Friday, February 27, 2015

Blog Tour & Review - Hurricanes and Handcuffs by Jodi Redford

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Hurricanes and Handcuffs by Jodi Redford
Part of the Red Hot Cajun Nights multi-author collection
Blog Tour Feb. 23rd-27th

Synopsis:

Gabrielle Scott is fed up with helping her playboy boss seduce and woo his countless bimbettes courtesy of her culinary masterpieces. Yeah, the pay is good, and you can’t beat the luxurious digs she’s treated to as his resident personal chef. But she can’t afford the frustration of living under the same roof with the one man who drives her crazy in every possible way. The damnable truth? She’s in love with the irredeemable bastard, and the only way she’ll get over him is to get naked under him. The plan? Attend Jax’s annual Mardi Gras ball incognito and entice him into a hot night of sin—right before handing in her resignation.

Jaxon Noble always gets what he wants. Especially when it comes to the opposite sex. So when Gabbi shows up at his party in an eye-popping costume and outrageously flirts with him it’s a foregone conclusion that she’ll finally be his. About damn time the stubborn woman came to her senses. He’s more than happy to go along with her game, and the combustible heat they generate together proves it was well worth the wait to have her. But when morning comes and Gabrielle calmly announces she’s quitting, Jax is faced with the sobering fact that perhaps money can’t buy everything. Or more to the point—the only person who’s ever meant anything to him.

For someone who’s used to winning at all costs, losing Gabbi isn’t an option. And Jax will pull out every sweet and sexy trick to convince her to take a chance on a forever with him. Even if it means handcuffing her to his bed.
Warning: This book contains a sassy chef, one determined bad boy billionaire, Fur-lined handcuffs and inappropriate consumption of beignets, several sinful drizzles of honey, and enough sizzling chemistry to set off the smoke alarms.


Buy Link:


Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author_blog_posts/7789992-cover-reveal-hurricanes-and-handcuffs




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Excerpt:

Gabbi stepped from the pantry just as Jax strode into the kitchen. They both stared at each other stupidly for a long moment.
Finally Jax broke the awkward silence. “Have you been crying?”
“No.”
He frowned. “Your eyes are puffy.”
“My allergies are acting up.” She slid her gaze over his shoulder. “Where’s Bulimic Barbie? Unconscious on the bed?”
Amusement tipped the corner of Jax’s mouth. “Her name is Whitney, and she’s hardly my type.” He returned her squint with a chuffing laugh. “What? She’s not. I only invited her over because she’s the baby sister of Olivia’s newest boy toy. I’m doing my familial duty by putting in a good word for my cousin.”
She snorted. “The only part I believe in all of that is her being a baby. Freakin’ jailbait.”
He leaned against the corner of the marble-topped island, a broad grin lighting his sun-kissed features. “Someone sounds a little jealous.”
“Me? Of her? If you believe that, then someone’s been smoking crack.”
Her vehement denial only earned a chuckle from Jax. “I’m really going to miss your sassy mouth next month.”
Safe to say not as much as she was going to miss him. Yes, it was utterly ridiculous. She should look forward to having a week-long vacation and a welcome reprieve from the constant parade of women. Instead she dreaded the thought of being all alone in this big house with no one for company.
“You could always come with me, you know.”
She gaped at him, his unexpected offer filling her with a giddy rush of happiness. “You...want me to come to Paris with you?”
“Why not? Might save me from overdoing it on all of the French pastries. Got to watch my figure.” His gaze sparkling, he patted his washboard belly.
It took a moment to tear her focus from the lazy drift of his hand and her tormenting mental musings of the rock-solid six pack beneath his snowy white button-down shirt. Once his words penetrated her brain she veered her attention back to his grinning mug. “You’re inviting me so I’ll cook for you?”
“Well...” His expression grew wary. “Yeah?”
The spark of joy extinguished in her heart. “I can’t believe you!”
“I thought you’d like the idea. You’ve never been to Paris before, and it’s a great opportunity for you to learn some new techniques. My friend at L'EspĂ©rance has an intensive two day course that I think you’d really enjoy.”
Under different circumstances she would. Studying under Michelin star chefs and visiting Parisian farmers markets and cozy sidewalk cafes sounded like every wistful dream she’d longed for. But what Jax was suggesting had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with convenience on his end. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about spending time with her. All he wanted was someone to fix him his damn breakfast every morning. “So in other words, a working vacation for me. Wow, how generous.”
He frowned. “Why are you being so pissy?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She tossed up her hands. “Maybe because I haven’t had a day off in over a week, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve had an actual vacation.” And you’re breaking my fucking heart. She kept the admission locked inside her even though it was screaming to be released from the prison of her tongue.
“Gabbi, I swear to you that after the party is done with I’ll give you a whole week off.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
He pushed away from the counter and tipped a knuckle underneath her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. The hypnotic quality of those midnight blue irises reeling her in, she stared hopelessly at him. With his free hand, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and brushed her cheek. He smiled. “You have flour all over you.”
“Hazard of the job.” Just one of many. The most dangerous being her standing too close for comfort with the man who made her crave sinful, impossible things like being tied up to that huge king-sized bed upstairs.


