Friday, July 31, 2015

Chapter Reveal: Screwed by Kendall Ryan

We are very excited for this brand new standalone from Kendall Ryan. 

Releasing on September 15 we get a peek at a sexy romantic comedy from the NYT Bestselling author.

I have one rule: Don’t shit where you eat.

Several of the women in the condo complex I own would love some one-on-one playtime, and why wouldn’t they? I’m young, fit, attractive, and loaded. Not to mention I’m packing a sizable bulge below the belt. It’s a combination that drops panties on a regular basis. 


Yay, me, right?


But my cock, troublemaker that he is, has been confined to my trousers by my business partner. A concession I agreed to, and one that’s never been hard to enforce until Emery moves in across the hall. She’s smart, young, determined, and sexy as hell. I want a taste. I won’t stop until I’m buried deep inside the succulent new-in-town brunette.


After being warned about my past, she does her best to steer clear, but I’m about to show her that underneath it all, I’m a guy with a heart of gold and a cock of steel.

My name is Hayden Oliver, and this is my story.

SCREWED is standalone romantic comedy by New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author Kendall Ryan.

Chapter One

Goddamn. This is going to be harder than I thought.
My eyes swing over to admire the most perfect pear-shaped ass I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on while my business partner Hudson continues lecturing me. I think it’s something important, but there’s nothing more urgent than my body’s reaction to this shapely brunette. Jesus. Those tits are definitely real.
“I mean it. Your cock is cut off this time,” Hudson says roughly, his tone biting.
Tearing my gaze away from the succulent new brunette moving into unit 4B, I face him. “Not literally cut off. I’m sort of attached to him. You realize that, right?”
“Well it’s on lock down then. No more of this bullshit. I had three calls this week alone from hysterical women – our tenants – who you, how do I put this delicately? You fucked and then left before their pussies were even dry.”
I smirk at him, but I can’t deny the accusation. We’re like the real life Melrose Place. Sexy young twenty-somethings all living in close proximity. There’s bound to be a little drama now and again. Together, Hudson and I own thirty buildings in the greater Los Angeles area. And some of our buildings have very fuckable tenants. Up until this point, I’d considered that a nice bonus, and a perk of the job. Hudson has apparently viewed it differently.
“Who’s that?” I ask, tipping my head toward the bombshell who’s responsible for all the blood rushing to my groin. Fuck. I should have a word with her about that, that’s not cool.
Hudson’s eyes swing to the left to see what, or rather, who has captured my attention. And who’s given me this semi-chub, which I hope he hasn’t noticed. We’re close, but we’re not that close.
“No, no, no. Don’t get any ideas. You’re not tagging that.”
She’s not close enough to overhear us, but I shoot him a scowl anyway. “Show some class, man. Tagging is such a juvenile word. I’d take my time, get her hot and ready first, until she was begging for me to fill her tight, little cunt.”
“I’m fucking serious. You’re not to even think about her tight cunt.”
“So you acknowledge she’s got a tight cunt?” I smile, proud of myself.
He wipes sweat from his brow, looking worried. “Hayden, I’m serious this time.” His voice has taken on a somber tone, and for once, I try to be serious and focus.
Watching the way the vein throbs in his neck, my smile fades. We’re standing outside of one of our nicest buildings just outside of downtown, and the mid-afternoon sun is beating down on us. Suddenly I want to get away from him, and away from this entire conversation and into the cool air conditioning inside. Shit has gotten a little too real for me.
“You know me,” I grin at him, trying to lighten the mood. “I just wanted to have some casual fun.” And if that meant sleeping my way through the LA singles scene, so be it. I’m not looking for something deeper. I have a luxury condo in the heart of the Hollywood Hills, drive a new model BMW and possess a nine-inch cock. Translation: Life is good. Or it was, until Hudson decided to get a bug up his ass and lay down the law today.
“Did you hear a word I just said? One of your latest conquests threatened to report our company to the Better Business Bureau for unethical business practices. This isn’t just about you. This affects me too. And I’ll be damned if I watch everything we’ve built go down in flames because you can’t keep your dick in your pants.”
“Point taken.” Hudson is pretty much the best friend, and best business partner you could ask for. He’s smart as hell, dedicated, works like a dog day and night. And not to mention when we began our real estate investment company five years ago, he single-handedly fronted all the start-up capital from his own savings and trust fund. It took me years to pay him back as the profits rolled in, and he never once made me feel lesser, or like I was in debt to him. Not to mention, he’s funny, well-off, and good looking. He’s an excellent wing-man. Plus he knows the best taco joints.
Unable to help myself, my eyes drift over to her again. 4B fills out a pair of yoga pants in ways that I doubt are even legal in most countries. I needed to know what was underneath those curve-hugging black athletic pants. Simple cotton panties, or a naughty g-string? Either way, I wanted to bury my fingers inside the waistband of those pants, peel them down her hips and find out. Perhaps it was because Hudson just made her forbidden fruit, but I wanted a taste. My damn mouth was practically watering.
She looked smart, and put together, despite her casual attire, including a tank top and tennis shoes. With a clipboard in one hand, and her trusty number two pencil in the other, she ticked items off of her list, and instructed the movers who were unloading and carrying boxes up to her new place – which just so happened to be directly underneath mine.
“You’re not going to last three minutes let alone three days.” Hudson grimaces, glancing over again at our newest resident.
“What do you know about her?”
He rolls his eyes, but humors me. “Emery Elaine Winters. She’s an attorney. Excellent references. Even better credit score, and she signed a one year lease. And she’s to remain in pristine condition, or so help me God …”
When I glance up at her again, I see Roxy, another of our residents has joined Emery on the sidewalk, and they appear to be making small talk. Shaking hands, exchanging words, and smiling at each other. There’s something I strongly dislike about these two women talking. Roxy is an exotic dancer, and she I have a bit of a rocky past. Which is a huge fucking understatement, but not something I care to dwell on now. Hudson mentions something about fourth quarter taxes, and I tune him out, sure I just heard my name on Roxy’s over-glossed lips.
“Excuse me, I’ve got business to attend to.” I step around him, heading straight toward my new prize. Roxy spots me, and takes off for the parking area.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Hudson calls after me.
“Just being neighborly. Someone’s got to properly welcome Miss Winters.”
“Dammit, Hayden,” I hear him shout.
“I’ve got this, buddy,” I shout back over my shoulder.
I can control myself around her. I have to, according to Hudson. I don’t like being told what to do, especially where my cock was concerned, and hell, it’ll probably only make me want her more, but as I close the distance between Emery and me, I make a plan.
I would become friends with the so-hot-I-wanted-to-bend-her-over-and-fuck-her-in-broad-daylight new girl.  
This was either the best plan I’d ever had, or would end with me sporting a black eye, courtesy of my best friend.
It’s go time.

