belt buckle flashed in my face when he turned.  “Turns out it’s some guy named Noodlum.  I know, I know, not much to go on, is it?  But I delved deeper into the mystery.  Turns out the postings were coming from near the Discovery Channel Telescope—”

Lytton and Wolf gasped.

“—near Happy Jack.”

“My house!” cried Lytton.

“That’s what I thought, too.  I thought oh great, someone’s making it look like we’re stabbing each other in the back to create dissention among our ranks.  But no.  Upon further investigation, the culprit was high up in the mountains, more toward Long Lake.”

Now everyone was confused.  They all had that resting bitch face as they drew back and looked at each other suspiciously.

Could it be?  The Cutlasses hadn’t caused trouble in quite a while.  Seemed they’d burned out and faded into the rearview since my brother had taken out a few of them.  Sure, we’d stolen their workers.  But what jobs did they have going on, anyway?  They hadn’t tried to jack a truck in months.

“Cutlasses,” a few men murmured.

I said, “But who’s this Noodlum asswipe?  I know Doug Zelov, the Prez, as we all do.  Is he their IT guy?”

Toby shrugged.  “That’s where the trail went cold.  But you can bet dollars to donuts it’s the Cutlasses behind it.”

“Muldoon,” mumbled Wolf, looking at his phone.

“What?” I said.

He looked at me.  “Muldoon.  That’s Noodlum spelled backward.”

“Muldoon!” cried Fox.  “I knew a sociopath named Muldoon in my travels.”  Fox was a former hit man for the Jones cartel.  If there were sociopaths to be known, Fox was our man.  “Damn, that guy was a few clowns short of a circus.  He once left twenty legs as a warning for Ortelio Jones.  Just the legs, all arranged in a neat row like can-can dancers.  And yeah, they were all womens’ legs, all Mexicans, probably trafficked.  There were rumors he was into toon porn because once, when we almost hit him, he had to leave so fast he left a full-on bunny suit behind.”

“That would be furries, not toon porn,” said Speed, ever knowledgeable.  “They dress up in furry costumes and bump uglies in the night.”

“No, it was toon porn,” Fox said with authority.  “We found a video showing that Family Guy’s wife getting pile-driven, the usual animé, and Judy Jetson giving George a skull job.”

Duji shook his head with wonder.  “Kids these days.”

“He wasn’t stupid,” said Fox, “which made him more dangerous.  He just had splinters in the windmills of his mind, if you know what I mean.”

I did.  “You think he’s working for Zelov now?  Why else would he be up there?  That’s where their feeble shack of a clubhouse was, last I heard.”

“Hot Stuff.  Tread lightly with this Noodlum,” said Slushy.  “A pile of Mexican legs is a good sign that you don’t want to get all up in his shit.”

“They’re up in ours,” I said darkly to our lawyer.

Wolf exploded with a lip fart so resounding it made a few guys jump in their chairs.  “Holy motherfuck!  Ford!  This guy has crossed the fucking line, man!”  He stretched his arm out to hand me his phone.  I whipped it from him and read:

Woman Wearing Too Much Makeup Mistaken as Clown, Attacked by Angry Mob.

Highlighted with a photo of my wife, Madison.

It was a photo taken from her hospital’s website, but she wasn’t wearing anything that would identify her as a nurse.  She was just smiling from the shoulders on up, her little chipmunk features all shits and giggles, and she definitely didn’t have too much makeup.  The article went on, and I read aloud.

“Madison Illuminati, the wife of Bare Bones MC Prez, Ford Illuminati, was taken into custody last night in Cottonwood when her makeup scared bystanders into thinking she was a menacing clown come to lure their children into the woods.”

That’s how far I got before I slammed Wolf’s phone into the wall, and my men erupted onto their feet.

Some punched walls, too.  “Men, men!” shouted Slushy.  “Calm the fuck down!”

Duji waved a finger in my face.  “That’s the limit, Ford!  That’s the fucking limit!  These motherfuckers have pushed us over the edge!”

Sax shouted, “This is their first fucking inroad, and you know it won’t be their last!”

Faux Pas intoned between clenched teeth, “We need to have a sit-down with these dirtbags.”

Everyone was making too much noise for me to talk.  I just closed my eyes and thought Yes.  We’re having a face-to-face.

We were all going to the wall for each other.  Someone was going to pay for this libel.  God would do the accounting when it was over.

