Wednesday 30 March 2016

Title: Above Protection (Imperfect Heroes #1)
Author: C.J. Pinard
Release Date: March 30, 2016
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He's bearded, angry, highly trained, and has a job to do.
She's the damsel in distress who's smarter than she looks, and doesn't want anyone's help.
Could it be they both need something neither will admit to? Fate fueled by the laws of attraction may just decide for them.

DUKE
I didn’t ask for this. I was just doing my job, and they have the nerve to put me on a Witness Protection detail? This is crap. I’ll do my assignment, then go back to my job and what I love – kicking ass and taking names. I hadn’t spent 6 years in the Marine Corps to be put on babysitting duty once I’d joined the FBI. The witness they assigned me to, Rayanne, is an annoying, brainless blonde with a sassy mouth and a body that belongs on a website you have to pay to access. Not that I noticed or anything.

RAYANNE
I can look after myself. I don’t need anyone’s help, and the government is being ridiculous for putting me in the Witness Protection Program. I'll testify against my former bosses and then go back to my life as a single girl in the big city. I love my career as a paralegal, and once this Neanderthal they’d assigned to babysit me is out of my life, I'll go back to it. I just wish he wasn’t so easy on the eyes. The beard, hard body, and that voice. Why couldn’t they have sent me someone ugly – and nice? Because Duke is neither of those things.