About the Author
Kendall Ryan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance novels, including Hard to Love, Unravel Me, Resisting Her and When I Break.

She's a sassy, yet polite Midwestern girl with a deep love of books, and a slight addiction to lipgloss. She lives in Minneapolis with her adorable husband and two baby sons, and enjoys hiking, being active, and reading.
Visit her at:  for the latest book news, and fun extras

Chapter Reveal: Getting Hot by Mia Storm

Rules of engagement:
1) You have the right to use force to defend yourself.
2) Fire may be returned to stop a hostile attack.
3) You may not seize the property of others to accomplish your mission.
4) Detention of civilians is authorized in self-defense.

Delilah Morgan and her older sister Destiny have been on their own for two years, since their parents burned down the family home and went to jail for cooking meth. She’s street smart and tough. Nothing about her says sixteen, and she’s not about to tell anyone, especially Bran, the hot ex-marine bartender Destiny has her eye on. He’s stable and successful and everything her sister needs to keep them off the street. The only problem, something about Bran inspires her and suddenly she’s writing the best music she ever has. About him.

Branson Silo knows what it means to be in the line of fire. Home for a year from his second tour of duty in Afghanistan, he thinks he’s safe…until he meets Delilah. Despite her sharp tongue that makes him want to take cover, he can’t deny the attraction. But when he hires her to play weekends at his family’s saloon, he finds out she’s more than he can handle…which is saying something considering he used to blow things up for a living.
When the grenade finally explodes and the shrapnel flies, will Bran be left standing? Or has he survived years at war only to be taken down by Jail Bait?