 

19578580_1829987397311434_809893112_o

About the Author:

19578867_1829987263978114_1143041410_o.jpg

Bestselling author Layla Wolfe likes to bring you alpha males–sometimes two at a time–and the kick-ass women who love them. Her BARE BONES MC series explores the dark, disturbing life of the biker club in Arizona. Her spinoff series THE BENT ZEALOTS MC is a gritty MM saga. THE ASSASSINS OF YOUTH tells the tale of bikers up against fanatics in Utah. She is currently at work on the next installment of THE BARE BONES.

Layla Wolfe is the pen name of multi-published erotic romance author Karen Mercury.

You can find her at:
www.laylawolfe.com
www.facebook.com/layla.wolfe
www.twitter.com/LaylaWolfeAutho
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8072579.Layla_Wolfe

19553560_1829987423978098_678983050_n

Spotlight Tour – Fuel for Fire by Julie Ann Walker

Complete your BKI Bookshelf

Pre-order Fuel for Fire or Hot Pursuit and receive another Black Knights Inc. novel of your choice! 

http://books.sourcebooks.com/completeyourbkibookshelf/

image001

New York Times and USA Today bestseller Julie Ann Walker delivers red-hot romantic suspense in Fuel for Fire!

Dagan Zoelner has always had his eye on spunky CIA agent Chelsea Duvall. When a mission throws them together, this could be his only chance to win her heart for good.

Dagan Zoelner has made three huge mistakes

The first two left blood on his hands.

The third left him wondering…what if?

What if he had told the woman of his dreams how he felt before his world fell apart?

Spitfire CIA agent Chelsea Duvall has always had a thing for bossy, brooding Dagan. It’s just as well that he’s never given her a second look, since she carries a combustible secret about his past that threatens to torch their lives…

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2sYc20J

B&N: http://bit.ly/2sYqo16

iBooks: http://apple.co/2sYnVDQ

IndieBound: http://bit.ly/2sYvquo

BAM: http://bit.ly/2sY0zOH

EXCERPT:

Tell us!” Surry demanded again, giving her head a hard shake. Her brain banged around inside her skull, making her see stars. Since she was tied with a length of electrical cord to one of the chairs in front of Morrison’s desk, her hands duct-taped behind her back, there was little she could do to defend herself.

Then again, she still had her smart mouth. “Screw you, buddy,” she snarled. Those three words were all she allowed herself before she clenched her teeth and sealed her lips shut.

The violence that clouded Surry’s face and glinted in his hell-black eyes made her want to curl into a protective ball. He leaned down so that his nose was an inch from hers. His hot breath smelled of coffee and buttered croissants, and the thought of him actually eating struck her as weird. She had assumed he sustained himself by devouring the souls of Morrison’s enemies.

“You will bloody well tell us what we want to know, Miss Duvall.” When he spoke all low and menacing in that thick English accent, she got the unsettling feeling that something dark moved in the shadows just out of sight. “Or I will jab this letter opener into your carotid.” He pulled back to wield the weapon he had taken from Morrison’s desktop. The sterling-silver letter opener glinted in the golden glow cast by the overhead chandelier.

Releasing her face, Surry cocked his head. “So, what shall it be? The truth? Or the knife? The choice is yours.” There was an emptiness in his voice when he asked the questions. Like he didn’t really care what the answers would be. Like he was tired or bored or maybe…resigned?

Oh, that doesn’t bode well.

Of course, the truth was out of the question. She would never rat on the Black Knights. No telling what Morrison, a.k.a Spider, with all his power and connections, could do with that information. So that left…the knife.

But there’s still so much I want to do!

She had never learned to make her mother’s she-crab soup. She had never tried her hand at writing fiction like that of Tolkien or Rowling or Martin. She had never married the love of her life and given him two bouncing, chubby-cheeked babies.

A cold finger of terror dragged up her spine, and for a second she considered spilling her guts and saving her hide. But then, from somewhere deep inside, a well of strength erupted, filling her with determination and the will to do what must be done.

Her mind briefly touched on her mother, and a great sadness weighed down her heart. Grace Duvall would be devastated by the death of her only child. But Chelsea took comfort—cold comfort, but comfort all the same—in knowing that her life insurance policy would be enough to pay her mother’s debts. That was something. Something to hold on to.

“Well?” Surry demanded. “What will it be?”

Chelsea licked her lips. Fear was a living thing inside her, crawling through her chest like a centipede on prickly legs. She squashed it and sealed her own fate. “Do your worst, you sorry, low-life sonofagun!”

Surry’s beard-stubbled chin jerked back as if he couldn’t believe the choice she’d made. Then his eyes narrowed, and grim determination transformed his face.

