All of Me by Lisa Renee Jones is the highly anticipated final conclusion to the best-selling The Inside Out Series. To celebrate the February 2nd release, Lisa has allowed her readers a two day sneak peek!
Day Two - Read today's playfully sexy excerpt and enter to win prizes including an ipad & $100 gift card! Good Luck and Enjoy! Excerpt #2 Entering the kitchen, I find Chris leaning on the marble countertop by the coffeepot, shirtless and in his pajama bottoms, the long strands of his blond hair a wild, sexy mess I’m pretty sure I created last night.
He glances up from the paper he’s reading, then picks up his coffee cup. “Morning, Ms. McMillan.”
“Morning, Mr. Merit,” I reply, grinning as I join him.
He offers me his coffee cup and I happily accept it, taking a drink of the perfectly flavored coffee and creamer. Sharing a cup with Chris has this sexy, intimate feel to it that always does funny things to my belly.
“Your last day as a free woman,” he comments.
“Why? Are you planning to tie me up sometime soon?”
He covers my hands on his cup. “Is that an objection, or wishful thinking?” He tilts the cup and drinks, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I plead the Fifth. It’s more fun that way.”
“That it is,” he agrees, but a sigh follows. “I wish I could do the same, but you’d better look at the newspaper.” He sets the cup on the counter, then hands me the Arts section of the local paper.
Dread fills me as I read the headline: “Acclaimed Artist and Philanthropist Chris Merit to wed Sara McMillan on Valentine’s Day in Star-studded Event in Sonoma.” I set it down. “We went to so much trouble to get the press off our backs before the wedding, and now they’ve found us! I knew when all these famous people showed up on the guest list, it was going to turn into a zoo.”
“Walker Security anticipated the press, and they’re staffed and ready for it. It’ll be fine. We’ll be shielded.”
Nerves the size of birds, not butterflies, attack my stomach.
“We should have eloped.”
“We still can. Let’s do it. Now. Today.”
“We can’t elope,” I say, sounding appalled, as if he’d suggested it, not me. “People who respect you are coming a long way to see us. And Katie has planned this for months.”
“Baby, we can do whatever we want. This is our day.”
“No. We can’t. Not this far into this. Which reminds me— you can’t stay here tonight. It’s bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding.”
“I told you how I feel about that. We make our own luck.”
“Chris—”
He kisses me. “I’m staying here tonight, and I’m fucking you like I won’t see you ever again, just to be sure you walk down that aisle.”
“If you’re waiting for me at the end of that aisle, I’ll be there. And if you’re staying here tonight, we can use separate bedrooms.”
“Does today count as part of that eve-of-the-wedding rule?”
“Yes.”
He scoops me up and I yelp. “What are you doing?”
“I’m a renegade, baby. Let’s go break the rules.” Excerpt #1 We say a quick goodbye, and to my shock, the instant I push the “end” button, Chris pulls the 911 to the shoulder of the road, puts it in park and turns to me. “Talk to me. What just happened?”
You stopped to ask me what happened?”
“Yes. I stopped to ask what happened. Now, tell me.”
My lashes lower a moment as I savor just how good this man is to me. I curl my fingers on my cheek. “Thank you for stopping, but really, there was nothing worthy of concern. Let’s go to the chateau.”
“After you tell me what happened,” he orders, but the tenderness lacing the stubborn determination of his tone wins me over, as does his sincerity. He really cares and I am truly not alone anymore.
“When Katie wanted to know if there was anyone on my side of the family to coordinate with, it hit a nerve. I started worrying about Ella, and thinking about my father, who I don’t want to come to our wedding. I truly don’t, yet somehow, the very fact that I don’t gives him the power to twist me in knots.”
Chris nods. “As did my father to me, no matter how much of a bastard he became. Sometimes I think the worse he treated me, the more I wanted to win back his affection.”
I’d seen glimpses of these feelings before now, but this is the first time he’s spoken them aloud. “Maybe it’s some inborn need to feel close to a parent?”
“That’s the only conclusion I could come to when I couldn’t let him go. I still can’t. He’s always with me, making sure I stay just a little more fucked up.”