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Review

I am a huge fan of Jodi books because they are quick and to the point and they don't have you waiting long. The story lines are always good and they leave you to the point that you want to read more from her. Hurricanes and Handcuffs was a quick read that kept you entertained because although you could predict what was going to happen you couldn't wait to get there and see how it played out. I loved Jax and Gabbi because they were both fighting what they felt for different reasons until they had no choice but to admit how they felt. This is the book that you would read in one setting and be glad that you did.

Rating




Hot Excerpt:

Now that she was alone with Jax the air seemed super charged with an overwhelming awareness that zinged between them. Unable to resist, she peered up at him and caught him staring at her mouth. Her lips automatically tingled at the phantom memory of their kiss. Her pulse revving, she smoothed a hand over her tummy to steady her nerves. His pupils nearly overtaking his irises, Jax tracked the motion of her fingers. Certain she was about to jump out of her skin, she cleared her throat. “What do you think of my costume?”
“You have every man in this room dying to take it off you.”
His response was so unexpected it took her a moment to find her tongue. Here he’d provided the perfect opening to her seduction and she’d almost let it slip between her fingers. Channeling her nonexistent inner vixen, she batted her eyelashes. “Including you?” It didn’t come out as sexy as she’d hoped, and she winced.
His mouth quirked at one corner. “No, I’m completely immune to your charms.”
He was joking, right? Fairly positive that he was, she tried for a bolder approach and tiptoed her fingers up along the buttons of his starched shirt. “How about now?”
A chuckle rumbled from him. “Gabbi, what are you doing?”
Good question. God, did she really suck at flirting? Granted, her skills were pathetically rusty. Assuming they existed in the first place. Frustration welling inside her, she settled her palm against his chest. That’s when she felt the rapid pace of his heartbeat. She lifted her gaze to his, and sucked in a breath at the smoldering heat in his eyes. Coyness abandoning her, she blurted the primary thought tumbling around in her brain. “I want you to kiss me again. Desperately.”
His gaze darkened. Sliding his hand to her elbow, he steered her toward the hallway. Her body buzzing with heady anticipation, she barely registered the crush of people he led her through as they made their way to the kitchen. Although the room was empty he didn’t stop until they reached the back stairway. He pressed her up against the door, slamming it shut with her weight. The next instant his mouth devoured hers in a kiss that left her head spinning. Gasping, she tunneled her fingers through his silky hair, holding on for dear life.
She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the kiss was a thousand degrees hotter than the one last night. Apparently sobriety made all the difference. Which was rather ironic, considering how the drugging intoxication of Jax’s kisses was far more potent than any alcohol in existence. He slicked his tongue over hers, coaxing a whimper from her. Splaying his palms on her ass, he squeezed each cheek and hiked her tighter to him. She went willingly, desperate mewls pouring from her as she sucked on his tongue.
He tore his mouth from hers, his breaths ragged. “I’m crushing your feathers.”
It took her a second to realize that wasn’t some kinky dirty talk she wasn’t hip to. She glanced down at the scooped neckline of her costume and noticed a couple of feathers with the tips broken off. Wise decision not to go with the rental option.
Jax shoved her mask up and stroked her cheek. “Where is this headed, Gabbi?”
She knew he was asking in the most basic of terms. This wasn’t an inquiry beyond the next twenty-four hours. Her heart squeezed at that sad fact, but now that she’d set the wheels in motion there was no way she’d step on the brake.
“Hopefully your bed. Or mine.” She backed up her bold statement by sliding her hand to his fly. The impressive bulge she discovered tenting his tuxedo pants prompted a greedy ache deep in her core. She fondled him shamelessly, her pussy clenching as he surged and thickened in her grasp.
He groaned and shackled her wrist between his fingers, reluctantly easing her off him. “I’ll never get through the rest of the party if you keep doing that.”
“We could have a quickie.”
“Not a fucking chance. I want you naked, those gorgeous tits quivering and your nipples available for my feasting when I ease inside you the first time.”
Well how could she argue with that? She licked her lips. “Then I can have you after the party?”
A slow smile tipped his mouth. “Oh, you’ll get all of me. Maybe more than you can handle.”


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Author Bio:
At the ripe age of seven, Jodi Redford penned her first epic, complete with stick figure illustrations. Sadly, her drawing skills haven't improved much, but her love of fantasy worlds never went away. These days she writes about fairies, ghosts, and other supernatural creatures, only with considerably more heat.

She has won numerous contests, including The Golden Pen and Launching a Star.
When not writing or working the day job, she enjoys gardening and way too many reality television shows.