Closing her eyes, Chelsea waited on the inevitable. That centipede was going crazy inside her, making her chest ache and raising the hair on her head. She braced herself for the deathblow as a million regrets, a million joys, a million memories flittered through her brain.

Funny how many of those regrets and joys and memories feature Dagan.

She held her breath, savoring it, knowing it was her last and—

“Drop. The. Knife.”

With a cry, she blinked open her eyes and craned her head around to see three figures dressed from head to toe in black. Each of them wielded a weapon as if it were an extension of himself.

The Black Knights…

Even had Dagan not spoken the three most beautiful words she’d ever heard in that smooth moonshine voice, she would have known the trio anywhere. There was no mistaking those broad shoulders or those defiant, cocksure stances.

Her eyes homed in on Dagan. He was in the middle and slightly forward of the other two. It wasn’t his height or carriage that gave him away. It was his stillness. Ace and Christian seemed to vibrate with barely leashed power. But Dagan was a statue. Not a muscle quivered. Not a tendon or ligament cracked. Chelsea was reminded of a pair of tectonic plates under intense pressure. She knew what came next. The earth would rip open, and hell would spew forth.

Surry must have felt the doom behind Dagan’s stillness, because his voice sounded wheezy when he demanded, “And who the fuck are you?”

“Worry less about who we are,” Dagan snarled, “and more about what we’ll do if you don’t drop the knife.”

Proving he had more balls than brains, Surry spun Chelsea’s chair around and palmed her forehead to wrench her head back. The sharp tip of the letter opener nicked at the skin pulsing over the large vein in her neck. She hadn’t had time to scream, and now she didn’t dare breathe.

“Ring up the police, sir,” Surry said. From the corner of her eye, Chelsea saw Morrison/Spider make a move toward the desk.

“Take one step in the direction of that phone, and you’ll be eating a bullet for breakfast.” There was no mistaking Dagan’s words or his tone. He meant what he said.

Morrison must have come to the same realization. The old man stopped in his tracks.

“Good man,” Dagan acknowledged. “Now, there’s one thing you both need to understand. We’re leaving here with Chelsea. That can be over your dead bodies or your live ones.” Even though his words were calm and his body as motionless as a mountain, rage burned inside him. It was there in his eyes, glowing red like the fires of Mordor. “So what will it be? The choice is yours.”

It was the same option Surry had given her, spoken in the same words. How long had the three of them been outside listening?

“You have no bloody idea who you’re fucking with,” Morrison snarled, his chest heaving with every furious breath. “I have—”

That’s all he managed. In a flash, the statue, a.k.a. Dagan Zoelner, came to life. He moved faster than the human eye could follow, certainly faster than Chelsea could track with her head angled back in Surry’s grip. One second he was staring at her and Surry, and the next he aimed at Morrison and pulled his trigger.

The gunshot was oddly muffled and Morrison stumbled back, hitting his hip on the edge of the desk. Surry bellowed his outrage and released her head. Free from his brutal grip, she turned to Morrison and understood the strangeness of the weapon’s sound.

It wasn’t a bullet that had exploded from the end of Dagan’s gun. It was a dart. She had just enough time to catch a glimpse of the fuzzy yellow end protruding from the center of Morrison’s chest before Dagan fired again. This time the dart whizzed over her head. Surry made an awful gurgling noise. When she pulled her chin back, she saw the projectile sticking from his neck.

He reached for the dart, stumbling into her chair. His hand hit the back of her head, looking for leverage and forcing her chin into her chest as every vertebra in her neck threatened to crack under the pressure. She couldn’t see what happened next. But she heard it. Heard the boots that pounded against the tiles as the Black Knights raced into the room.

Surry released her head when Christian tackled him. From the corner of her eye, she watched Ace catch Morrison right before the old man toppled face-first onto the floor. And Dagan? Well, Dagan knelt in front of her.

She gasped when his big, warm hands cupped her cheeks, gently lifting her head. Her neck ached, but it wasn’t broken. All her fingers and toes still worked when she gave them an experimental wiggle.

“Chels… Christ. Are you okay?” His stormy eyes searched her face.

She nodded her head. That’s all she could manage because a giant lump was centered in her throat. She had put on a brave face throughout the entire ordeal, but now that it looked like she was saved, all her shock and terror rose to the surface, crumbling her mask of courage.

“Thank God.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

It was the first time he had hugged her. The first time she had been in his arms. Oh, how she wanted to hold him tight in return. But with her hands still trapped behind her back, the only thing she could do was turn her face into his warm neck and breathe him in.