ABOVE PROTECTION is book 1 in the Imperfect Heroes Series.  For readers 18+.
From the corner of my eye, I watched Duke leave the kitchen. After I’d put the meat and sauce into a skillet and stirred it, I added the spices. The water began to boil, so I opened the box and pulled out a handful of stiff spaghetti. I broke it over the sink into thirds, then dumped it into the boiling water, adding a few shakes of salt.
I glanced once again at the doorway to the kitchen and saw Duke was long gone. Biting my lip, I reached up into the cabinet and moved the remaining spices aside. I grinned as my fingers wrapped around the bottle of Jim Beam. Chancing a glance once again at the kitchen entryway, I looked back down at the bottle. I slowly twisted off the metal lid and carefully brought the bottle up to my nose and inhaled – which was quickly followed up by a cough.
Whew, that’s potent stuff! Shouldn’t take more than a shot or two to relax me. This guy, this cabin, this whole entire bizarre situation had me on edge. I just needed a little something to take that edge off.
I searched the cabinets but did not find any shot glasses. I poured a small measure into a beveled green glass that looked like it belonged in the 70s. I stared at the amber liquid for a long time before working up the nerve to take a sip.
A sip! my subconscious teased me. Just shoot it, you wuss.
Lifting my shoulder in a shrug, I tossed back the glass, wincing as the bourbon burned its way down my throat, warming my belly. I slammed the glass on the counter and had to ball up my fist to keep from letting out a whoop at the wonderful burn.
The sizzle of the skillet captured my attention, and I stirred the sauce mixture again, turning down the heat as it was beginning to splatter on the outdated yellow gas cooktop – and me.
The whole damn kitchen was outdated. It looked like my grandmother’s growing up. Yellow and brown linoleum floors, sparkly yellow and silver countertops, mustard-colored appliances. I giggled at the absurdity of this kitchen, hell, this whole cabin, and then hiccupped. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I shook my head at my silliness. Yet, I really wanted another shot of that bourbon.
Just one more.
“Just one more,” I said out loud.
Glancing again toward the kitchen entryway and seeing no Duke, I poured another small amount and quickly shot it back, enjoying the burn.
Smiling, I looked at the boiling noodles, realizing I hadn’t set a timer and now had no idea how long they’d been in the water for. The sauce was most certainly done.
Hiccup.
Cheese! I need cheese. I always make cheesy spaghetti. I get compliments on my cheesy spaghetti!
Opening the fridge door, I stared for a good, long minute, trying to remember why I’d opened the fridge. Then I spotted the bag of already-grated cheese.
“Well, thank the lawrd for pre-grated cheese,” I said, okay I think I slurred, in the most exaggerated Southern accent ever. I already had a slight one, or so I’d been told, but now I just flat-out sounded like my grand-mama from Mobile, Alabama. Bless her heart.
Hiccup.
I set the cheese on the counter and poured more bourbon into the ugly-ass green glass. Was this glass or plastic? I tapped my fingernail against it. Glass. I think. Cool. I grinned.
I slammed the liquid back and quickly placed the glass in the sink. No more. I need to stop.
The water continued to boil. Since I was already practically in her kitchen, I remembered Granny’s advice about spaghetti. So with a shrug, I used the spoon to carefully remove a noodle. I inspected it close up, then, with all my might, I chucked it against the wall behind the stove. It did stick, and I smiled in victory. My pasta was good and cooked.
I turned off the burners to both. As I was about to begin to look for a colander to drain the pasta, a voice made me jump.
“What are you doing?”
Blinking in surprise, I cocked my head to the side and smiled. “Cooking.”
“Why are you throwing pasta?” Duke asked, standing at the entryway to the kitchen looking way too delicious.
“Um?” What was I gonna say? Wait, what was the question?
Fuuuuck it. I’ll just ignore him. I picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the sauce. Wait, what was I doing? I need to drain the pasta. Did this kitchen even have a colander?
I didn’t know, so I just stirred the sauce some more. Suddenly, a warm hand gripped my arm, then spun me around. I was met with stormy blue eyes.
I giggled. “Hi, Cowboy.”
He narrowed those beautiful eyes at me. The dark lashes framing them were just too much. “I asked you a question.”
Furrowing my eyebrows, I said, “What was the question?”
I noticed the wooden spoon was still in my hand and was dripping sauce all over the floor. As if in slow motion, I looked at the drips, then the spoon, and without thinking, I brought it up to my mouth. My tongue snaked out and licked the sauce, from the base to the tip of the spoon while I stared unblinking at Duke, waiting for him to tell me what his question had been.
“Holy fuck,” I heard him whisper, his eyes now fixated on my mouth.
I was suddenly acutely aware of how his hard chest was almost pressed against mine. While one hand still held the spoon, the other reached up. My fingertips grazed his rock-hard pec under his T-shirt. My eyes flicked back up to his.
Before I could register what was happening, his mouth crashed down onto mine, his right arm snaking around my waist and then down to my ass, grabbing it with his strong hands, pushing my body into his.
Wait.
Duke was kissing me. What the hell? He’s not supposed to kiss me! He’s a jerk. I don’t like him. I bit his lip – hard. He pulled himself away from me, his thumb grazing his bottom lip.
“You bit me!” he said, incredulous.
“You kissed me!” I replied, as if I had to remind him.
He stared at me dumbfounded for a few seconds, then said, “You were licking… you were ignoring me when I asked… you were giggling… oh, my God. What the hell is that?”
He reached around me and picked up my bottle of bourbon, holding it up. “Where did you get this, Blondie?”
I shrugged and giggled.
Hiccup.
“My spaghetti’s burning,” was all I said.
Turning my back on him once again I began to rummage through the cabinets for something to drain the pasta in. I grinned as I located a colander and placed it in the sink. Before I could pick up the heavy pot of water and noodles, Duke spun me around and pinned me against the countertop. This time, he pressed his hard body into mine, while shoving the booze bottle into my face.
“Where. Did. You. Get. This?” he asked.
Jerking a thumb behind me at the cabinet in which I was now pressed against, I said with a grin, “In there. You want some?”
It didn’t go unnoticed by me that he was pressing a very hard member of his body against my belly. I kinda liked it though, and began to wonder what he was working with under those jeans.
He sighed and pushed off of me, scrubbing a hand over his beard and storming out of the kitchen with my bottle of contraband in his hand.
I'm a California girl living in land-locked Colorado. Lover of red wine, wearer of fabulous shoes, and a die-hard Niner fan, I'm also an editor at heart. I've written over a dozen books and short stories that contain both contemporary/new adult and paranormal romance that are a little bit badass, a little heart-wrenching, and sorta funny (to me, anyway). Almost all my books usually contain law enforcement or military undertones, since strong, brave, alpha men and women are my weaknesses. When I'm not writing, I can be found working at a very strange day job, which may or may not have some mild influences on my gripping stories - so strange, in fact, I think I'll write a book about it one day.

I'm also a proud member of the Romance Writers of America (RWA).



Title: EXRATED
Author: Stevie J. Cole
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 2, 2016



Blurb

Tyler Westbrook, better known as Johnny Depth, is taking the adult film industry by storm. With his playboy looks, it’s no surprise a few coworkers have attempted to take things off set and into the bedroom, but Tyler refuses to blur the lines between work and play…until the new assistant to the director walks in.

Jemma Morgan was recently fired from a lead role on a kid’s TV show that was supposed to be her big break. Unable to get another acting gig, she's accepted a job in an industry she never expected to be a part of. Although she anticipates being shocked her first few days on set, nothing could prepare her for the moment she's asked to hold the reflector as her ex-boyfriend plows through a woman like a Kansas cornfield.


In a world of butt-plugs, lube, and fake moans, is there a place for a second chance? Exes and some serious ohs…the term ex-rated just took on a whole new meaning.





