Friday 1 July 2016

PRE-ORDER BLITZ : CARNAL WHISPERS MIND STALKER by Reilly Garrett




Title: Carnal Whispers: Mind Stalker
Series: Carnal #3
Author: Reily Garrett
Genre: Erotic Romantic Suspense / BDSM & Paranormal Elements
Release Date: July 11, 2016



Blurb

To delve into another’s mind is to revel in the depths of truth, cringe in the face of past and imagined horrors, and suffer their dreams, all while searching for balance and serenity.

Daniele is a mysterious, gentle, and loyal young woman harboring knowledge capable of destroying millions. Thumbing her nose at fate, she hides in plain sight while concealing her extraordinary talent, enduring isolation despite her fantasies of a normal life.

Marc, owner of the BDSM club, Ambrosia, is determined to protect the elusive beauty stalked by a psychopathic killer. Hidden underneath her vulnerability, he senses a courage and determination forged from horrific circumstances. While adapting unique scenes to free her from fear and low self-esteem, he strives to stay one step ahead of a branch of the government answering to no one.

Each must rely on the other to survive a world where betrayal and deception, desire and trust, weave a fabric that threatens their sanity.






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Excerpt

“No. I'm afraid you just missed her, but I can schedule you for Monday morning if that's all right.” Though handsome, his blatant interest didn't stir the heart-fluttering, chaotic beat associated with Marc’s presence.

“Sure, darlin’. What time is good for you?” Leaning over the bi-level counter allowed him visual access to her organized space. “Ah…I see you read erotic romance. I have a sister that writes for a large, New York publisher.”

Oh hell. Her fingers couldn't move fast enough to hide the book's cover, a leather-clad man handcuffing his naked woman’s upper arms behind her back in front of a spanking bench. In her haste to hide the cover, she inadvertently skid the book off the counter, landing several feet to Marc’s side. Where else would it land?

His swift reflexes resulted in scooping up the offending material. After a quick glance at the cover, his head tilted back and forth, as if judging the merits of the scene depicted and finding it lacking in some specific way. Something inside her dictated he’d return the book—for a price.

Fiery heat blazed up her neck to engulf her face, becoming an inferno worthy of a three-alarm fire. His shaking shoulders did nothing for her composure. Yeah, and he owns the BDSM club thirty miles away.

“How about Monday morning at ten-thirty. Uh, your name, sir?” After fumbling the appointment card twice, she placed it on the counter and grabbed the nearby pen. Panic became a palpable pressure in her chest. Perspiration dotted her forehead and spine between her shoulder blades.

“Clayton Hutson and that sounds great, darlin’. I'll see you then…unless you'd let me take you to dinner tonight.”

“Sorry, Mr. Hutson, I’m busy tonight.” I think I’ll just call you slick.

“Well, how about lunch tomorrow?”

Something in his distinct and intense scrutiny now scared her shitless, a foreboding she hadn’t endured for three years. The prickling along her nape and arms never happened randomly. Blood drained from her face to leave her shaken at the sight of his rough hands on the counter, calloused hands that could wield a garrote with expertise. Could he be the serial killer responsible for the recent murders?

The fact he stood before her, overshadowing and transmitting such bad vibes ensured she wouldn't feel safe for a long time, even if he just saw her as a sexual conquest.

Under normal circumstances, discerning someone's goals amounted to a simple exercise, whether honest or nefarious, but Marc's overwhelming effect on her mindset obliterated her ability to pick up slick's intentions.

A suggestive throat clearing transferred her attention back to Marc, whose demeanor revealed no evidence of his earlier carefree banter. “No, Hutson. She's with me.” His expression lost all signs of levity as he crowded closer to her workspace, edging the other man out. “I'll pick you up at ten a.m., Dani. Okay?” Darius's combination whine-growl elicited a like response in the other dog. Each shepherd’s attunement to his master’s emotions came as no surprise.

Hutson’s face broadcast a tangle of warning signs she’d label aggressive if expressed in canine form, non-blinking, direct eye contact, dilated pupils, hardened jaw, and a predator’s grin.

Her well-planned intentions evaporated like seawater meeting magma, the haze forming smothered the intricate workings of her mind. At this point, mangled words were a useless commodity. She merely nodded.