She had always loved the way he smelled. A mixture of worn leather, dryer sheets, and shampoo. All clean and healthy and…male.

“I was afraid m-maybe I didn’t press the button long enough to send out the Mayday,” she said in a rush, her lips moving against the rough fabric of his ski mask. “And th-then they found the thumb drive. But they were so quick to stop questioning me and…and…” She had to stop. “Thank you. Thank you for coming for me.”

His wide palm cupped the back of her head, holding her close. Was it trembling? “Always, Chels. Never doubt it.”

Oh great. Now the lump in her throat had grown to the size of a Carolina pine.

She wanted the moment to last forever, to stay just like this, safe in his arms. But all too soon, he pulled back. “What were you thinking, telling them to do their worst? You were baiting them, egging them on. You stupid, stubborn, self-sacrificing fool.”

And just like that, happiness and relief morphed into incredulity that slid quick as a whistle into anger. Seriously? He was going to stand there—er, squat there—and call her names?

He may be hotter than the door handles of hell, but when he gets all Me Tarzan, You Jane, I want to dump his limp body in the River Thames and feed him to the fishes. After she’d killed him with mind-blowing sex and multiple orgasms, natch. And she could probably cop to his last two accusations. She was stubborn, and in that instant she had been willing to sacrifice herself. But the first one?

“S-stupid?” she sputtered. And good news! The lump in her throat vanished. “Screw you, Dagan! In case you’ve forgotten, I pulled off this op w-with…”

She stumbled to a stop because he’d ripped off his mask. And there it was. The Beard.

Looking at him dressed all in black, shoulders as broad as the Lowcountry, she couldn’t help but think he resembled a god. One of the mythical beings she read about in her fantasy novels. Formidable. Powerful. Gorgeous.

And here I am, a mere mortal.

The look he pinned on her was one she recognized. She liked to call it his Clint Eastwood gunfighter squint. He tended to whip it out right before he laid into her for something. She braced herself, mentally running through her standard list of comebacks. But he didn’t give her a tongue-lashing. At least not a verbal one. Instead, he took her face in his hands and sealed his lips to hers.

She was so surprised that her mouth formed a startled O. Dagan took advantage, his tongue surging between her teeth. His lips were firm yet amazingly soft, and his beard abraded the tender flesh of her cheeks.

Holy mother! Dagan Zoelner was…kissing her!

Oh. My!

 

Rafflecopter – Julie Ann Walker Gift Basket:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Spotlight Post – Faking It by Carly Phillips and Erika Wilde

Faking It

Blurb:  

Confirmed bachelor Max Sterling isn’t into rescuing damsels in distress, but when the very tempting Hailey Ellison needs his help, there’s only one thing for him to do. Step in and pose as her loving fiancé. Except there is nothing fake about his attraction to her, or how much he wants her beneath him in his bed, moaning his name. But what starts as a sexy, flirty, temporary engagement, quickly becomes something more serious that neither one ever anticipated.

 Goodreads 

Buy links:

Amazon Kindle: http://amzn.to/2nATDDp

B&N Nook: http://bit.ly/2mW6F1g

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2nAXaSe

iBooks: http://apple.co/2lXgNrf

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2lXeHrk

About the Author:

carly and erika

***About Carly Phillips***

Carly Phillips is the N.Y. Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of over 50 sexy contemporary romance novels featuring hot men, strong women and the emotionally compelling stories her readers have come to expect and love. Carly is happily married to her college sweetheart, the mother of two nearly adult daughters and three crazy dogs (two wheaten terriers and one mutant Havanese) who star on her Facebook Fan Page and website. Carly loves social media and is always around to interact with her readers. You can find out more about Carly at http://www.carlyphillips.com. Website: http://www.carlyphillips.com/ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10000.Carly_Phillips Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Carly-Phillips/e/B001I9W0MS Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CarlyPhillipsFanPage Twitter: https://twitter.com/carlyphillips

***About Erika Wilde***

Erika Wilde is the author of the sexy Marriage Diaries series and The Players Club series. She lives in Oregon with her husband and two daughters, and when she’s not writing you can find her exploring the beautiful Pacific Northwest. For more information on her upcoming releases, please visit website at http://www.erikawilde.com. Website: http://www.erikawilde.com/ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5357264.Erika_Wilde Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Erika-Wilde/e/B00CVE4WSO Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ErikaWildeAuthorFanPage Twitter: https://twitter.com/erikawilde1

Blog Tour – Fighting Attraction by Sarah Castille

FIGHTING ATTRACTION by SARAH CASTILLE

CVR Fighting Attraction

FIGHTING ATTRACTION (REDEMPTION #4)

By Sarah Castille

Contemporary Erotic Romance

Publisher: Sourcebooks Casablanca

Published 04/04/17

BOOK DESCRIPTION: 

My sweet, sexy Penny has a dark side. Just like me.