“If you’re fucked up, it’s all kinds of right, Chris Merit. That charity work Tristan talked about? You don’t just throw money at it. You give pieces of your soul to those kids and their families. You make a difference and I’ll be honored to help you do it.”
He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingers. “Let’s elope. Anyplace you want to go. Say the word and as far as I’m concerned we’ll go tomorrow.”
“What? No. We decided on Katie and Mike’s place together. And my ring isn’t even done.”
“This isn’t about a ring. Or Katie and Mike, or anyone else. It’s about us and I don’t want you worried about your father or the guest list. You know I’m not big on attention anyway.”
I lace my fingers with his. “You’re trying to protect me and I appreciate that, but I want to get married under those hanging rose your mother inspired Katie to plant.”
“Don’t do this for me, baby. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s all I need.”
“It’s for us. You know my father is just a hot button for me. I’ll get by it. And truth be told, I’m a little raw over Amber, too. That night here in Paris when I went to the club I had this sense I needed to save her. I shouldn’t have listened to that feeling.”
“Don’t do that to yourself. You barely knew her.”
“Yet, on some level I felt her screaming for help. But I second-guessed myself and thought it was Rebecca and Ella influencing my feelings.”
“You were a lot of the reason I pushed to get Amber help, Sara. It was just too little too late. That’s on me, not you.”
“No-”
“Yes,” he says, stroking the hair out of my eyes, his hand staying at the back of my head. “Now here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to leave this all right here and I’m going to drive us the fifteen minutes we have left to get to the chateau, where we’re going to fuck like rabbits. Then, we’re going to eat and fuck some more. After we sleep, we’ll set some rules with Katie about the wedding so you won’t worry about it and then we’ll fuck some more. And since I had the caretaker that lives in the house behind the chateau stock enough food to last us a week, we can stay in bed for days on end. Any objections so far?”
I smile and not just at his words, but at his rapid shift from dark Chris, to playful, sexy Chris. “And if I do?”
He, leans closer to me, his breath on my ear. “I’ll just tie you to the bed.”
Yes. Please. My list of objections begins to form.
Book Summary & Pre-order Link
Releasing February 2nd Passion. Mystery. It all collides in the breathtaking conclusion to the New York Times bestselling Inside Out series, ALL OF ME.
He's rich and famous, his past dark, but so is hers. Can they save each other? Or will the darkness tear them apart?
The Inside Out Series Reading Order BELONG TO YOU (bk 5) is ON SALE Today ONLY (1/8) for $1.99!
If you're new to the INSIDE OUT series please stay tuned to Lisa's Facebook page as she will be publishing an INSIDE OUT booklet with the first few chapters of IF I WERE YOU for FREE along with series exclusives (playlists, teasers, behind the book stories, etc).
Meet the author New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT SERIES, and is now in development by Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland, Austin Powers, Must Love Dogs) for cable TV. In addition, her Tall, Dark and Deadly series and The Secret Life of Amy Bensen series, both spent several months on a combination of the NY Times and USA Today lists.
Since beginning her publishing career in 2007, Lisa has published more than 40 books translated around the world. Booklist says that Jones suspense truly sizzles with an energy similar to FBI tales with a paranormal twist by Julie Garwood or Suzanne Brockmann.
Prior to publishing, Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by Dallas Women Magazine. In 1998 LRJ was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.
Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at www.lisareneejones.com and she is active on Twitter and Facebook daily.
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GIVEAWAY
Out in Time is LIVE!
Meet Wade & Heath in an excerpt and enter to win a $25 Gift Card Excerpt “Dare,” Wade ventured.
“Nope, my turn. Dare,” Heath demanded. “I dare you to show me something embarrassing. Something stupid you do that no one knows about.”
Wade thought for a moment. He didn’t do anything stupid. Well, he didn’t think he did. “Like what?”
“Hmm … well, you can’t use this against me later, but something stupid I do is dance around in my room. Wearing just my underwear.”
“A lot of people do that. That’s not stupid.”
“To One Direction?” Heath added with a wry grin.
Wade burst out laughing. “Uh, maybe not.”
“Shut up. They’re fun. Makes me feel good.”
A lock of that soft, brown hair fell across Heath’s forehead, and Wade longed to brush it away. “See, that makes it not stupid.”