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Stevie J. Cole is a secret rock star. Sex, drugs and, oh wait, no, just sex. She’s a whore for a British accent and has an unhealthy obsession with Russell Brand. She and LP plan to elope in Vegas and breed the world’s most epic child.



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Tuesday 29 March 2016

Title: Soldier’s Heart (Wounded Love #2)
Author: Megan Green
Release Date: March 29, 2016
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Isaiah Wright is broken. So broken he's positive he'll never be fixed again. Surviving every soldier's worst nightmare is enough for him to want nothing more than to give into the blackness that plagues him.
Emma Nicholls knows pain. Four years after the devastating loss of her fiancé, she's set up her own business providing service dogs to veterans in an attempt to put her own life back together.
Circumstance brings Isaiah into her life, but neither are prepared for the fire that burns between them. It's immediate, one broken soul finding solace in another, but it's also... terrifying.
His soldier's heart is surrounded by walls ten feet high. But maybe, just maybe, Emma and her brood of trainee service dogs can break through and be the light he so desperately needs.
“Just through here,” I say confidently.
“Are you sure, Wright? I have a bad feeling about this place. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Trust me. We’ve been watching this area for weeks. The men we’re looking for are on the other side of this wall.”
My men line up, preparing to enter the room.
I lift my hand.
On my count.
One.
Two.
I kick open the door, falling back as I let my men charge into the room.
Everything happens so fast.
A shout in Arabic.
A gunshot.
A clamor of English.
An explosion.
***
I jerk from my bed, my arms raising in a defensive position as I take in the room around me. It’s pitch black, the only semblance of light coming from the digital alarm clock glowing in the corner. By its faint light, I’m able to make out my bed. The chair in the corner covered in yesterday’s clothes. My dresser. I’m in my bedroom. I’m home.
I repeat the words over and over to myself, but they do nothing to calm my frayed nerves. My heart races, my breathing ragged. I feel as if I’m going to crawl right out of my skin. I bring my trembling hand to my face, wiping my sweat-soaked brow.
I sit on the edge of my bed, tucking my head between my knees and taking several deep breaths, like my therapist suggested for when these moments occur. And like every other time this has happened, cowering and deep breathing does jack shit. I stomp out of my bedroom, heading for the medicine cabinet in the hall bathroom. I fling open the cabinet door, grabbing for the pills she gave me for when the breathing exercises don’t work. Fuck breathing exercises. I don’t believe for a minute that shit works for anyone.
I swallow two of the pills, not bothering with water, before placing the bottle back on the shelf and swinging the mirrored door shut. I stare at my reflection. I look like shit. My eyes are bloodshot, the dark circles surrounding them deepening every day. The pallor of my normally copper skin is shocking, even to my own eyes. I splash some water on my face, rubbing at my tired, aching eyes.
My thoughts return to my dream. The same one I’ve had every night for the past six months. I hear the voices. The sound of gunfire. I see the flash of the grenade exploding.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, grabbing the pills again and swallowing three more, this time with a small sip of water from the sink. It’s more than Beth wants me to take. But I need some fucking sleep. I need some fucking silence. I need some fucking oblivion.
I stagger out to the couch, feeling the rush of calm already settling over me. I honestly don’t know why I don’t take these damn pills all the time. They’re so much fucking better than the alternative. I collapse on the couch, pulling a blanket around me before allowing the sweet serenity of sleep to take over.
Megan lives in Northern Utah with her handsome hubby, Adam. When not writing, chances are you’ll find her curled up with her Kindle. Besides reading and writing, she loves movies, animals, chocolate, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. She loves hearing from readers, so drop her a line!
Title: Palm South University: Season Two Episode Four
Author: Kandi Steiner
Release Date: March 29, 2016
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Drama. Lies. Sex.

Welcome to Palm South University.

The weather isn’t the only thing heating up in South Florida. At a school where fraternities and sororities don’t exactly play by the rules, relationships are bound to be tested. Parties and sex are definitely key ingredients in the Palm South recipe, but what happens when family issues, secret lives, and unrequited love get tossed in the mix?

Follow Cassie, Bear, Jess, Skyler, Erin, Ashlei, and Adam as they tackle college at a small, private beach town university. Written in television drama form, each episode of this serial will pull you deeper and deeper into the world of PSU.