I will have her. And then I will lose her, and suffer a lifetime of regret.

Rampage. Everyone loves him. He is Redemption’s top heavyweight fighter and the biggest gossip in the gym. But he isn’t the teddy bear everyone thinks he is. He’s hiding a dark secret-and he hates himself for it.

Twice a week, Rampage transforms into Master Jack, a notorious dom only the most hard-core submissives will play with. How can he-a Southern gentleman, bred to respect and protect women-want to dominate them?

But Penny Worthington wants him. Beneath her pearls, kitten heels, and prim British exterior beats a tortured heart…Master Jack is the only one who can set her free.

PRE-ORDER LINKS:

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2jvBTuD

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2jkEDZA

B&N: http://bit.ly/2j5qgYa

iTunes: http://apple.co/2iKwXkv

Google Books: http://bit.ly/2jsS5NG

BAM: http://bit.ly/2j5oB4J

Redemption Series

Against the Ropes

In Your Corner

Full Contact

Fighting Attraction 

PRAISE for Sarah Castille’s Redemption series:

“Powerful. Gritty. And sexy beyond belief. Sarah is a true master!”-Opal Carew, New York Times bestselling author of His to Claim 

“Hilarious, hot and occasionally heartbreaking. I loved it! ” – Maryse’s Book Blog on Against the Ropes

“Castille’s follow-up to the excellent Against the Ropes doesn’t pull its punches.” – Publishers Weekly, starred review for In Your Corner 

“Emotionally charged, amazingly sexy, and flat out fantastic.”-Fresh Fiction on Full Contact 

What is Penny’s favorite music? Death Metal

EXCERPT: 

Jack “Rampage” Caldwell is the first MMA fighter I created for the Redemption series, and even when I first brought this Southern gentleman to life, I knew he had a secret. But Penny has a dark secret, too. After Jack discovers what she hides from the world, he makes her promise to come to him if she needs him. But trust doesn’t come easily for Penny. She breaks her promise, never expecting that Jack will find out. But, of course, he does…and crossing a sadist is never a good idea! 

“I’ll call you back. Jack is here.”

Cora sucks in a sharp breath. “I’ll see you at class tonight. I can hardly wait to hear all about it.”

I end the call and swallow past the lump in my throat. It’s only been three days, and yet it feels like I haven’t seen Jack in forever. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that clings to his taut, muscle-ridged abdomen, and worn jeans that ride low on his narrow hips.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, trying to keep my gaze above his belt.

He pins me with a direct stare, his eyes fierce and hard. I feel like he’s trying to see into my soul, but my heart is pounding so hard I’m not sure enough oxygen is getting to my brain to make any sense of what’s going on.

“Jack?”

His gaze rakes over my body, lingering on my thighs as if he can see beneath my skirt. He tenses, and his eyes narrow. If I didn’t know X-ray vision was impossible, I would swear he knows I broke my promise.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.” My pulse kicks up a notch. “Everyone’s out for the rest of the afternoon.”

He takes a step toward me, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

“Lock the door.”

A thrill of fear shoots through me, and sweat beads on my forehead. What if he knows? Or suspects? What will he do?

“Now.” His deep, commanding Dom voice ripples through me, fanning the flames of my desire. Do I trust Jack enough to lock myself in the office with him, especially when I know what is coming? Do I trust myself?

I brush past him and lock the front door.

“Your office,” he snaps after I return.

I jump at his sharp tone and scramble out of his way as he brushes past me and through my office door, a lithe and powerful animal herding its prey.

“What’s going on?”

“Stand in front of the desk.” He gestures to the big oak desk Amanda and I refinished when we first moved into the building.

Puzzled, I do as he asks, my breath catching in my throat when he closes and locks the door behind him.

“Jack?”

He gives me his back as he draws the curtains at the side of my office. “Don’t move.”

A sting of disappointment hits me in the chest. Has he come to reject me all over again? Does he want to make sure I understand there is nothing between us? It shouldn’t bother me because I got the message the other night. I’m nothing. Nothing special. Nothing extraordinary. Not worth his time, especially since he’s on the cusp of fame. I’m just his pal. Plain old quirky Pen. But he doesn’t have to be so cold.

Worthless, no-good piece of shit. 