“Right then. Have a good day, Mr. Hutson.” Marc's conspicuous dismissal earned him a groan and insincere apology.

“Sorry, man. Didn't know she was taken. It’s not as if she's wearing a ring or collar. Nice dog by the way. I watched him track in his first trial. Good nose in bad weather and difficult cover.” His calculating gaze bore into Marc as if gauging the likelihood of winning a dirty, no-holds-barred fight; his shark’s grin hid nothing.

Hutson’s departure allowed Dani to draw a slow lungful of toxin-purging air. “Thank you, Marc. He made me a bit nervous for some reason.”

“Welcome. Any time. He kicked my sixth sense into overdrive, too. You all right? You turned white as a sheet. Do you know him from somewhere?” Darius whined and chuffed, pulling on his leash until Marc let go. “What's up, boy? You never misbehave…”

Barreling around the counter to rub against her thigh, Darius’ chest rumbled when Dani buried her face in the long hair at his neck. “Aw, sweetie. It's all right. You're such a good boy.” His fur smelled of oatmeal and vanilla shampoo, the same she used with dog baths in the office. “I’ve never seen that guy before, but he gave me the creeps.”

“We'll hang around until you leave.” More a command than offer, his statement, along with his expression, brooked no argument.

“Thanks. Something about him…” The soft fur against her cheek imbued a soothing calm, unattainable through any other means.

“Yeah, me too. Anyway, about tomorrow, give me your address and I'll pick you up.”

“Oh. I thought you just said that to get me off the hook with Hutson. You really don't need to bother.” Miles of blood vessels conveyed scorching, liquid heat blazing a trail up her neck and across her face. Intervention via reality proved to be a bitch. She stood no chance holding her own with this man turned demi-god.

“No trouble at all. That way I can check and make sure you’re all right.”

“How 'bout I meet you there.” The less information she gave a man like this, the better. Dangerous in his own way, Marc Crofton embodied thoughts of lust, dreams of bondage, large wooden X’s, and unspeakable toys wringing out mind-blowing sensations. Like any man would want a girl like me.

“Ahh…I look forward to earning your trust. Perhaps after a day at the trials, you'd join me for dinner.” He didn’t just set the book down on her workspace, no, he had to make a meal of it, placing it conspicuously then patting the cover.

“Oh, I-I don't eat dinner. Well, um, I eat dinner but not on weekends. No. Actually, I don't go out on weekends…Well, I go out….” Any minute, tears of humiliation would stain her cheeks. “I don't date.” Crap, just shoot me now.

“That’s fine. I'm not ready for a date, either. Good thing we cleared that up. We'll just grab a bite to eat. I'd hate to keep you out all day and return you home tired and hungry, very bad manners.” The look in his gaze spoke of insatiable appetites, steamy, erotic, raw nights filled with breathless screams and creative, salacious undertakings. Carnal whispers filtered through her mind, encouraged by her rich imagination and curious nature to form a solid wall of longing buffeted by her long-suffering, low self-esteem.




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Author Bio


Reily’s employment as an ICU nurse, private investigator, and work in the military police has given her countless experiences in a host of different environments to add a real world feel to her fiction.

Though her kids are her life, writing is Reily’s life after. The one enjoyed…after the kids are in bed or after they’re in school and the house is quiet. This is the time she kicks back with laptop and lapdog to give her imagination free rein.

In life, hobbies can come and go according to our physical abilities, but you can always enjoy a good book. Life isn’t perfect, but our imaginations can be. Relax, whether it’s in front of a fire or in your own personal dungeon. Take pleasure in a mental pause as you root for your favorite hero/heroine and bask in their accomplishments, then share your opinions of them over a coffee with your best friend (even if he’s four legged). Life is short. Cherish your time.