Chapter 1


I shouldn’t have fucked her last week. That was my mistake, and I feel like a douche—something I’m not used to.
I watch Destiny tuck a long strand of platinum hair behind her ear with her pen as she finishes taking drink orders at the table near the door. She shoots me a secret smile when she turns and makes her way over, and I mentally shoot myself for getting caught looking. This train’s already careening down the track, barely holding onto the rails, and when I pull shit like this, it only picks up momentum.
“We got Hendricks?” she asks, slapping her order on the ancient mahogany bar between us.
I look over the order. “Closest thing I got is Tanqueray.”
The smile falls off her face and she blows out a sigh. “I’ll ask him.”
I follow the curve where her tiny waist blooms into a killer ass as she turns and heads back to the table.
She’s hot. That’s what it boils down to. When I took her home last week, it was after her first training shift with Carol. We’d sat at the bar and knocked back a few after closing and I got caught up in everything she had going on. I totally missed the signs. I didn’t see that she was looking for more than a hookup until after it was too late—until she didn’t leave after we’d done the deed.
The only guy at the table with three women—some total wannabe with a dark suit jacket over a turtleneck and pressed jeans—scowls and gives Destiny some lip. I can’t hear what he says over the piped in Kat Country, but she shrugs and says something back, then offers me an apologetic squint when the guy pushes up from his seat. He starts my direction on polished loafers, but his eyes widen slightly and he pulls up short when he sees me.
The reaction’s not unusual. When I left for boot camp six years ago, I was already in decent shape. I was Oak Crest High’s first ever (and only, as far as I know) four sport athlete all for years—football in the fall, wrestling in the winter, and baseball and track in the spring. Which is probably a big part of the reason my grades weren’t good enough to do anything but enlist. But the Marines made all that training look like fucking Romper Room, and it was only a matter of weeks before my bulk didn’t fit into any of my old clothes anymore. Since Pop owns the local gym and my sister Brenda runs it, when I’m not working behind Mom’s bar at the Sam Hill Saloon, I spend most of my time lifting weights. I’ve managed to stay in pretty decent shape…which means guys like this pansy ass are generally intimidated. Course, the tattooed six-foot-three thing doesn’t hurt the intimidation factor. Since I let my dark flattop grow out, I look more like a biker than an ex-Marine.
After a beat, his shiny shoes start moving again but he stops three feet short of the bar, out of my wingspan. “Tanqueray or Tanqueray number ten?” he demands, putting on a “big man” show for the women he’s here with.
I step aside to show him the rack behind me and he flinches a little at my movement. “For top shelf gin, Tanqueray’s what I got.”
He closes his eyes for a moment and exhales his disappointment, then scans my top shelf again. “Tanqueray isn’t even in the same league as Hendricks.”
I shrug. “You want the citrus, I’d go with the Seagrams. Something drier, I’ve got Beefeaters.”
He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling as if my suggestions are all so far below him he’s afraid of getting a nosebleed if he has to look all the way down at them. “Just give me the Tanqueray. Make it a Tom Collins so I don’t have to taste it.”
He stalks back to his table and drops into his seat as I start on their order.
Destiny comes over and watches me mix. “That guy’s a jerk,” she say with a flick of her eyes back toward the wannabe professor. “Thank God he’s Carol’s to deal with in fifteen.”
“You’re giving Carol the tip?” I say with raised eyebrows.
Her lip curls. “Guys like that don’t tip.”
I lift my eyes to him as I shake his Tom Collins. “He give you a hard time?”
“He thought I should’ve known what kind of Tanqueray we have.” Her face scrunches. “I didn’t even know there were different kinds.”
I glance at the table again. City folk for sure. Probably up here in the foothills for something at the college. “Guess he didn’t realize he’d wandered out of his natural habitat.”
She busts out a laugh as I pour his drink into the highball. “So, I was thinking…” she says when her laugh dies. “I could swing by your place when you get off. If you want.”