Author links:
Website http://jodiredford.com/

Blog http://jodiredford.blogspot.com

Group Blog http://www.lustwithalaugh.com

Amazon Author page http://www.amazon.com/Jodi-Redford/e/B002YUEZ0U

Facebook profile https://www.facebook.com/jodi.redford.3

Twitter: https://twitter.com/jodiredford


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Cover Reveal - Kestrel (A Hart Brothers Novel) by A.M. Hargrove





Title: Kestrel
Series: A Hart Brothers Novel
Author: A.M. Hargrove
Release Date:  March 29th, 2015

iBooks: http://bit.ly/1CXNKmz
Smashwords: http://bit.ly/1F6mceC
Nook: http://bit.ly/1AWnqf3
Kestrel (A Hart Brothers Novel)
**Though is part of the Hart Brothers Series, This is a Stand Alone Novel
**Not intended for readers under the age of 18 due to its mature content and strong language.

Two lives with horrific pasts. One chance meeting that changed them both forever.

“One look at her and I want to run. Frizzy hair, thick glasses, mom jeans, and ruffles up to her neck. Who the hell wears shit like that? What decade is she living in? My mother doesn’t even dress like that!”

Raised by a monster, Kestrel Hart somehow survived. Now that the monster is dead, he’s trying to move on, to pull himself together. Struggling with issues no one can imagine, he moves away from his family, from the brother who loves him and the sister-in-law who supports and understands him the best.

Charleston, South Carolina is his new home. And he has a purpose. He’s opening up a new division of his brother’s corporation. But a surprise awaits him. Her name is Carter Drayton.

Carter’s past is also a painful one. She is dealing with the tragic death of her family. She’s healing in the only way she knows how.

Carter needs love. Kestrel craves human contact. Neither of them recognizes what’s right before their eyes. Will they see it before it’s too late?



“I’ll do anything you want. Anything.” Then something comes over me. Call it madness. Desperation. Insanity. Call it whatever you want. I step right up to him and put my hands on his shoulders. Then I kiss him. He stands there like a chunk of stone. So I press my body up to him, and rub myself against him. I open my mouth and run my tongue over his lips, and then push it into his mouth. Nothing. No response. Humiliation sets in. I am not this girl. I’m the classic nerd. I don’t have boyfriends. Where is this coming from?

He pulls away from me and steps back, rubbing his mouth.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not my type.” His features initially register shock. But worse than that, distaste replaces it.

That stings. Really stings. But even more dreadful, I am morbidly ashamed of myself. That doesn’t stop me from digging myself into an even deeper hole.

“What? Am I not sexy enough? Are my clothes not revealing enough?”

“Um, Dr. Drayton, this is more than a bit awkward.”

“No, tell me. And my name is Carter.”

“You’re propositioning me.” Now I detect a hint of mockery.

“No, not propositioning. I want to strike a deal. You see, I’m a desperate woman. And desperate people do all kinds of things.”

“Carter, I’m really not interested.”

“I know I’m not very attractive, but if you want me to change the way I look, I can do that.”

“You don’t understand.”

“What? Am I not good enough for you?”

His eyes skim me from head to toe. “Good doesn’t have anything to do with it. You’re not bad enough for me.”







A.M. Hargrove resides in the south, dividing her time between the upstate of South Carolina and the mountains of North Carolina. She truly believes that chocolate, coffee and ice cream should be added to the USDA food groups.
Her books include Adult, New Adult and Young Adult Romances, including, The Guardians of Vesturon (Survival, Resurrection, Determinant, reEmergent and the novella Beginnings); Dark Waltz (A Praestani Novel) Edge of Disaster, Shattered Edge, Kissing Fire, Tragically Flawed, Exquisite Betrayal and Tragic Desires.
A.M. also writes under the name of Emerson St. Clair. Emerson's books include the Dirty Nights novella series.





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Blog Tour Chapter 1 Reveal & Giveaway - I Loved A Rogue by Katharine Ashe

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I Loved A Rogue

Synopsis
In the third in Katharine Ashe's Prince Catchers series, the eldest of three very different sisters must fulfill a prophecy to discover their birthright. But if Eleanor is destined to marry a prince, why can't she resist the scoundrel who seduced her? She can pour tea, manage a household, and sew a modest gown. In short, Eleanor Caulfield is the perfect vicar's daughter. Yet there was a time when she'd risked everything for a black-eyed gypsy who left her brokenhearted. Now he stands before her—dark, virile, and ready to escort her on a journey to find the truth about her heritage. Leaving eleven years ago should have given Taliesin freedom. Instead he's returned to Eleanor, determined to have her all to himself, tempting her with kisses and promising her a passion she's so long denied herself. But if he was infatuated before, he's utterly unprepared for what will happen when Eleanor decides to abandon convention—and truly live . . . Amazon ~ Barnes and Noble ~ iBooks