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GIVEAWAY


BLOG TOUR : ON THE EDGE by K.C. Stewart

 On The Edge
Adironack Pack Series #3
by K.C. Stewart
Publication Date: June 27, 2016
Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Lee had screwed up and now she was paying the price. With few friends left, she clung to the one person who had never let her down, Vince. Unfortunately, he didn’t know who she was either. Lee had hidden herself within a game they both played but three years of friendship online was not enough anymore for Vince. He wanted to meet her, to know the true name of the woman who had become his best friend. Canidea’s fight hits close to home and Vince gets caught in the crossfire. With everyone focused on the enemy, will they even think to look for him in the least likely of places? Lee’s carefully balanced secrets come crashing down around her as her wolf fights for control. Vince is the only one she can rely on to save her from her worst possible self, but who will save him? Lee plight is of her own making. Can she find the redemption she requires or is forgiveness just too far out of reach?
Amazon UK - https://goo.gl/XKphgr
Amazon CA - https://goo.gl/K3qbm8
Over The Line (Adironack Pack #0.5)
Amazon US | UK | CA 
Too Far Gone (Adironack Pack #1)
Amazon US | UK | CA  COMING SOON - PRE-ORDER NOW
In Pursuit (Adironack Pack #1.5)
Amazon US | UK | CA 
Fault Lines (Adironack Pack #2)
Amazon US | UK | CA 
COMING SOON - OCTOBER 2016 Unleashed (Adironack Pack #2.5)
K.C. Stewart is the self published author of the Hailey Holloway series and most recently, the Adirondack Pack series. All her life she had fantasized and day dreamed on a regular basis but it wasn’t until she began writing flash fiction and that she made those fantasies a reality. Now she has graduated to novels but still dabbles in the occasional flash fiction and short story. Because of her love for reading and the written word, K.C. is currently continuing her education at Clarion University for Library Science. When she isn’t taking photographs, studying or writing, she is supporting a very real gummy bear habit. Currently, she lives with her boyfriend, german shepherd and cats in central Pennsylvania.
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COVER REVEAL : BREAKING THE MOLD by Martine Lewis

RELEASE BLITZ : CLEAT CATCHER by Celia Aaron and Sloan Howell


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What happens when an unrepentant Cleat Chaser meets the player of her dreams?

Nikki Graves has a history of going through the baseball roster with an eye for talent--the kind of talent that keeps things spicy between the sheets. But, once she meets Braden Bradford, catcher for the Ravens, her talent scout days are done. He's the one.

Braden has never met a woman like Nikki, and he can't get enough of her smart mouth and big heart. But life isn't always as direct and certain as the connection between Braden and Nikki. When family objections and career trajectories begin to crowd the plate, will Braden be able to keep his catch of a lifetime?











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I shot back against the cushion, doing my best to act normal. Nik pushed the door open. “Hey, babe. I was waiting for my dessert course.” I made a show of scrubbing my hand across my mouth and face like I was clearing her a space.
“I’m good.” Her tone was flat, and she didn’t even look at me.
What the hell?
Her usual spark was gone. She sauntered over to the side table, and dropped her keys and bag on it.
I glanced down at the laptop screen full of porn. Fuck! I’d been researching some new shit to try out with her, but there was no way she’d believe me. My gaze drifted to the mouse way up under the table. There was no chance I could get to it without giving away my knee situation.
Using my good leg, I tried to gently kick the computer screen closed, and, of course, it only opened wider.
“Have you moved from the couch all night? Did you even shower?” She sighed, still facing the wall like she had no interest in looking at me.
“What’s wrong, babe? What happened?” My mind raced. A lot could have occurred at Estate de CuntMuffin that would set her off. I’d been worried the whole time she was gone.
“I’m fine.” She turned around, and I watched her eyes dart straight to the computer screen. Her brows pinched together and her hands went to her hips.
Fuck me. This won’t be good.
“Nice, Braden. Real fucking nice.”
“It’s not what you think. I don’t look at porn.” I stared in the other direction and mumbled. “Often.”
“Your fingers slip and accidentally type in ‘fuckmedaddy.com?’” She scowled and began to pace back and forth.
I’d expected her to be upset about the porn, but not this much. I was halfway hoping she’d want to look at it with me. “No. I was trying to find new stuff to try out on you. If you must know.”
Her lips curled like she might smile, and then they mashed back into a thin line.
So close.
“Have they said if you’re going to be traded or not?” She took another step toward me, ignoring all of the pussy acrobatics flashing on the laptop.
“No.” I tilted my head to my lap and ground my teeth while I tried to compose myself. I’d been trying to forget about that shit all day, but the pain in my knee kept it front and center in my mind.
She made a pfft sound and threw her arms in the air.
“Babe, I’m sorry. I know I’m supposed to have a clue what you’re upset about. I just don’t.”
A million things rocketed through my mind at once and brought my entire thought process to a crashing halt. My brain buffered slower than the inverted cowgirl pussy nomming scene I’d attempted to watch earlier.
Nik scowled, and then folded her arms across her chest. She stared me down like a closer in the ninth inning. “Think really really hard about the problem we have.”
My eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. “Uhh, your parents?” I glanced back and tried to judge her reaction.
She made a loud sound like a buzzer that startled me.
“Fucking hell. I mean, umm, me being traded?” I held my hands up and shrugged.
“Warmer.” She took another step toward me.
I hated this fucking guessing game. Why couldn’t she just say it? Heat rushed into my face, and my body tensed.
“Can you just tell me? Please. Stop fucking around with me.” I smacked my hand against the back of the sofa, and Nik jumped.
“Maybe my parents were right. Maybe you do have anger issues.” She stomped off a few steps and whipped back around. “Easton!
“Take that shit back. You know I don’t. Maybe your goddamn family just brings it out of everyone. Maybe you’re more like your mo—” I froze stiff on the couch, and my eyes bugged out. I held up my hands. “I stopped myself. You heard me. I did not say it.”
It was too late. I thought my head was going to explode the way Nik glowered in my direction. Her hands were squeezed into fists at her sides, and I could see all the whites of her knuckles. She started toward me like a possessed demon. “Did you say what I think you said?”
Do not answer, Braden. That shit is rhetorical. Adapt and survive.
I shook my head quickly and braced myself in case she resorted to physical violence.