“Listen…” I start, setting the drink on her tray. But just as I open my mouth to tell her I don’t do relationships, Mom shoves through the swinging door from the kitchen. Five years in the Marines and two tours in Afghanistan, and I’ve yet to come across another single person who intimidates me…except my mom. She makes some of my Marine COs look like kindergarten teachers.
“Hey Vicky,” Destiny says. “Has Carol punched in yet?” She tosses her eyes at Mr. Hendrick’s. “I’m giving her that table as soon as she does.”
“She just clocked in,” Mom answers, glancing suspiciously at the table. “What’s the issue?”
Destiny shrugs a shoulder and picks up the tray of drinks I slide across the bar to her. “That guy needs to get over himself. Carol’s better at dealing with people like that.”
It’s the “take no crap” chromosome in the Silo family gene pool. My cousin is almost as intimidating as Mom. She has a way of putting pricks like that in their place without them even realizing how it happened.
Just as I’m thinking it, I see her pass by the porthole in the wooden door to the kitchen, pulling her dark curls back into a ponytail. A second later, she pushes through the door.
She looks at the three of us and her eyes narrow as she slings her short, black apron under her bulging belly and ties it. “You guys do know that when everyone clams up and stares at you when you walk into a room, that’s a dead giveaway they were talking about you, right?”
“All good, cuz,” I say, lifting one hand in surrender while picking up my bar rag with the other.
She gives us a glare that could fry bacon. “I’m not fat.”
“No, you’re not,” Destiny says, handing her the tray of drinks. “But I’m punching out and I need you to take that table.”
Carol’s gaze shifts to the table in question. “What’s wrong with them?”
“The guy’s a sanctimonious prick,” I say wiping down the bar. “He needs to be reminded his shit still stinks in the way only you can.”
A slow smile pulls at her mouth and she takes the drink tray.
“He’s the Tom Collins,” Destiny says. “The chardonnay is for the girl on his right and the Cosmos are for the other two.”
She bats her eyelashes and starts toward the table. “Coming right up,” she says, all breathy and sweet.
Mom turns to me once she’s gone, her frown deepening. “I came out here to remind you to put a note in the drawer if you pull petty cash, Bran.”
I give her a dubious smirk. “Really, Ma? I’ve been doing this for almost a year. Think I’ve got the drill down by now.”
“Well, the drawer came up exactly sixty short last night. So how else do you explain that?”
I feel my brows lift. My drawer’s never off by anything more than a few pennies. “You sure you didn’t pull it for the wine order?”
She scowls at me and crow’s feet crease the corners of her eyes. “I might be old, but I’m not senile yet.”
For her age, I have to say Mom looks pretty damn amazing. She met Dad sometime in the stone ages, when she used to dance at a strip club in San Francisco, and even still, I can see why he picked her out of the crowd. She’s got a deep worry line at the inside corner of her right eyebrow, but otherwise her face is deceptively youthful. The only thing that gives her age away is the skunk stripe that starts on the left side of her forehead and winds through the sea of dark hair pinned onto the back of her head like a the first swirl of cream into black coffee.
“I didn’t take any cash, Ma. Seriously.”
She sighs wearily and rubs her eyes. “It’s been a long day. I’ll check the numbers again tomorrow morning when I can think.”
I lean down and give her a peck on the cheek. “’Night, Ma.”
She hooks her elbow around my neck and yanks me in for a hug. “See you tomorrow, baby boy.”
She’s the only one I’d ever let call me baby or honey or any shit like that because, like I said, I’m a little scared of her. I watch her disappear through the kitchen door.
And then it’s just Destiny, waiting for an answer.
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly as I turn to her. “Listen, Destiny. There’s no question you are fucking amazing, and I had an awesome time the other night…but I feel like you might have gotten the wrong idea about what this is.” I drop the bar rag and splay my hands on the bar between us, holding her gaze. I may be a dick, but I’ve got a moral compass that points in the right general direction most of the time. She deserves to be told straight up. “I’m not the kind of guy that does relationships, and even if I were, you wouldn’t want one with me.”