Chapter 1
The Prodigal Son

Combe Park
Home of the Duke and Duchess of Lycombe
February 1819

“You’re a ghost.”
This comment came at Eleanor Caulfield’s shoulder, quietly. Eleanor ignored it and tried to concentrate on the echoing glory of the pipe organ, whose music filled the chapel.
   “A living human’s cheeks cannot be so pale,” her youngest sister insisted below the hymn. Not whispered. Ravenna didn’t know how to whisper. “Yours are chalk.”
   “They aren’t.” Eleanor did whisper. She’d nearly perfected the art. “Now, hush.” But she lifted a hand to her face. Clad in silk-lined kidskin fastened with tiny buttons fashioned from oyster shells—gloves borrowed from her other sister, Arabella, the Duchess of Lycombe—her fingertips pressed at her cheeks.
   Cold. Like death.
   The death of life as she knew it.
   “Really, Ellie. You look like a princess,” Ravenna stripped off her shawl and covered Eleanor’s shoulders. “But you’ll catch a chill in this frigid sepulcher.”
   The ducal chapel was hardly a sepulcher, rather, a lovely little space of honey-colored limestone and clear windows that allowed the winter sunlight to warm the assembled wedding guests one pale ray at a time. Still, she pulled Ravenna’s shawl over her bosom. With her hair cascading about her shoulders, Ravenna didn’t need it, and everyone always assumed Eleanor did. Thirteen years had not yet erased from her family’s memory the time when every wisp of air stealing through an open door had tipped her closer to death. The inflammation of the lungs she’d taken in her fourteenth year had lingered so long that no one ever thought she would fully recover.
   No one, except one.
   Today her bloodless cheeks had nothing to do with ill health or the February chill. At the foot of the chancel her beloved papa appeared sublimely happy as he wed a woman ideally suited to him.
   Neat and subdued in a modest gown of dove gray cotton, the Reverend Martin Caulfield’s bride lifted a serene face to her groom. Intelligent, interested in theology, moved by his sermons, and honestly pious, the widowed Mrs. Agnes Coyne was the perfect wife for the long-widowed vicar of St. Petroc. The moment she had moved into the village everybody agreed.
   Eleanor rejoiced that her papa would find happiness in marriage again; his first wife had perished even before he discovered her and her sisters in the foundling home. But Agnes’s willingness to assist him with his work and her experience running a gentleman’s household pointed to one damning certainty: Eleanor was now superfluous.
   Her heart beat at too quick a tempo, and so hard it seemed to drown out the hymn rolling from the pipes. Her papa’s newfound happiness did not cause this. That her life was upon the verge of changing dramatically did.
   After years of silence on the issue, Papa had spoken: his eldest daughter should marry. Joy! Happiness! He was to find contentment in wedded bliss, and he wished for her the same blessing.
   Agnes had concurred, compassionately, so that Eleanor could not but love her for it. No woman grown wished to live in another woman’s house, she’d said. “My son admires you quite sincerely,” she added, then with a smile: “How could he not?”
   Now Mr. Frederick Coyne stood behind Papa on the opposite side of the chancel steps, ogling her without subtlety. Subtle ogling wouldn’t have impressed her either. His coat buttons as large as tea plates made her giggle. But his brilliantly orange spotted waistcoat and matching stockings actually turned her stomach. How sensible Agnes had spawned this specimen of ostentatious exuberance, Eleanor couldn’t fathom.
   Frederick waggled his brows, then shifted his eyes to the exit, suggesting . . . what? That she steal off with him for a quick assignation in the middle of their parents’ wedding? Or perhaps he intended for them to elope entirely.
   He’d said as much that morning when he found her alone at breakfast. “ ’Spect you’re at wit’s end now that Mum’s taking over the roost, m’dear. Nothing to do for it but get leg shackled right away. Now, there’s an idea!
Why don’t we skip this dull hash, El, and show the parents how to do it right? Border’s only three or four days’ ride, if the weather holds. What say you?” Perusing her bodice, he’d waggled his brows then too.
   If he looked at her breasts now, in church, she might laugh aloud.
   And there was the trouble of it. Her palms were sticky-cold with nerves but she wanted to laugh.
   She wanted to sing. Not as she sang on Sundays in church, but as loud as the lark that woke her each morning through her bedchamber window with its abandoned song.
   She wanted to dance. Not decorously like she had danced at her sisters’ weddings attended by ladies and lords, but freely, wildly, gloriously, like the Gypsies who camped each winter in St. Petroc danced at the May Day festival.
   She wanted to tear off her bonnet and feel the dangerous joy of wind in her hair and blazing sunshine upon her face while she galloped her horse along the edge of the cliffs. To suck the cold, salty air into her nostrils and fill her hungry lungs.
   Quite simply, she wanted an adventure.
   She had always wanted an adventure. Ever since as a girl she’d first read the books in her papa’s library, curled up in a window seat as the Cornwall winters blustered and batted the windowpanes, she’d made herself the heroine in the tales of knights and dragons and demons. Dreaming, always dreaming, while the world beyond the cozy safety of the vicarage—a world of workhouses and blisters and cruelties and starvation—no longer touched her.
   Now she could have it. Finally, nothing held her back. Not the vicarage, or the needs of the parish, or her papa. Agnes would care for those.
   Nothing stood in her way. Accustomed as she was to quiet, studious restraint, this abrupt freedom to abandon herself to the unknown both terrified and excited Eleanor.
   Frederick adjusted his wide lapels and smiled invasively.
   She should be flattered. Poor vicars’ spinster daughters weren’t often ogled by fashionable young gentlemen, or proposed to, even offhandedly, she suspected. Frederick wasn’t a trial to look at, with that thick swipe of hair over his forehead and hooded eyes. She’d even seen him reading a few of times. She could bear a husband’s fashion excesses if he read good books.
   It was tempting . . .
   His gaze slithered down her bodice.