No. No. No. My fingers tighten on the lip of the desk. I haven’t even started to heal from last night. I don’t need the past intruding on the present.

Jack leans against the door across from me, thick arms folded over his massive chest.

“Lift your skirt.”

Shock steals my breath away, and all I can do is stare.

“What?”

“You heard me. Lift your skirt. Now.”

Bang. Bang. Bang. My heart thuds frantically against my ribs. Adrenaline pounds through my veins, and I feel a rush of heat between my legs. He knows. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice…

“Why?” I whisper, stalling. And why is this turning me on?

“You know why,” he snaps. “You didn’t keep your promise.”

I smooth my hands over my cream skirt, silky underneath with a cotton macramé overlay, pressing it tight against my thighs. “It doesn’t matter if I kept it or not. We’re not in the club. There’s nothing between us. You made that clear the other night.”

“I fucked up the other night.” He shifts his stance. “I’m not good for you, Pen. You need to be with someone normal. A nice guy who’s going to treat you right and doesn’t want to hurt you.”

My hand fists on my thigh. “I don’t like nice guys. They don’t understand me. They’re too gentle. My life is about pain. Emotional and physical pain. It’s what I know, what I understand, what I need.”

“So you hurt yourself?”

“I didn’t—”

He cuts me off with a scowl. “Don’t lie to me.” He pauses, and his voice takes on a deeper, cutting edge. “Show me.”

My mouth goes dry at his abrupt command, and I fiddle with the edge of my skirt, at once indignant that he would try to boss me around and aroused that he did.

“What if I did?” I say defiantly. “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

His corded throat tightens when he swallows, and he fixes me with a level stare. “I’ll give you what you need.”

All the air leaves my lungs in a rush, and I feel a disconcerting wetness between my thighs. “You wouldn’t dare. I’m at work.”

“Try me.”

Electricity sparks in the air between us, and a curious mix of fear and arousal courses through my veins. Stiffening my spine, I curl my fingers under the edge of my skirt and draw it slowly, painfully slowly up my thighs. Jack stills. His eyes flick down and then back up again. He licks his lips, and his eyes darken.

I have awakened the beast.

Fighting Attraction graphic

Fighting Attraction is the fourth book in a full-length, standalone, award-winning series by New York Times bestselling author, Sarah Castille, featuring deliciously sexy MMA fighters and the women who can’t help but love them.

Author photo_ Sarah Castille

AUTHOR LINKS

TWITTER: https://twitter.com/sarah_castille

FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/sarahcastilleauthor

INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/sarahcastilleauthor

AMAZON AUTHOR:http://www.amazon.com/author/sarahcastille

GOODREADS: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6920675.Sarah_Castille

PINTEREST: http://www.pinterest.com/scastilleauthor

YOUTUBE: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCnP8FQqxprb7iggEDKfA1mw

BOOKBUB: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/sarah-castille

NEWSLETTER: http://sarahcastille.com/subscribe/

WEBSITE: http://www.sarahcastille.com

Spotlight Tour – Beautiful Mess by Kasey Lane

9781492636526-pr

When attorney Jami Dillon strides into the conference room to meet her new client, she’s stopped in her tracks by an all-too familiar figure. Jackson Paige. He’s her tall, tattooed, and sexy as hell hook up from law school—who also broke her heart.

Hell’s bells.

Jackson Paige was, in fact, Jax Pain, the drummer of Manix Curse.

That thing in Jami’s chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. 

Jackson Paige, aka Jax Pain, has worked hard to put that unfor-frickin-gettable fling behind him and the nasty secret that made him leave her. Truth is, life as the playboy drummer of Portland’s hottest metal band hasn’t helped him to forget the fiery, sexy woman who stole his heart. Lucky for him, Jami was just hired as his band’s new attorney. But when he sees the look on her face when she realizes who her new client is, Jax wonders if maybe being this close to her again isn’t such a great idea. The explosive chemistry is there, but so are the dark secrets…

Excerpt:

“Did he just wrap a pair of women’s underwear around his wrist before going up on stage?”

Jami turned slowly, still in a Jax-induced haze. Ella and Gabby stood behind her. Oh shit, had they witnessed the whole scene play out between her and Jackson? That was exactly why she shouldn’t be here. Why she had to stay away from him. He was dangerous. He made her think wearing a short denim skirt, heels, and a tiny top were good ideas. That coming to a heavy metal show in downtown Portland was a good idea. Or that letting a tattooed, pierced, six-foot-four wall of narrow, twisting muscle wrap her hair around his fist in a packed bar and kiss her breathless was a good idea.