It’s not like I expect her to whine or beg. I’ve only known her for a week, since Mom hired her for day shifts, but she seems generally more together than that.
What I also don’t expect is a shameless smile to spread over her face as she leans closer. “So, are you saying that pounding me until I scream your name is too much of a commitment?”
I blow out a laugh and give my head a slow shake. “This isn’t how I pictured this conversation going.”
She pushes away from the bar and unties her apron. “I’ll be back before closing. Maybe have a drink or two. And when you leave, if you take me with you, you won’t be sorry. If not…” She shrugs. “…no harm no foul.”
I watch as she disappears through the kitchen door behind Mom to punch out. Carol drops another drink order on the bar on her way to the kitchen and I go back to work.
The Friday evening crowd picks up and it’s not long before all the tables are full and patrons start lining the bar. I dim the lights—the closest we come to ambiance.
The Sam Hill Saloon has been here since the gold rush, when the town of Oak Crest was established as a mining camp. After they got married, Dad brought Mom out here and bought her this bar to keep her “busy,” since he didn’t want her taking off her clothes for horny men anymore. She got it in the divorce and has run it for the last thirty years, but the truth is, almost nothing here has changed for nearly three quarters of a century. There are pictures on the walls of grimy gold miners lined up at this very bar. Even most of the chunky wooden barstools and tables have survived. At some point, some owner lined the front wall under the windows with three booths, and Mom added a big-screen TV, but other than that, it looks exactly like the pictures. And there’s the faint stench of stale beer emanating from the floor planking that no amount of bleach will ever get out.
But it’s a landmark, and the only bar in town, so we’re usually busy.
I’m blending a pair of frozen daiquiris with one hand and shaking a martini with the other when out of the corner of my eye, I see a solo blonde slide onto the barstool at the end, near the beer taps. I finish what I’m doing and prepare the tray for Carol to pick up before glancing over and seeing its Destiny.
A guy in the middle of the bar makes eye contact and nods at his empty beer mug. I grab it and start filling without really looking up at her. “Didn’t think I’d see you again till closer to closing.”
“Sorry?” she says. “Are you talking to me?”
The voice is off—slightly raspy and a pitch lower than her usual. I look up again and squint at her, wondering if she’s already started drinking. She’s taken her straight hair down from the ponytail she always wears it in and it’s not as long as I remember it from the other night—the only other time I’ve seen it down. There’s also a fading blue stripe cutting through the platinum over her right ear that I’ve never noticed before.
“What can I get you?” I ask her instead of pushing it.
I’m already reaching for the vodka and cranberry to start on a Madras, her drink of choice last week, when she answers, “Rum and Coke.”
“That’s different,” I mutter, shooting her another glance.
She gives me a puzzled look. “Look, I really just wanted to find out if you hire entertainment.”
My face mirrors her puzzlement, I’m sure, as I try to process her statement. “Why?”
She hunches to the side and pulls something up from her feet. I see it’s a battered black guitar case when the narrow end peeks over the top of the bar. “Because I need a gig.”
“Didn’t know you played,” I say, pushing her drink across the bar to her.
That baffled look is back as she pulls it toward her and takes a swallow. I can’t help following the curve of her long neck downward toward a pair of large round tits perfectly outlined by her snug, low-cut T-shirt. She is definitely hot, and if we’re on the same page, then I’ve got nothing to feel guilty about. She wants me to fuck her till she screams? I’m perfectly capable of that. She sets her drink down and catches me staring. She cuts me that wicked smile again, causing my cock to stir. I return the smile, sending the innuendo right back at her.
She props her elbows onto the bar and leans forward, giving me a clear look down her shirt. “Considering that we’ve never met before, I don’t find that surprising.”