“You’re deflecting. This is your dare. Not mine. Whatcha got?”
He thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “I have to show you? Can’t tell you?”
“That’s what makes it a dare.”
“’K.” Wade heaved his large frame from his comfy spot and moved to the space between the beds. Heath sat up quickly and spun around, sitting Indian-style with a huge grin on his face. “I don’t want to disappoint you. It’s not all that impressive.”
“Go on, quarterback. Show me what no one else has ever seen,” he taunted.
“Fine. I’m too buzzed for this to be graceful. Just remember that.”
“Do your worst.” Heath lifted his glass, toasting Wade before slamming back another shot.
Wade turned and faced the nightstand that divided the room. At least he wouldn’t have to look into Heath’s face as he did this. He took a deep breath and released it slowly as he bent at the waist and dropped his arms to the floor to support his upper body. He let his feet slide back and his head dangle before rotating it side to side between his arms, slipping into what had become second nature for him over the years. “Downward dog,” he announced. Wade stared at his feet for a moment before breathing deeply again, bringing up his head, dropping his hips and forearms, and rising onto the tips of his toes. “Plank.” He started to feel a little weirded out since Heath hadn’t made a peep. So, he moved quickly by dropping the rest of his body to the floor but arching his spine and neck toward the ceiling. “Cobra.”
“I can’t believe you do yoga. That’s fucking awesome. Show me some more,” Heath finally encouraged. Wade could hear the awe in his voice, so despite how ridiculous he probably looked, he found himself complying. He did a couple more poses on the floor before moving into a standing position.
Then, he did his favorite. He figured out why that was long ago. It made him feel graceful, at a time in his life when his size made him anything but. He balanced himself on one leg and brought the other up to rest one foot on the inside of his thigh. Now, he was facing Heath, so he grinned a little at the wide-eyed look he was giving him. Finally, he brought his arms over his head much like a ballerina would do but kept moving his hands until his fingers locked together. He opened his mouth to speak, the self-deprecating comment that had sprung to mind died on his tongue, though, as Heath launched himself at Wade.
Before he could move to defend himself from the incoming fingers, Heath wedged them into his ribs and wiggled them hard. Wade’s breath whooshed out of him, and he lost his balance, throwing his arms around Heath to catch himself from falling. Instead of steadying him, Heath’s momentum sent them both toppling backward onto the other bed.
Wade grunted when Heath’s elbow came down to hit him in the stomach. He tried to laugh at their suddenly awkward position, but it ended up coming out like a bark. Heath didn’t stop tickling him, so instead of letting him go, he squeezed his arms tighter around Heath. Heath’s entire body rested against his—their chests, their stomachs, their hips, their—oh, lord, help him—their crotches, even Heath’s toes stretched out on top of Wade’s bare feet.
Heath finally exhausted all his laughter and relinquished the torturous tickling, although he made no move to extract himself from Wade. He finally looked up at him, and his eyes practically glittered with mischief. “I’m sorry,” he laughed. “I couldn’t resist.”
“You don’t look sorry,” Wade mock-complained.
“You’re right. That was a lie.” Heath grinned, and his eyes darted to Wade’s lips.
“Dare me,” Wade blurted before he could doubt himself any further.
Heath gave a nervous laugh before asking, “Dare you to what?”
“Dare me to kiss you.”
Heath’s green eyes widened and shot back up to Wade’s before tightening at the corners. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I know you want me to,” Wade boasted before swallowing hard. “More than that—I want to.”
All rights reserved. Copyright Grey Cole 2015.
Book Summary & Purchase Link
stand-alone A closeted football star. An out and proud photographer. And a road trip.
Wade Truman had grown accustomed to admiring Heath Taylor from afar. Now, years of denying himself and the irresistible Heath are wreaking havoc on Wade’s resolve. The odds are stacked against them … they’re graduating college soon. Wade just signed a multimillion dollar football deal—thrusting him even further into the spotlight. Not to mention, what would the gorgeously refined Heath want with a small town jock boy like himself anyway?
Heath grew up privileged, accepted, and out. And the two hells he swore he would never put himself through—crushing on a straight guy and being anyone’s dirty little secret—have presented themselves in one sweet talkin’, dream hauntin’ package. One weekend with Wade, and Heath’s sure the devil himself has come a-knockin’.