   Not tempting enough.
   Then again, she’d never been tempted by any man. Not by any man. Only a boy. Young and naĂŻve at the time, she would have left the comfort and safety of the vicarage for him. She would have gone anywhere for him.
   But that was ages ago and didn’t bear recalling, except that he had helped her to learn the inconstancy of the male heart.
   Not her papa’s, though. Papa would never demand that she leave the vicarage. Neither would Agnes. If she remained in St. Petroc, she would settle into a life of their endless kindnesses, and her own pathetic superfluity would choke her to death. She had lived modestly for years. But she had never been a milksop. The one moment in her life when she had been on the cusp of becoming so, a wild Gypsy boy had shown her a much better alternative. An adventure.
   Then he’d broken her heart.
   The medieval tales she loved were full of unexpected pitfalls and disasters, of course. That was to be expected. She could have an adventure now, only different in one crucial detail. An adventure that did not involve a man could be ideal.
   Drawing a slow breath to bank the fledgling excitement that curled through her now, fire licking at kindling, Eleanor turned her eyes away from the happy couple to the chill winter day beyond the chapel window.
   And ceased to breathe entirely.
   A horseman rode up the drive from the house toward the chapel. The great black beast, powerful in neck and legs, thundered forward, its hooves marking the earth upon impact. The rider controlled the animal with ease, his greatcoat flaring out over the horse’s haunches. Eleanor could not see his entire face; his hat brim masked it. But she knew him from the confident grasp of his gloved hands upon the reins and from the manner in which he rode, as though he might command the world from that horse, and could.
   She knew him because every day from September through April for seven years of her young life she had watched him ride. She had memorized him.
   That boy.
   The co-author of the single real adventure of her life.
   Taliesin Wolfe.
   Long ago she had trained her heart to take no notice of anything concerning him, not the infrequent letters he sent to Papa, nor her sisters’ accounts of seeing him in London occasionally. Now that heart betrayed her: it leaped into a gallop faster than his horse’s.
   Beside the chapel he dismounted. A groomsman appeared and took the reins, but the beast swung its head around and bared its teeth, and the groom stumbled back. Taliesin placed his hand upon the thick ebony neck and the animal swiveled its face to him. With horses he had always had a rare magic; a natural wisdom and potent touch, like the wizard of Arthurian legend after whom he had been named: Taliesin the Merlin. This magic still seemed to be his. Lowering its head, the mighty beast went docilely with the groom.
   Alone on the drive, Taliesin stood still for a moment as he removed his gloves, his black hat and dark overcoat making him a roguish shadow against the pale gray day. He seemed entirely out of place and yet perfectly at ease. As always.
   Any moment he would look to the window and see her gaping. She must look away. As he’d always done as a boy, he would sense her attention upon him and he would—
   He didn’t. With the loping grace that had characterized his movements as a youth, he went forward and out of her sight. She’d barely time to register the raucous thud of her heartbeats before the door to the chapel opened and he entered.
   In the building.
   Mere yards away.
   After eleven years.
   The brisk chill of the day seemed to cling to him in the high color upon his cheeks and the tousle of his satiny black hair.
   And the kindling within Eleanor burst into flame. Eleven years of modesty. Eleven years of careful reserve. Eleven years of regretting the only adventure she’d ever had. Now he stood before her again, dark and lean and staggeringly virile. And like a sleeping princess in a fairy tale brought back to life by magic, every morsel of her maidenly body awoke.
   “Tali!” Ravenna exclaimed below the swell of the organ.
   “I told you he would come,” Arabella murmured from her other side.
   She had?
   “Good heavens, Ellie,” Ravenna said in her ear. “Now you look positively fevered. Are you sure you’re well?”
   The music ended on a single, dramatic chord. In the sudden silence the prodigal Gypsy’s boots clunked on the church floor. Eleanor’s papa turned his head around, and his face opened in happiness.
   “In the name of God above,” the priest began, and everybody looked at him. But to Eleanor, even the impact of her papa entering into marital bliss could not now compare to the sudden appearance after so many years of Taliesin Wolfe.
   In the last of several rows of empty pews, he stood imposingly erect, still, and dark, his presence making shadows where none had been before. With a lift of lashes, dark and thick like a starless night, he met her gaze directly. Slowly, the corner of his mouth tilted up. Confusion. Indignation. Anger.
   Heat.
   All tangling together in the pit of her stomach and down to her fingertips. He had always done this to her—turned her insides out and her outsides quivering. Now after years of absence he was doing it again with no more than a mocking semi-smile.
   She refused to succumb. The years had taught her. They had changed her.
   Clearly they had changed him too. All sharp jaw, long limbs, sunken cheeks, and deep eyes as a boy, when he began to grow into his bones he had become an impossibly handsome youth. Watching him at a distance or walking beside him, she had found it difficult not to look too long at him, like a hunger that refused to be satisfied.
   In appearance he was no longer that boy. His taut jaw and too-long hair and the silver rings in his ears were the same, but all else had changed. Fine clothing, broader shoulders, and the hardness in his black eyes marked him as a stranger now. And yet still she could not look away.
   He bowed.
   To her.
   He bowed.
   When had he learned how to bow? When had he thrown off the urchin who teased her and competed with her and made her crazy? When had he become this gentleman? And when had God decided that after a life of maidenly quietude she had sinned so greatly that she deserved to again meet the single person who could make her sin again?