I’m so absorbed in images of my face buried in those magnificent tits that it takes me a second to process what she said.
My eyes snap to hers. “Wait…what?”
She reaches across the bar, offering me a hand. “Lilah.”
There’s a full second all I can do is stare, wondering if this is one of those split personality things you hear about sometimes. And in that second, through the dim lighting, I take in all the tiny details—a dark mole at the outer corner of her right eye; her eyes, silver instead of blue; the missing white crescent-shaped scar above Destiny’s right eyebrow; and lips, a little fuller than I remember—which are smirking at me now.
“You’re not Destiny,” I say as it all clicks.
It’s not a question, but she shakes her head. “No. I am most definitely not Destiny.”
“Twins?” I ask.
She cocks her head playfully. “What do you think?”
“You’ve got to be. You’re fucking identical except for the eyes.” I tap my forehead. “And you’re missing a scar.”
Her perfect blond eyebrow raises in amusement. “She’s the pretty one and I’m the smart one.”
I bark out a laugh as I reach across and shake her hand. “Bran Silo. Good to meet you.”
She doesn’t let go of my hand for a second after we’re done shaking—just long enough to send a clear message that she’s interested.
A knot forms in my gut, and I realize it’s guilt. Destiny and I have an understanding, but regardless, I’m pretty sure fucking her sister would be way outside the bounds of gentlemanly behavior. Not that anyone would ever mistake me for a gentleman. “Destiny never mentioned she had a sister.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.” She takes another drink, nearly polishing it off in a few big gulps.
I tip my head at it her glass. “Another?”
“My limit is one,” she says, pushing her glass toward me. “Just Coke this time, thanks.”
Carol sweeps by on her way to the kitchen, dropping an order on my bar. “Thought you left,” she says to Lilah without slowing down. “Careful or your favorite customer might ask for you,” she adds, jerking her head at Mr. Hendricks as she disappears through the swinging door.
I bark out a laugh as I scoop ice into Lilah’s glass and fill it with Coke. “Good to know I’m not the only one.”
Lilah shrugs. “Happens all the time.” She slides out of her chair, lifting the guitar case. “So do you want to hear me play or what?”
I look around the crowded room, loud with chatter, drowning out the background music. “We don’t generally have live entertainment,” I say, which is really an understatement. We’ve never had live entertainment. But for some reason, I’m not willing to shut Lilah down so fast.
When my eyes find her again, annoyed impatience shines loud and clear out of her gaze. “So that’s a no?”
I feel my mouth pull into a cocky half-smile. “I didn’t say that.”
She opens her case and pulls out her guitar, unabashedly climbing through the window I left ajar for her. I watch as she sets herself up on the stool and rests the guitar in her lap, gripping it softly but confidently. She starts strumming, and I expect her to be discrete, since this is basically an audition, but there’s not a shred of self-consciousness or embarrassment anywhere in her disposition as she begins to belt out lyrics—an old No Doubt song that I can’t remember the name of.
The way she plays, as if on instinct; the passion in her voice, and the fact that she’s really fucking good, starts to turn heads at the tables closest to us. As they quiet and listen, more tables still, and soon the only thing she’s competing to be heard over is the Kat Country on the speakers. But she doesn’t decrease her volume. If anything, as eyes find her, she becomes louder, feeding off the attention.
I reach under the bar and click off the stereo, then lean onto the back counter and cross my arms, listening as she finishes one song and launches into the next.
A guy at the bar pulls a five from his pocket and flags me down with it. I grab his beer mug, but he shakes his head. “Is there a tip jar?” he asks with a nod toward Lilah.
I pull a fresh mug from under the bar and he slips the five inside, then I set it at the end of the bar near Lilah. She cuts me a smile and her eyes slide down my body as she sings.
And fuck me. I lean my hands on the bar and press against the lower counter when my dick won’t yield to my will. Without a doubt, everything Destiny has going on, Lilah’s got that and more.