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Celia Aaron

Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.

Author Links


Sloane Howell

Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.

Visit his web page www.sloanehowell.com to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.

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EXCERPT REVEAL : BLOOD TO DUST by L.J. Shen




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Coming July 18th


Add to your Goodreads shelf now.



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His name is Beat, and I should hate him.

Bound, blindfolded and bruised, I'm tied in his basement, waiting for the men who stripped me from clothes and humanity to collect his debt to them. Me.

His name is Nate and I should hate him, but I don't.

I'm not supposed to know his real name, even worse, I'm not supposed to care. He is nothing to me but means to an end. The plan is simple: break free, collect the pieces of my broken soul, kill the bastards and run away.

His name is Nathaniel Thomas Vela, and I've never seen his face, though I hear that it's beautiful.

Behind the rugged and handsome exterior, there's a quiet murderer, a killer who thinks guns are for pussies and ends people with his bare hands.

His name doesn't matter, neither does his face, but what does matter is my heart. And right now, sadly, it's his.

Blood to Dust is a standalone, full-length novel. It contains graphic violence and adult situations some may find offensive.























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I wolf down my dinner before he grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs. He stalks closely behind, and even though it’s taking me forever to climb up the narrow staircase, he keeps his grunt-count to a respectable minimum.
Leading me to the bathroom by the arm, he throws the door open and we both gait into the tiny room. Still blindfolded, I feel the cold sink stabbing at my lower back, but the warmth of his proximity keeps me from shivering.
“I need my privacy.” I lick my lips, feeling him everywhere. Not only is Beat physically big, he is also somewhat of a human furnace. I swear he radiates enough heat to photosynthesize a whole forest. I guess it’s good, because I always know when he’s around. But also bad, because why would it matter? It’s not like I can fight him in any way.
“Dream on, Country Club.” Another grunt.
“Please.” My voice breaks. Usually, I’m counting on my caramel blonde hair and big Disney-animal eyes—which he unfortunately can’t see right now—to get me out of trouble. I have a feeling this guy is harder to crack. “Just lock me in and stand on guard outside. What can I do? Arm myself with a bar of soap? Try and break free through the sink’s hole?”
Is he going to buy it?
Is he sensitive?
Is he hard-nosed?
Maybe he’s both. He’s got some serious codes going on—no beating women, no manhandling your victim, yet he essentially agreed to lock me in here. Then there’s his tone and body language. Peaceful. Like he hasn’t got a care in the world, which couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve known him for a few short hours and I’m already privy to the fact that he was an inmate in San Dimas, has killed, owes Godfrey a favor and has the Aryan Brotherhood on his tail.
“Be warned”—his peachy breath tickles my nose—“when people are bad to me, I’m worse. Don’t tempt my demons.”
Beat takes off my blindfold, but he’s not as thoughtless as to show me his face. His black tee is pulled over his head, revealing a tattooed six-pack. Even his fingertips are full of blues and blacks. Yet, one side of his body is completely ink-free. Massive, menacing…and as much as I hate to admit it, attractive.
Sweet Statute of Liberty, if I need to screw one of them in the name of freedom, please let it be him and not the chunky tattooist.
Beat can still see me through the fabric of his shirt, but before I get the chance to make out his face, he dashes out of the bathroom and locks the door from the outside with a key.