Warning: Contains Southern accents wielded like weapons of desire, a snarky, do-gooder Pennsylvanian, and two boys deserving of true love.
Teasers
(click on pic for full view) Meet the author Grey Cole always dreamt of a book that featured hot male-on-male action that grew to encompass one lucky woman. Okay … maybe Grey really dreamt of this scenario playing out in real life and then decided to purge all those dirty thoughts onto the page.
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GIVEAWAY
 We're thrilled to reveal the cover and an exclusive excerpt for Three, Two, One by JA Huss, scheduled for release on January 28th... after reading the blurb and excerpt, we'll be stalking JA for this one because it sounds amazing! Meet Ark, JD and Blue in an excerpt that gave us chills and enter to win a MEGA prize pack: Signed paperback of Three, Two, One, 321 Tote, 321 Mug, and fan group keychain.
ARK
As soon as I step out onto the terrace, JD stops what he’s doing and shoots me… a look. “What’s up?” he asks with a smile.
I ignore him and walk to the other side of the girl and bend down in front of her. Her head is lolling to one side, that’s how out of it she is. “What’s your name?” I ask her.
She straightens her chin and shrugs off JD’s hand on her shoulder. “Fuck you,” she spits. “I just want my money.” Her words come out slurred and her head drops down towards her chest.
“Well,” I say back, looking over at JD for his thoughts. He shakes his head at me. That shake says, Don’t get involved. But I want to be involved. I very much want to be involved. “I’ll just call you blue-eyes, then. How’s that?”
“You can call me whatever—“
I lean in and grab her face, holding her hard with one hand. My fingers wrapped along her jaw and my thumb pushing into her cheek. “Do you want your money or not?”
She slaps my hand away and tries to get up, but her legs buckle underneath her again and she falls into JD like dead weight.
“Jesus, Ark. Just go back to the camera and let me handle this.”
“Fuck that,” I say back, my eyes never leaving the girl. “I want in on this one.”
“What?”
I look over at him, logging his surprise, but not caring much.
“Why?”
“Why not,” I say back, settling down next to him, my back against the clear wall that separates us from the Denver city streets, eight floors below. “Is she even conscious, JD? Look and see.”
He leans down to try and see her face through the curtain of long hair and the drooping slope of her neck. “Fuck, I don’t know.”
I reach for her hand and she’s suddenly all arms and legs as she tries to push me off. “Get away,” she growls. “Get off me. If you try and take my money—“
“Quiet,” I snap back, grabbing her face again and forcing her face close to my mouth. She’s panting from the small fight, and the hair, cascading over her lips, puffs out with each labored breath. “You’re on something. We don’t film girls on drugs. So we’re gonna have to cut this short. You can take your two hundred and go.”
I start to get back up to my feet, but her small hand darts out and grabs my wrist. “Wait.” She pushes her hair out of her eyes with her other hand, and tries to look me straight on. She doesn’t entirely succeed. “Wait, please. I’m not a druggie. I swear. I’m not. They shot me up with something last night. They got me high and I don’t know what happened next. I just…”
Her words trail off and I look over at JD. “This is bad news. You know that, right? She’s not good for anything. We’ve got no contract, we’ve got no test, and there’s no way we can sell anything we film here. Why bother?”
JD opens his mouth to say something, but the girl beats him to it. “Just, please. One more chance. I’ll sign anything you want. I’m not underage. I’m not on drugs. I just got caught up in something bigger than me. I just need money to get home.”
“Ark,” JD says. He takes a deep breath. “Maybe we can’t use her for business, but we can make some good memories trying.” he laughs a little and that smile he’s famous for breaks through. “Right?”
The girl turns to him now, realizing she’s her ticket to the promised money. “Please.” She places her palm flat against his cheek. “Please, JD.”
The fact that she knows his name is what does it, I think. Because he shoots me a look that says, It’s all good. And then he slips a hand up her thigh, grabs her leg, and hikes it over his, spreading her halfway open for his pleasure.
 One Girl.
Two Friends.
Three Soulmates.
ONE GIRL
Battered, barefoot, and huddled under a bookstore awning, trying to stay out of the pouring rain, Blue only knows one thing. After fifteen months of captivity, finally… she is free.