About the Mia Storm:
Mia Storm is a hopeless romantic who is always searching for her happy ending. Sometimes she’s forced to make one up. When that happens, she’s thrilled to be able to share those stories with her readers. She lives in California and spends much of her time in the sun with a book in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other, or hiking the trails in Yosemite.
Connect with her online at
Twitter at @MiaStormAuthor

Monday, July 27, 2015

Blog Tour: Sinful Intent by Chelle Bliss

Title: Sinful Intent  
Series: ALFA PI Book #1  
Release Date: July 14th  
Author: Chelle Bliss

The moment I saw her, I wanted her. 
I tried to resist her, but Race had other plans. 
One night, in a moment of weakness, I gave in to my desires. 
 I still had a job to do before her world collapsed. 
If I failed at finding the person behind the threats, I could lose her forever. 
Temptation can be dangerous.


“You’re really purdy,” she slurred with a lopsided grin, running her finger down my cheek.
“That’s it. No more drinks for you,” I said, dragging the glass away from her.
“No! I’ve only had three,” she said as she lurched forward, pulling the drink out of my hands.
“I’m enjoying myself. I’ve had a bitch of a week and I deserve to let loose a little.”
 I held my hands up. “You’ve actually had four martinis, but anything you want, princess.”
Her eyes grew into little slits. “I’m not your princess,” she slurred, sounding completely adorable.
My cheeks hurt as I smiled. “I’m going to take you home now. I think you need to sleep it off.”
“Last time I checked,” she said before hiccupping, “you’re not my daddy.” A slow smile crept across her face. She scooted closer and whispered, “Unless that’s your thing.” She tried to wink, but both eyes closed, one after the other.
I leaned into her space, a breath away from her lips. “It’s not my thing, but I’m happy to act out your fantasies. But I don’t think you want to cross that line. Once you go there, there’s no going back.” I stared into her eyes.
“Oooh.” Her eyes grew wide. “Is that supposed to scare me, Mr. DeLuca?”
I didn’t move. “I’m just giving you fair warning. You’ve had a few drinks, and I won’t take advantage of that. I’m just telling you how it is.”
“You’re full of yourself.” Her warm, sweet breath caressed my lips as she spoke.
All I wanted to do was reach out, pull her face to mine, and kiss her full, beautiful lips. “I’m sure of myself and confident in my abilities, yes. That’s entirely different than being full of myself.” I licked my lips, testing her.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth as her lips parted.
 “Another?” Lisa interrupted.
“We’re good,” I replied, keeping my eyes pinned to Race and waving Lisa off.
“Pfft,” Lisa scoffed, stomping away.
Race glared in Lisa’s direction. “She wants you,” she whispered.
Was she jealous?
“I don’t want her.”
“She’s a sure thing though.”
I leaned closer, leaving very little space between us. “I never liked easy.”
“All men like easy.” Her body swayed, moving so close our lips almost brushed.

Purchase Sinful Intent  
Unlawful Desire - ALFA PI #2 is available for pre-order **Special pre-order price of $2.99**



~Marlene's Review~
Sinful Intent is the first book in the ALFA Private Investigations Series. This book is a spin off and contains characters from the Men of Inked series, but it is NOT necessary to read those books first. This series can stand alone, but I highly recommend putting the Men of Inked on your TBR list because they are awesome!

There is no doubt that Chelle Bliss knows how to write steamy, romantic, and intriguing books. This one is no exception. Her writing is smooth, easy, and always has great characters that keep you reading too far into the night. As a lover of the Gallo family, I was excited to dive into Morgan's story.

Morgan is just out of the military and itching to start a new life when his cousin offers him a job in their new PI business. He is quickly thrown for a loop after meeting his first client. She's beautiful, sassy, uptight, and stubborn....And he wants her bad.

Race is being blackmailed and hires the PI company to help. She has worked hard in her career and is determined to save her position in the company above all else. When Morgan walks in, she knows she's in trouble. He's strong, cocky, and sexy as heck....And she wants him bad.

Morgan and Race are a great pairing. The sexual tension is very hot and the intimate scenes are off the charts. Tie in members of the Gallo family and this book is darn near perfection. I recommend this read to anyone looking for a bit of suspense, humor, family values, great plot, and lots of heat!  


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About the Author
Chelle Bliss is a USA Today Bestselling Author of the Men of Inked series.
She loves to write happily ever afters filled with alpha males and sexy women.
Chelle spends her days writing, chatting on Facebook, and working on her craft.
The ALFA PI series a spin off of her Men of Inked series and she's excited to introduce 
a new world of characters to readers.

Friday, July 24, 2015

Cover Reveal: Bereft by Jennifer Foor



We'd been married seven years, and for the most part, I thought we were happy. Little did I know my other half wasn't. He'd been screwing around on me for the past six months. Now, on the verge of divorce, I've found myself in a conundrum.

He's half my age, with a body that won't quit. I keep telling myself it's payback, but who am I kidding? Instead of getting even, I've now made things irreparable. I have a choice to make, and it's going to be a lot harder than I imagined.

Give in to Temptation
Fulfill your deepest Desires

About The Author
Jennifer Foor is an award winning Contemporary Romance Author. She's best known for the Mitchell Family Series, which includes ten books.
She is married with two children and spends most of her time behind a keyboard, writing stories that come from her heart. 

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Cover Reveal- Resist by Heather C. Leigh

By Heather C Leigh

Full Jacket/Cover
resist full.jpg

Meet Gavin in Heather’s newest M/M standalone romance!


Add RESIST to your TBR list at:
RELEASE DATE: August 9th, 2015

All Gavin Walker, bass player for the multi-platinum selling band, Sphere of Irony, wants to do is surf, play music, and occasionally get laid. The problem is that Gavin has a stalker. A potentially deadly one. The threats he receives always mention something about Gavin being gay, which isn't public knowledge since the record label wants to keep it quiet.