   Her cheeks flowered with pink and fire lit her eyes as she returned his stare as though he’d no business in this place.
   Taliesin had not expected this. He should have. Just as he should have expected the grinding ache in his gut now. Her pull on him.
   Golden, like a summer morning, with a quick glimmer in her eyes. That’s what he had remembered about her, the contrast between her fragile body and strong mind. As a boy, it had enthralled him. Often he’d goaded her only to see her ivory cheeks turn rosy and her golden green eyes flash. Always he’d sought to draw her gaze, to command her attention even if only to scold him for impertinence or arrogance or any of the other sins of which she believed him guilty. He would have done anything then to secure her notice. Anything.
   Now he had merely walked through a door and she gave it to him. Voluntarily, thoroughly. She hadn’t ceased staring since he crossed the threshold. He hadn’t craved the touch of her gaze in years. But, God’s blood, he liked having it now.
   A cool mist of displeasure slipped over her features, rain shrouding a spring garden. She turned her attention to the vicar and his new wife.
   Satisfaction. Already he’d gotten under her skin. She hadn’t changed in that manner. Nor in loveliness. As a girl Eleanor had never been a blatant beauty like Arabella nor naturally vibrant like Ravenna. But she had been graceful and quick-witted and so lovely that for years she had commanded his waking thoughts, and sleeping.
   Not only his thoughts.
   “Before God I declare you husband and wife,” the churchman pronounced to the pair before him. “Go and make fruit of your union.”

   A muffled chuckle from Ravenna—the vicar taking his bride upon his arm but his gaze coming swiftly to the back of the chapel again—applause from everyone—organ pipes exploding into sound—Arabella smiling at him, diamonds around her neck. And Eleanor’s averted profile, pure and perfect, with cheeks abloom like roses.






  Author Bio katharine asheKatharine Ashe is the award-winning author of historical romances that reviewers call “intensely lush” and “sensationally intelligent,” including How to Be a Proper Lady, an Amazon Editors’ Choice for the 10 Best Romances of the Year, and How to Marry a Highlander, a 2014 RITA® Award finalist. She lives in the wonderfully warm southeast with her beloved husband, son, dog and a garden she likes to call romantic rather than unkempt. A professor of History, she writes romance because she thinks modern readers deserve grand adventures and breathtaking sensuality too. Please write to her at PO Box 51702, Durham, NC 27717-1702 or visit www.katharineashe.com https://www.facebook.com/KatharineAsheAuthor
Katharine is givng away two signed sets of I Married A Duke and I Married A Lord

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Cover Reveal - That Time With Sugar by Tess Oliver

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OUAA synopsis
"Sugar, Jules and I had run for our lives. Only our shadows had followed us. And no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't outpace them."
All-around bad boy, and twenty-five-year-old heir to the Jameson fortune, Tommy Jameson, knows three things: - His family is disappointed in him. - Overcoming his addictions won't necessarily crush his vices. - He is wildly in love with Sugar Scarborough, a girl who is dealing with her own addictions and an insatiable need to please. Danger sends Tommy, Sugar and their friend, Julian Fitzpatrick, a heavily medicated, socially dysfunctional genius, fleeing from Green Willow Recovery Center. Now, together, they will face the outside world and uncover a horrifying mystery while being forced to confront their inner demons
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** READ THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS OF THAT TIME WITH SUGAR HERE **
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Tess Oliver is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of Freefall. She is a former teacher, who now dedicates her morning caffeine rush to writing romance instead of teaching math and reading. Tess lives in California, the land of perpetual sunshine and traffic, with her husband, kids and five dogs. She is a longtime romance junkie, who likes her hero to be an alpha with a twist of compassion and if he has long hair and rides a horse or a motorcycle all the better. She writes young adult, new adult and adult romance in both contemporary and historical settings. When she’s not reading or writing romance, she can be found hiking, vacuuming up dog hair or baking goodies for her family.
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Release Blitz & Giveaway - An Author's Tale by Ellie Keys

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Synopsis: 
Not everyone that dreams is dreaming good dreams. Being a romance author doesn’t always allow for the positive. Stephanie Daniels finds herself in a place that she never thought that she'd be. Everything was going her way. She had things all lined up. At least it had been until she'd gone away to a New York book signing. Meeting Daniel White, cover model extraordinaire, would have been the greatest thing had the events that followed the meeting NOT happened. If she were writing her own story, then she would just kill herself off. It would put her out of her misery and probably solve a lot of her problems. Life just had to get better, didn't it?