“You’ve got fifteen minutes to do everything. Pee, shit, shower, get dressed. Starting now.”
I don’t argue or waste a second. I jump into the shower and pee as the stream of gurgling water splashes over my body. My bladder is burning with release, and so are the blistering fresh wounds Seb decorated me with. Slowly, I’m starting to feel a little better, think a little clearer.
The water is hot and violent against my strained muscles. There’s only one bar of soap—I’m pretty sure Beat and Ink are sharing it (I’m guessing they’re roomies by the two worn-out towels on the rack). Not very sanitary, but hygiene is a luxury I cannot afford right now.
I scrub my body and keep the water running as I try to pry open the overhead rust-stained window next to the showerhead. I stand on my toes, peeking outside, blinking away disbelief as the sight in front of me registers. A teenager with a beanie zig-zags his way on a bike in the middle of the road, the electric wires above his head tangled with shoelaces and sneakers. Beyond the sight of shotgun houses, wilting porches and the echoes of desperate, barking dogs…a Taco Bell.
Taco Bell!
I recognize the branch. I’m in Stockton. Whose streets I know, whose crack heads I studied, whose language of hardship and adversity I speak fluently.
I study my surroundings. The house I’m trapped in is a simple one-story, and the house right in front of it is probably an identical bungalow. It looks deserted, so yelling will get me nowhere other than on Beat and Ink’s shit list.
But I’m guessing by the sound of traffic and the location of the fast food restaurant that we’re close to El Dorado, one of Stockton’s main streets.
Knowing where I am will work in my favor when I run away.
And I will run away. One way or the other. With or without Beat’s help.
I always land on my feet.
I broke free from Callum, Godfrey and Sebastian. Getting rid of these two should be a walk in the park.
Beat’s fist slams against the door three times, then unlocks the door from the outside.
“Yo, Silver Spoon. Your time’s up.”
“Just one second,” I call, turning off the faucet and stepping outside. I reach for one of the manly dark towels and cover myself up as I squat down to pick up my gray dress.
Hold on a minute.
Manly…Dark…Towels.
They might have a shaving razor. Holy hell, they might have a weapon in here.
I start flinging drawers open, still wrapped in a towel, desperately trying to find something to injure Beat with. I don’t even care if he hears. Give me a razor and I will dice this 6’5 Goliath to pieces the size of Barbacoa. Talent can be outworked and rage can outweigh size. That’s the motto I live by.
Beat bangs on the door again, and it wails on its hinges.
“Hey…you,” he grunts. He doesn’t even know my name. “If you make me open this door myself, you’ll be fucking sorry.”
I ignore him. He can’t rape or harm me. Godfrey made that clear. Honestly? I’m not scared of him that much. He’s been nothing but compassionate to me so far, in his own, angry, Stockton way. Damn it, though. They have absolutely nothing in these drawers. Empty, empty, empty. What’s wrong with these men? Do they not live here, or did they think about this scenario beforehand? Probably the latter. I’m just about to turn around and pick up my dress when the door swings open and Guy Fawkes’s face greets me again, bat-shit crazy galore. The drawers are all open. I threw most of their contents on the floor in my desperate search for a weapon.
This is not looking good for me.
This man is going to kill me…and for once in my life, I don’t feel like putting up a fight anymore.










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L.J. Shen is a best-selling author of Contemporary Romance novels. She lives in Northern California with her husband, young son and chubby cat.

She enjoys the simple things in life, like chocolate, wine, reading, HBO, spending time with her girlfriends and internet-stalking Chris Hemsworth. She reads between three to five books a week and firmly believes Crocs shoes and mullets should be outlawed.


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