Where the sun is hot and the clothes are scarce, anything can happen. 
You can also grab the Season One Box Set today!
Tweet as you read using #PalmSouth and join the Facebook Discussion Group here.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, my forehead to hers. She nods, concern still written in her features as I kiss her again. It’s so strange seeing Bo this way, so nervous and unsure. She’s the confident one in the bedroom — commanding, strong. As Alex’s hand snakes its way into my hair and he pulls my mouth from Bo’s to his own, I wonder if he’ll be taking the captain’s chair tonight.
My heart hammers beneath my ribcage as I taste him, new and exotic. Bo’s lips trail down my neck to my cleavage as she palms the space between my thighs. Moaning into Alex’s mouth at the touch, he pops the button on his jeans without breaking our kiss. I hear his zipper next, and then his shorts are on the floor. He kicks them away, just as Bo pulls me from him, her hand tugging at my tank top. I lift my arms and she rips it up and over, tossing it to the side before making quick work of my bra.
It’s almost too much. We’re all hands and mouths — stripping, kissing, touching, stripping more. Somewhere along the way we find the stairs, which lead up to a master bedroom Alex is clearly occupying. The four post bed is built with dark wood and lined with deep red accents that match the comforter Bo and I slide onto easily, feeling the cool fabric against our skin. Alex makes his way between us, propping himself up against the headboard and taking each of us by the waist as we kiss over him.
Bo’s breaths are still shaky, her arms trembling as she holds herself steady on the bed. We’re leaning over Alex, our tongues tangled, while he slowly strokes himself and watches. I massage her tongue with mine, each kiss an attempt to bring her energy back to mine. Just when I have her there, Alex’s hand moves from my waist to behind my thigh. It hovers there for just a moment before I feel his fingers penetrate me, and from Bo’s reaction, his other hand is doing the same to her.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers between our kisses. I pull back, panting at the feel of Alex’s fingers inside me and how turned on I am by Bo’s kisses.
“You don’t have to do anything to him. Or vice versa. Just focus on me.”
With that, I break contact from Alex and pull Bo with me, rolling over until I’m on my back and Bo’s straddling me. I love the way the skin stretches across her petite hips as she rubs against me, building a friction that will drive her to the edge. Alex takes my cue, moving between my legs and spreading my thighs open to him as I maneuver Bo up my body. When her knees are on either side of my head, I slide my hands down her neck, her arms, until I lace my hands in hers. Placing them on the headboard above us, I curl her fingers, locking them in place.
“Hold on tight,” I whisper, licking my lips.
Kandi Steiner is a Creative Writing and Advertising/Public Relations graduate from the University of Central Florida living in Tampa with her husband. Kandi works full time as a social media specialist, but also works part time as a Zumba fitness instructor and blackjack dealer.

Kandi started writing back in the 4th grade after reading the first Harry Potter installment. In 6th grade, she wrote and edited her own newspaper and distributed to her classmates. Eventually, the principal caught on and the newspaper was quickly halted, though Kandi tried fighting for her “freedom of press.” She took particular interest in writing romance after college, as she has always been a die hard hopeless romantic (like most girls brought up on Disney movies).

When Kandi isn’t working or writing, you can find her reading books of all kinds, talking with her extremely vocal cat, and spending time with her friends and family. She enjoys beach days, movie marathons, live music, craft beer and sweet wine – not necessarily in that order.
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Everlie Harmon was brought up to be a trophy wife, but instead of settling down and starting a family like she was told—she let her love of ballet take her all the way to the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas. She teaches ballet to underprivileged children to pay the bills while auditioning relentlessly for her chance of having her name in the bright Vegas lights.
Despite her booked schedule, her roommate Tori convinces her to go out on a blind date, and Everlie finds herself tangled up with the irresistibly intense Navy SEAL, Ryker Knight.
After spending years ping-ponging around the world and leading the charge in top secret missions, Ryker is stateside and just when he starts itching for his heart pounding life in the battlefield, he meets Everlie. Her appearance in his life makes him question everything he ever thought he'd wanted.
Ryker's past catches up to him all too quickly, throwing Everlie into a complicated web of secrets and lies. Will Ryker be able to show her the truth and win her trust before it's too late? Or will Everlie decide the sexy SEAL’s secret endeavors are too complex and throw it all away before they even get a chance to start?
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KB Winters
KB Winters is the author of the brand new Billionaire Romance Series, Plush. She has an addiction to caffeine and hard-bodied alpha males. The men in her books are very sexy, protective and sometimes bossy, her ladies are...well...bossier!
Living in sunny Southern California, this hopeless romantic writes every chance she gets!
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Evie Monroe
Evie Monroe also lives in Southern California and when KB asked her to co-author her next books, Evie was ecstatic! Together, they’ve penned their first collaboration, Temporary Assignment, and have other exciting titles on the way!
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