It wasn’t. Not a good idea. Definitely a very bad idea.

She stared at her friends. What had Ella asked her?

Behind her, a guitar began to play a slow, pulsing melody. Soft, sweet, building to something bigger. More solid.

The steady beat of a bass drum. Then more drums.

Ella and Gabby pointed to something on the low stage behind Jami. The band. Of course, the band was starting. More specifically, Jackson’s band, her client, Manix Curse, were beginning their set. Her heart dropped into her belly. She swiveled around, her eyes tracking the hundreds of hands with their fingers held up in heavy-metal salutes.

The lone spotlight shone down on the tall and shirtless Marco Dane as he tossed back his mane and bellowed to the sky about the cruelty of love. His perfect torso was already glossy with the sheen of sweat. But it was the tall, rangy man beating the drums with feral efficiency that made her blood boil with prurient lust. His head hung low, but his short, messy hair was already dark with sweat despite the fans circulating air around the stage. Conner leaned into a mic in front of Mandi and they joined the chorus.

Jami watched in awe, mesmerized by the pure raw power of the four band members and how seamlessly yet viciously they tore apart and reconstructed the song. She’d never seen anything like it. Never heard any band with such vitality and brutality, and yet a dash of melody. Even in her wilder youth, when she’d snuck into every concert and club possible, she’d never seen anything quite like Manix Curse.

Not one for crowds or other people actually touching her, Jami barely registered the audience members pushing into her, clamoring for a closer look at Manix Curse. Or even the couple of losers who attempted gropes before Ella—or she assumed it was Ella—slapped away a restless, errant hand.

The band abruptly ended their song and the crowd went wild, screaming their names and favorite songs into the chaos.

Marco growled into the mic, and the women in the crowed squealed. “You guys here to see Manix Curse?”

The crowd screamed louder.

“You here to rock the fuck out?”

They yelled louder still.

Then Jackson raised his head and searched the crowd. The smirk that transformed his face when his eyes locked on Jami’s could only be described as wolfish. The voice in her head began to whisper again, filling her with all kinds of dark and dirty thoughts. Because gone was the laid-back, easygoing Jackson everyone knew. In his place was the man she’d met years before.

Sexy.

Dangerous.

Pure sin.

And her blood turned from liquid into steam and evaporated from her body, leaving her a hollow shell of need.

He flipped his sticks around his fingers in a manner that, for some unexplained reason, made her wet. Then he pointed one stick at her, and sure enough her freaking panties were wrapped around his wrist like some ridiculous rock-and-roll talisman. People turned to stare at her, obviously wondering what, or who, had caught the playboy drummer’s eye, but she just stared at him.

 

beautiful-mess

Award-winning debut author KASEY LANE writes sexy romances featuring music, hot guys with ink, kick ass women, and always a happily ever after. A California transplant, she lives with her high school crush turned husband, two smart, but devilish kids, two Papillions, three cats, and several chickens in the lush Oregon forest.

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2lD3SHA

B&N: http://bit.ly/2lCZCrN

iBooks: http://apple.co/2lCZFDZ

Book Spotlight – Reckless Hearts by Heather Van Fleet

CVR Reckless Hearts.jpg

Title: Reckless Hearts

Author: Heather Van Fleet

Series: Reckless Hearts, #1

ISBN: 9781492637165

Pubdate: February 7, 2017

Genre: Contemporary

Three alpha men and a baby.

What could possibly go wrong?

From boot camp to the Iraqi desert, best friends Collin, Max, and Gavin have been through hell and back. But these rugged Marines might need help facing their biggest challenge: raising Collin’s nine-month-old daughter, Chloe.

After the death of his girlfriend in an accident, Collin Montgomery has sworn off serious relationships. His buddies have his back—and convince him it’s okay to cut loose sometimes. Enter the hottest, smartest girl he’s ever met. But what he really needs is a nanny.

Addison Booker needs a job desperately—and fast. She shows up to interview for the nanny position only to find the sexy, cocky man she can’t get out of her head. Collin knows hiring her is a bad idea—they disagree about almost everything—but Addison is so good with little Chloe. And there’s no substitute for chemistry, right?

BUY LINKS:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2ducrEl

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2dfCqwm

iBooks: http://apple.co/2dlJYMa

Excerpt:

To curb the anxiety brewing hot inside me, I grabbed Addie by the wrist and marched her to the door.

“Hey, watch it.” She clawed at my hand, only making me want to hang on tighter.

“What is your deal, Collin?”