TWO FRIENDS
Self-made millionaires, JD and Ark, are not out to save anyone when they stumble upon the wet and shivering girl one early Sunday morning. But when you sell sex for a living and salvation is ringing your bell… you answer the call.
THREE SOULMATES
After years of searching, love lifts the veil of darkness, and three people—with three very big secrets—find themselves bound together in a relationship that defies the odds.
Or does it?
Love. Lust. Sex.
The trinity might be perfection… but not everything should come in 3’s.
Giveaway: Win a Signed Copy of
Three, Two, One and SWAG!
 We're honored to spotlight Wild and Free by Kristen Ashley - Book 3 and the final novel of the stand-alone The Three series.
We've been anxiously awaiting Wild and Free for two years and it did not disappoint! KA fans will rejoice in another sexy, exciting and suspenseful love story, except in this case, the hot alpha is a badass, panty-melting werewolf vampire. ;)
Check out a Wild and Free fun & scorching hot excerpt from one of our and KA's favorite scenes and enter a blog tour giveaway with series ebook set and SWAG. Enjoy and good luck.
Note: If you haven't read this series, take advantage of the huge sale. Until the Sun Falls from the Sky and With Everything I Am are only $0.99 each for limited time.
“I’m a monster, Lilah.”
“What?” I whispered.
“I’m a werewolf vampire. I exist on human blood. I can tear a man’s head off and I have. I’m a monster.”
“You—”
“I am,” he stated flatly. “And the first chance I’ve had in all my years to understand why I am as I am is to go to that fuckin’ hotel.”
I stared at him, then straightened my body so I was fully facing him. This caused his jaw to get hard again, but I ignored that and stated, “Okay, let’s break this down.”
“Nothin’ to break down.”
“Humor me,” I snapped, his head jerked, and his lips curved up.
“Carry on,” he muttered.
“Thanks,” I bit out. “First, how many men’s heads have you torn off?”
“Four, and two wolves.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“These being the night we met,” I stated.
“Yeah,” he repeated.
“The night some of them were trying to kill me and the others were trying to kill you.”
To that he said nothing.
I kept going, “So you haven’t torn off unsuspecting citizens’ heads willy-nilly, for the fuck of it, or on a psychotic rampage?”
He pressed his lips together and I knew it was to hide his humor because his eyes lit with it before he unpressed them to say, “No.”
“Right,” I said sharply. “Have you ever had a psychotic rampage?”
He shook his head.
“So let’s get to the human blood part,” I suggested. “When you were,” I paused, “drawing from one of your ex-bitches, did you ever kill one of them?”
“Fuck no.”
“Take too much and make them sick?”
“No.”
“Do it against anyone’s will?”
His eyes went guarded, but he said, “No.”
I threw up a hand. “Okay, so what’s the problem?”
He blinked, straightening in his chair, but again said nothing.
“I mean, seriously,” I went on, “I’ve seen lots of vampire movies and TV shows and even the good vamps screw up and overindulge. Hell, Jessica killed three fairies in a ravenous attack. She might have had her issues as a young vampire, but by that time, she was full-on good.”
His brows shot together. “Fairies?”
“Fairies.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
I threw up both hands and cried in exasperation, “True Blood!”
“Jesus, Lilah,” he muttered.
“No, seriously, Jessica is very sweet.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he growled, sounding like he was losing patience, which I didn’t figure was a good thing.
“Okay, back on track,” I began. “Tell me. Tell me one instance in your life where you actually behaved like a monster.”
“I wanna fuck you,” he snarled.
I stared.
“Yeah,” he ground out. “I wanna fuck you, Delilah. Consumed with the need and I have no idea why, but I can guess, seein’ as it’s like you’re a bitch in heat, I’m a dog that catches the scent and his mind is wiped…wiped of anything…but the need to mount you and”—he leaned forward—“rut.”
“Holy fuck,” I breathed.
“Yeah,” he said again. “That make you feel safe?”
“Abel—”
“I can smell your fear.”
I swallowed.
“It turns me on,” he kept going. “Makes me wanna tear into your throat and fuck you and feed from you. Now, does that make you feel safe?”