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 The Author 


 Ellie Keys is a Mystery/Thriller and Romance author. The more diabolical the read the better. One of her pet peeves is being able to guess the ending before she gets there. She also enjoys reading all things romance, whether it's paranormal, mythological, mystery or contemporary doesn't matter. Her favorite things to do are mostly centered around books. Other pastimes are going to the movies, playing around on social media and she's addicted to word games: Scrabble, Text Twist, Wheel of Fortune. Cookie Jam and Bubble Witch have commandeered her free time lately. Ellie Keys is from Michigan and a graduate of Central Michigan University with a degree in psychology. This degree allows her acknowledge that she may be a little bit off because of all of the talk about hearing voices that don't allow her to sleep. The good thing about that is she is in good company. She was happy to learn that she wasn't alone when she talked to other authors. 

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Follow her here: 
http://authorelliekeys.wix.com/novelist

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Blog Tour & Giveaway - Ensnared (The Life of Anna #4) By Marissa Honeycutt




Title: Ensnared

                                                    Series: (The Life of Anna #4) 

Author:  


                                               Goodreads



Everything Anna cared about is lost; the only thing left is Devin. She gives him all of herself, but even that seems too little.
As Anna realizes the truth of her Master's desire, she must decide what it is that she truly wants.

There is a subculture within our own world that you’ve only heard whispers of. The conspiracy theorists wish they knew Anna’s story. What the conspiracy theorists think they know is only disinformation, put out there to keep them from the real story.


***NOTE***
This is not a stand-alone novel. This is the fourth of five novels that tell Anna’s story.


***WARNING***
This book is for grownups. This book is not for people who are easily offended, get nightmares easily, or have difficulty reading books about tough subjects. I do not glorify bad things, but bad things do happen to my poor characters. This is not your typical love story. My heroine does not fall in love and live happily ever after... at least not like the typical heroine. There is a happily ever after, but it is a long, painful journey to that end.
This book will likely offend you. This book might make you cry; it might make you throw up. It is a dark book. As my friend, Heidi, said, “It’s dark. It gets darker. It gets even darker, and then it gets even more darker. And then, just when you think it can’t get any darker, it does.”
But, don’t worry. I take you to the deep end gradually. ;)
There are many sexual situations in this series of books. People die. People get hurt. Things aren’t always truly the way they appear. The antagonist isn’t just a bad guy; he’s EVIL. My heroine’s worldview is skewed; things that may appall you are perfectly normal to her.
Any violence in this book is non-gratuitous and crucial to the plot and character development.
Do not read this if you are under the age of consent in your country. Do not get angry if the subject or actual book upsets you. If you're reading this, you've been warned.