“It’s time for you to go.” I kept hold of her arm, but not as tight, and grabbed her coat, shoving it against her chest.

“What’d I do this time?” She lifted her chin—always lifting her damn chin. Taking pride to a level I wasn’t even capable of most days anymore.

“Nothing.” I let go of her arm, my hands itching to grab her and pull her close.

Instead, I walked to the door and unlatched the lock.

“Oh no. Don’t think so, buddy.” She threw her coat and her hat onto the floor, crossing her arms just under her breasts. “If I’m going to work for you, we need to set some ground rules.”

I tightened my hands into fists, fingernails digging into my palms. One step forward, then two, and she was in front of me, one eyebrow arched. Her curled lips saying I won’t back down. And damn I didn’t want her to. She messed with me, all fire and sass. And it made me fucking hot.

“You are the most ungrateful son of a bitch I’ve ever met in my life, and if you really and truly want me to be your child’s nanny, then you better cut the attitude or else I’m gonna—”

“Stop talking.” Couldn’t help myself. I had to do it. So I grabbed her waist and yanked her to my chest, while clutching the bottom of her shirt with my other hand. Eyes wide and lips parted, I took what I wanted and kissed her. Hard. Unforgivingly. Relentlessly.

And holy shit.

I mean, holy.

Shit.

That kiss was so much. But it wasn’t enough—never would be enough either. Not until I had her against the wall, touching her anywhere she’d let me touch her. Skin on skin, flesh on flesh. Just once, that’s all I’d ask for. I wasn’t a greedy man, just needy and desperate for the only woman who’d ever mind-fucked me before she actually fucked me.

Fighting against every instinct I had, I used my tongue to explore, only to feel her arms wrap around my neck and her fingers dig into my scalp in response.

With her reaction, my restraint snapped in half.

I walked her backward. She obliged, hands desperate and tight as she clung to me. Warm body soft against mine, pliant and so damn sexy. Almost as needy as my own.

My knee went between her thighs as I pushed her back against the door. She moaned against my lips, the sound going straight to my cock. Her tongue was wet, my brain was fuzzy, but I needed this. I needed her.

I lifted her higher, her legs going right around my waist. She sucked my tongue into her mouth, and I lowered my hands to her ass, squeezing. The skirt she wore rode up higher and higher as she writhed against me, until nothing but her panties pressed against my jeans. She shivered as I rocked her pussy up and down against my cock.

Hot. Tight. Warm. That’s exactly how I imagined she’d be if I sank inside her.

She tipped her head back, bumping it against the wood. Her breathing was frantic, her chest rising and falling in time with my own. I lowered my mouth to her neck, kissing and sucking her skin. She tasted clean, fresh, and I groaned low in my throat, wanting nothing more than to bite her, mark her. Make her mine for just one night.

“Collin,” she whispered, her body trembling as she moved. I rocked her harder against me, sure I was going to come from the friction of the movement alone.

“Please,” she cried out, dry humping my cock like it was all she’d ever need again. And if this was the last woman I ever made come, I’d damn sure not regret it.

“Ain’t gonna stop. Wanna make you feel good.”

I’d been an ass all night to the girl. The least I could do was get her off…and enjoy myself at the same time.

She leaned forward, whimpering as she buried her forehead against my neck. I shut my eyes, blocking out everything around us and inhaling her hair, a smell I’d never forget.

Sweat dripped down my temples as I guided her up and down my length. My hands, as greedy as my lips, now digging tighter into her ass over her skimpy panties.

“Jesus. Addie.”

She shuddered at my words, moving faster, softly crying through what I knew was a quick release.

Damn, did I love that sound. Hadn’t realized how much I missed it until it came from her. And I wanted to hear it again, until she cried out my name next time, loud as hell so the world would know I’d been the one to do this to her. For her.

But then her breathing slowed and she kissed my neck, the sensation light and soft. Too intimate. Too much.

And that’s when the high came crashing down, hitting me as hard as a truck.

I’d just dry-fucked my daughter’s new nanny against the front door.

And I liked it.

valentine-3

Author Information:

heather-van-fleet_headshot

Contemporary romance author Heather Van Fleet is stay-at-home-mom turned book boyfriend connoisseur. She’s a wife to her high school sweetheart, a mom to three little girls, and in her spare time you can find her with her head buried in her Kindle, guzzling down copious amounts of coffee. Heather was born and raised in Moline, Illinois, where she lives with her wonderful family. 

RAFFLECOPTER GIVEAWAY

Enter to win one of ten copies of Reckless Hearts by Heather Van Fleet

  a Rafflecopter giveaway