“No,” I whispered, because it really fucking didn’t.
“Right. No,” he bit off. “So I’m not a monster?”
The Three Series & Purchase Links
(Although each book are stand-alones, it is recommended you read in order. Books 1 and 2 are only $0.99 each) "My whole life, searchin' for something, missing something,
something I did not know. Until I found you.
And my whole life is a long fuckin' life to be needing something I could not find."
- Wild and Free by Kristen Ashley Author Bio: Meet the Fabulous Kristen Ashley I was born a middle class white child in Gary, Indiana, USA. One of the last of a dying breed. I nearly killed my mother and myself making it into the world, seeing as I had the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck (already attempting to accessorize and I hadn’t taken my first breath!). Mom says they took me away, put her back in her room, she looked out the window, and Gary was on fire (Dr. King had been assassinated four days before). She remembered thinking it was the end of the world. Quite the dramatic beginning. Nothing’s changed. All I’ve ever wanted to do was write (well, and be the Queen of the World, but you gotta start small) and I’ve published a gazillion books and counting (and a gazillion is a lot! shoo!).You can learn about my titles that have been released or that are soon to be released in the Titles section of the website. Even though I jump genres, there is always a theme to my books…humor (hopefully), engaging characters (again, hopefully) and romance (definitely). My loves are movies, music, food and fashion and I partake of all of them as often as I can (the middle two more than the others, the former, which takes time I don’t often have and the latter, which takes money I rarely have). In fact, I love food so much, I like to share my good fortune so I put my recipes on offer for you on this page (see top menu and don't miss them, they're awesome!). I grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana and have lived in Denver, Colorado and the West Country of England. Thus I'm blessed to have friends and family around the globe. My family was (is) loopy (to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write and growing up it was large and multi-generational. We all lived together on a very small farm in a small farm town in the heartland. I grew up with Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO Speedwagon and Whitesnake (and the wardrobes that matched). Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music, clothes and love was a good way to grow up. And as I keep growing up, it keeps getting better. So here I am, thank goodness.
Stalk Kristen Ashley: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | TRSoR Page
Blog Tour Giveaway: Win ebook sets of
The Three series & SWAG
Work of Art by Ruth Clampett is ON SALE for ONLY $0.99! To celebrate this fantastic sale, we have an excerpt and a chance to win your very own copy of this amazing read (3 Winners)! “Okay,” I say to Max unsteadily as we lean into the printing press.
“We start with the ink.” I take his right hand and place it over mine,
take the stick and gently stir the paint in the can.
The violet swirls, and I lift the wet stick and drip it across the screen.
I try to focus but his touch and the heat from his body permeate my senses.
Next, I pick up the squeegee, and we complete the motion of dragging the paint across the printing screen. But it’s awkward with his hand on only one side of the squeegee.
As I lift the screen, he steps around and removes the print and reloads silently.
When he returns, he steps directly behind me, and since he’s taller and larger than me,
he curls around me and reaches everything easily.
He slides both of his hands on top of mine.
I can hardly breathe I’m so electrified. Swirl, lift, stroke…
His breath is hot against my neck.
We grip the squeegee, slide, pause, drag back with more force, lift.
I close my eyes so I can focus on his scent and the feeling of his arms wrapped around me.
He pauses before he steps away to switch the paper.
When he returns, he steps even closer so that when we extend ourselves across the print,
he presses against me.
I gasp. All I can focus on is his arousal pressing against me.
I’ve never wanted anyone this much.
By the third pass on the printing press, I’m trembling, and when he presses against me,
I press my ass back into him, imagining him inside of me.
“Ava,” he moans.
As much as I want to turn around and face him, I don’t want to
stop. I don’t want this moment to end.
“Again,” he groans.
This time, as I slide the squeegee up, he lets go, slides his hands up my arms and trails them down my sides. All the while, his lower body is firmly pressed against me.
I could cry it feels so good to have him touch me in ways I never thought he would.
I slowly grind my ass against him. His hands move down to my hips,
and his fingers grasp my curves, pulling me closer.
I’m surprised he has the focus to change the paper,
but he doesn’t reach around to help me with the screen this time.