Mitch Hale used to track serial killers for the FBI. A live-changing incident led him to quit the bureau and start his own company providing computerized security for Los Angeles' wealthiest people. Mitch doesn't know anyone when he moves across the country from D.C. to California, and all he has for companionship is a pathetic string of failed relationships with women.

When Gavin's manager hires Mitch to find the stalker, the men instantly hate each other. Despite the constant fighting, attraction between the two blazes hot, confusing the former FBI agent. Spending time with Gavin forces Mitch reflect on what he's denied about himself for the last ten years. Listening to Mitch's plan to catch a madman thrusts Gavin's personal life out in the open for the entire world to see.

Can Gavin and Mitch stop fighting long enough to stop a stalker before someone gets hurt? Or will they stubbornly resist the feelings that develop when they're forced to work together?

This is book 3 in a 4 part series. It is a spin-off of the Famous Series. These can be read as standalones.

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“I need a drink,” I mutter to no one in particular.
Adam Reynolds must hear me complaining because he places what I assume is a Jack and Coke in my empty hand.
“Here you go, mate.” He grins and I can’t help but smile back. The man’s enthusiasm is infectious.
Gavin, the sourpuss, is currently glaring at me from across the room. So much for us being an item. In the car, Gavin’s excitement at pretending to be boyfriends to lure out his stalker and the accompanying smile he gave had me sprouting questionable wood for most of the drive. Now he’s reverted right back to being a little shit. Hot and cold.
“Thanks, but I’m working—”
“I’ll take it, honey.” Gavin swoops in, steals the glass, and downs half of it before I can blink. I stand there, paralyzed, while I watch his pink lips caress the edge of the glass. “Thanks, dear,” he snaps, pulling me from my gawking. Before I can reply he turns and stomps off to pout somewhere.
I’m annoyed at his attitude and the distance he’s kept between us tonight. What. The. Hell. No way is he going to up and disappear on me at another party. Especially after we paraded ourrelationship in front of the media to lure his stalker out of the shadows.
“Sorry guys,” I apologize to Adam and his wife, Ellie. I was happy to finally meet them both after everything Gemma had told me about the couple when I gave her Adam’s phone number last year. Now I have to cut our conversation short because of yet another Gavin Walker temper tantrum.
Weaving through the crowd at the club, I follow Gavin to the back hallway that houses the kitchen and bathrooms. Once I’m out of sight of the other guests, I grab a shocked Gavin’s upper arm and shove him into the men’s room.
“Hey! Quit being an asshole!” Gavin wrenches out of my grip, turning to sneer. “I’ll put you on your knees again, Hale!”
The thought of being on my knees in front of Gavin sends a flush of heat up my body. I can feel the fire in my cheeks and by the way Gavin’s eyes widen, I’m betting he can see it too.
“I’m not the one behaving like a brat!” I growl in a low voice. Ducking, I check to make sure no one else is in the stalls. Once I’ve made sure it’s clear, I lock the bathroom door.
“Brat?” Gavin shouts. “I’m a brat?”
“Yes, you’re a brat. Ever since we had our picture taken outside, you’ve been unbearable to be around!”
“You’re not the one whose entire life was just turned upside down out there!” he yells.
I step closer, more furious than I’ve ever been. “Are you kidding me? You are so unbelievably self-centered!” Those damn hypnotizing full lips fall open in shock. “I was just outed too, and I’m not even fucking gay!”
Without thinking, I grab either side of his head, digging my fingers into that thick, blonde hair, and crush my mouth over his.
And it’s the hottest kiss of my life.
Just, damn.

resist banner.jpg

Incite (Book One) The Sphere of Irony Series

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Strike (Book Two) The Sphere of Irony Series

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About the Author:
Heather C Leigh
heather c leigh bio.jpg
After growing up in New England, I currently live just outside Atlanta, GA.
I love the Red Sox and hate the Yankees.
I love hot, sexy romance novels, but hate long, drawn out misunderstandings as a plot line.
I love book series, but hate cliffhangers.
I love alpha males, but hate when they borderline on abusive.
Mostly? I love love love chocolate.

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