Chapter One


(Two Years Later)
Anna felt herself rising to a stark and brutal level of consciousness, only dimly aware that she lay flat on her back in her own bed at the Manor.
With lucidity came a dull, aching pain that grew with each breath she drew.
Devin had taken Anna’s baby. A child conceived out of love with Alex. The last vestige of Alex she had clung to. And Devin took it. Again.
Again?
No. It couldn’t be Alex’s baby. Alex was dead. He’d been dead for so long...she didn’t know how long. He was dead. But then why did Devin say it was Alex’s baby and get her so upset?
Anna felt the fog of confusion smothering her mind. She was always confused these days. Some days Devin said Alex was alive. Other days, Devin said Alex was dead. Why did he confuse her? It was hard enough keeping hold of reality as it was. But when Devin bothered to speak to her, it got even more confusing.
Focus, Anna. Her inner voice sounded as weak as she felt, but she tried to comply, vaguely remembering back to a time when she could focus, when she was much stronger than she was now.
They’d just returned home from another Spring Gathering—her third, she thought. She’d been pregnant before they left. She was not pregnant now. Devin had told her before they left that it was Alex’s baby, and she’d believed him. She’d fought tooth and nail to keep him from taking it, but now it just seemed foolish. Alex had been dead for a long, long time.
Alex! The pain in her heart began again. She ran to the bathroom and tore open her relief cabinet of drugs.
It was empty.
“No!” she cried. “No!” She’d been a good girl. She’d done everything Devin had asked her to do. Why was he withholding her relief?
She ran to her bedroom door and pounded on it, screaming Devin’s name. She didn’t care if he came to punish her. She just needed him to come. Screaming his name always made him come. And it made him mad.
But no one came. She pounded on the door until her fists were bruised and bleeding, and still no one came.
Devin always came when she screamed. Why not this time?
She curled up in a ball on her bed and sobbed. Where was everybody? She’d been a good girl. She’d tried very hard to be obedient. Why was he punishing her? What had she done wrong?
The only time Devin required her to be coherent was during the Spring Gatherings, and even then she wasn’t completely coherent. He didn’t take her to the Summer Gatherings anymore. He said she didn’t need to be there, so she stayed home and got high. He didn’t really need her at all, except for one thing: a baby in the spring. Anna didn’t understand why.
She didn’t remember much of the last two years, except avoiding thoughts of Alex. She hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone since she’d come home from Germany. Except Wilhelm. He came out every few months and visited with her. She didn’t like it when he came. He reminded her too much of Alex.
But when he left, she felt so lonely.
The drugs were seeping out of her system now and she couldn’t avoid thinking about Alex. She missed him. So much it hurt to breathe.
She looked at her right hand. Devin had made her take off her diamond rings, but made her wear her right hand wedding band. Every time she looked at it, pain stabbed her heart. She tried to take it off one time and Devin got so angry. It didn’t make any sense. Why would Devin want her to remember her dead husband?
Her hand was swollen from pounding on the door and it made the ring tight. Normally it was too loose; she’d lost a lot of weight over the last two years. She didn’t even like to look in the mirror now.
Tommy had been astonished when he saw her last week at the Gathering. She recalled the shock on his face and his concerned exclamation: “You’ve gotten so thin! I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Anna had protested. She appreciated his concern, but she was fine.
Anna had been astounded to see Aaron at the Gathering. She couldn’t make herself speak to him, but saw him and Tommy talking a lot. Travis was there as well and the three of them seemed inseparable.
Life had changed a lot in the last two years. She rarely left her room, was rarely called upon to perform any sexual duties. Men just didn’t seem interested in her body without the curves; but Anna didn’t mind. Ian stayed with her several nights a week and that was all she needed. Devin only spent the night with her once in a while. If she’d been sober enough to care, she would have been hurt.
The door opened and she flipped over to see Maggie enter carrying a tray.
“Maggie!” she cried. “Where’s Devin?”
Maggie gave her a sympathetic look. “Master said that he would come see you after you ate.”
“Why is my cabinet empty?” Anna demanded.
Maggie’s eyes widened and she flinched at Anna’s sudden, mercurial demeanor. “Master said to take everything out while you were gone. I don’t know, Mistress.”
“I’m not hungry,” Anna huffed. If she couldn’t have her drugs, then she wouldn’t eat.
“Master said he wouldn’t come see you if you didn’t eat,” Maggie said quietly.
Anna narrowed her eyes at the tray of food. “Fine.”
She got up on shaky legs and walked to the table and began eating. Maggie left the room after watching her for a minute and Anna was left alone.
It was too quiet. She looked around for the remote for the TV and saw it on the nightstand. Anna sighed. She couldn’t reach it and didn’t have the energy to get up and get it. Maybe after she ate.















Other books in the series:
The Life of Anna, Part 1: Enslaved (FREE)


Anna's entire life was scripted out before she was born by Devin Andersen, a man who doesn't have her best interests in mind. She is to be a tool in his hands to gain ultimate power in the USA. No, not as the President, but as the man who controls the President.
Raised by an extremely abusive guardian, Anna was molded into the perfect sex slave for Devin's use. Devin will use Anna's unique gifts to control everyone around him and eventually take her gifts for himself.
When Devin took her for himself at the age of twelve, she had a vision of a man. A man who Devin was very interested in. But why? Why would Devin care about a little girl's dreams?

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The Life of Anna, Part 2: Entwined




Anna has two masters, one she hardly knows, but who makes her feel safe, the other she's known all her life and says he needs her.
Alex wants her to be free.
Devin demands her obedience.
As Anna takes her first steps into the world, into love, into friendship, she wonders if she will ever understand either of them.

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The Life of Anna, Part 3: Embraced



Devin has achieved his goal of becoming Chairman and all seems peaceful...until Devin performs an act of cruelty that pushes Anna to fight back for the first time in her life. Meanwhile, Alex is working hard to give her something that Devin can never take away.
As her Masters work around her, Anna must navigate a life she never wanted.


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Marissa's story of Anna began with a dream about being kidnapped with Adam Savage from Mythbusters (Yes, really). Over the next year and a half, it morphed into the story that is now known as "The Life of Anna." She has several other stories in progress, one of which is based on her kidnapped dream.

When she's not writing or editing, Marissa is taking care of two young boys, training to be an astronaut, running her household, wrestling with gorillas, playing around on Facebook, promoting whirled peas, and busting her tush for her accounting degree. She enjoys chocolate, air conditioning in the desert's summer heat, really good strawberry margaritas, sleeping, and shopping.


Author Goodreads Page   ~ Twitter: @marihoneycutt ~  Facebook Author Page






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