Instead, his hands return to my hips as our bodies press together, and he run his hands
down the sides of my thighs and back up. He slips his hands under my tank,
moving up my sides, across my ribs, and just skimming the edge of my bra.
My nipples harden, aching for his touch, and my breaths are quick and short.
I drop my head and moan, “Max.”
“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers, pressing his lips in my hair at the nape of my neck.
He steps away again and replaces the paper quickly.
“Again, Ava, for me.”
He brushes his cheek softly above my ear and presses into me a little harder.
I try to concentrate on the trail of violet left from my stroke, but as I push up, his hands part.
One slides down over my jeans, between my legs, and presses firmly against my sex.
I drop the squeegee and grab the edge of the table,
just as his other hand snakes under my shirt and pulls my bra down to cup my naked breast.
My breath catches in my throat as I revel in every sensation.
His fingers gently tease my nipple, and he kisses the side of my neck up to my ear.
I moan as the room spins, and I try to make sense of what’s happening as I come undone.
The room is hazy with the softest highlights and shadows. I wonder if this is a dream.
 In a life driven by passion, famed artist Maxfield Caswell lives in a world of brilliant color and drama, pushing his art and affairs to his emotional edge. He’s stunning, charismatic and celebrated in the art world, but are the trappings of fame also destroying him?
For years intelligent and bright-eyed Ava Jacobs has worked diligently toward a career in the art world. Ava is swept off her feet when she meets the passionate artist. She soon realizes, however, that he’s on a destructive path—one she doesn’t intend to join him on.
In the decadent world of patrons, art groupies, and predators, feisty and beautiful Ava knocks Max off his pedestal. A stunned Max sees something special in Ava and offers her an opportunity she can’t refuse. As their lives and passions collide, will he realize that she alone has the power to heal him? Can their hearts come together to create their own work of art?
Book Trailer  Famed artist, Maxfield Caswell is missing.
Three of his major paintings have been savagely defaced and his house left in ruins. As his friends search for him, does his muse, Ava, hold the key?
Before the hope of love is lost, secrets will be told, spirits will be broken, and a price will be paid.
From the cave dwellings of New Mexico to the shores of Malibu, Max and Ava’s journey tests them to their limits. As they render passion and pain in broad strokes, will their all-consuming love rise from the debris?
Meet the Author Ruth Clampett, daughter of legendary animation director, Bob Clampett, has spent a lifetime surrounded by art and animation. A graduate of Art Center College of Design, her careers have included graphic design, photography, VP of Design for WB Stores and teaching photography at UCLA. She now runs her own studio as the fine art publisher for Warner Bros. where she’s had the opportunity to know and work with many of the greatest artists in the world of animation and comics.
The Work of Art Trilogy is Ruth’s third publishing endeavor, following Animate Me and Mr. 365. She lives in Los Angeles and is heavily supervised by her teenage daughter, lovingly referred to as Snarky, who loves art and visiting museums as much as her mom.
Stalk Her: Website ~ FaceBook~Twitter~Goodreads
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GIVEAWAY
 We're thrilled to spotlight The Kane Trilogy by Stylo Fantôme, a new Rock Stars of Romance author! You know that feeling when you first start a new book, within a few pages you get that feeling, that pounding in your heart and that tingle in your gut, and you just know it's going to be amazing... that's what I experienced the moment I started reading Degradation, and wow, what an insane, relentlessly dysfunctional and impossibly addictive series! I dare anyone to read the first chapter and not be sucked into the roller coaster ride of this high drama and ridiculously steamy trilogy. It's has everything. One of the dirtiest, filthiest talking, asshole alpha that you will fall completely in lust and love over. A strong, sassy, complex and broken heroine. And one of the most compelling secondary characters.... #TeamSanders (I NEED the t-shirt).
Don't take our word for it, read a smoking hot excerpt from Degradation, Book 1, and enter the steamy and twisted world of Jameson and Tate. Plus, enter to win a Signed Paperback Set of the entire Trilogy! Enjoy and Good Luck!
"There aren't enough men in the world to fuck Jameson Kane out of my memory."
- Reparation by Stylo Fantôme Degradation Excerpt: Meet Jameson and Tate “Stop talking. I came to dinner. I win. I get to extract payment,” Jameson said.
With an abrupt shove, he pushed her to the side. Tate fell against the dresser, catching herself with her hands before she could face plant on the wood. She went to push herself up, but his hand pressed down on the center of her back, holding her in place.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Whatever I want. You said you trust me,” he pointed out, and she felt his other hand brush against the fabric of her skirt.
“I do, but I don't want to have sex in my friend's bedroom,” Tate told him with a laugh.
“Why not? And what makes you think we're going to fuck?”
“Um, I was in a similar position last week, and you fucked the hell out of me, that makes me think we're going to fuck. And I don't want to be disrespectful. This is her house, her party; she thinks I'm laying down with a migraine. The door is open, anyone can see us,” she told him.
“You're shy, Tate?” Jameson laughed. She snorted.
“No, but as I've been saying, these are my friends. I don't want to -,” she stopped talking as he lifted her skirt up. It was long and flowy, went to just past her knees. He draped the material over her back.
“I'm not going to fuck you. That would be giving you a treat. You've been very bad. I'm going to do whatever I want,” he informed her, and she could feel her underwear sliding off of her butt.
Her argument caught in her throat. Lifting her head up off the dresser, she was facing the door – she could see down the hall. The living room was just to the right, and she could see the edges of a couple peoples backs. It was dark in the bedroom, and she and Jameson were towards the back of it. If anyone turned around, they probably wouldn't be able to see anything. But if anyone came down the hallway ..., not good. She took a deep breath.
“Jameson, I don't think we should do this,” she started, but then ended in a gasp as two of his fingers slid inside of her.
She wasn't sure how this wasn't giving her a treat. He wasn't getting anything out of it, he was standing just enough back from her that she couldn't even reach him. She swallowed a groan and bit in to a table runner that covered the length of the dresser. He hooked his fingers a little, almost massaging her insides.
“Don't hear any arguing now,” Jameson's voice was dark behind her. Tate shook her head.
“We shouldn't ..., do this,” she whispered, though her words had no conviction.
“You want this. Say stop, and I'll stop.”
She pressed her lips together and hummed softly. Bit her tongue. Anything to keep from crying out. His other hand grabbed onto her hip and pulled her back a couple inches, enough so he could work his arm between her and the dresser. She made a high pitched squeaking noise when that hand reached her front. Dipped in to wetness. Spun her in to outer space.
“Jameson,” she whispered his name, almost a moan.
“You're awfully ready to play for someone who says she doesn't want to do this,” he pointed out, and she laughed.
“You started it, in the car. Mean man,” she joked, and then really did moan. She flicked her eyes to the door. No one seemed to have heard her.
“Always mean. Remember that. Jesus, Tate, how are you still so tight? All these years, and you're still the tightest pussy I've ever had,” he groaned, working his fingers faster.
“Kegels. Every day,” she replied, and then had to bite down on the runner again. She clawed her nails down Rachel's dresser.
“God, talk about being disrespectul. What about you is respectful, Tate? Your slutty mouth? Or your wide open legs? I'd only been back in your life for two days, and you fucked me. Easy fucking girl. Did Angier get it that easy?” Jameson asked. She knew he wasn't, but he sounded like a jealous lover. It drove her wild.
“Easier,” she lied. His fingers were working on her so fast, she felt like she was being cut in half. Two Tatums. Which one would he want? She was pushing back against him, pushing for the edge, for the orgasm. It was very close.
“Fucking bitch,” he swore.
“You shouldn't be surprised.”
“What am I going to do with you? Fucking slut. Fucked him while I was gone. Couldn't last three days. How much does it take to satisfy you?” Jameson demanded.
Maybe he is jealous ...
“Maybe more than you've got,” she taunted in a breathy voice, gasping for air.
He pulled away and yanked her back from the dresser. She waited for the swearing, the crushing fingers, the angry mouth. But none of that happened. He backed her up, pressed her butt against the dresser and her front to his chest. She looked up at him, breathing heavy, rubbing her thighs together.
“If you are very good, when we get home, I will let you finish this,” he told her, smoothing his hands over her hair.
“Huh?” she asked, dumbfounded. He smirked down at her.
“That's all you get, baby girl. You'll learn not to push me,” he whispered, before leaning down and kissing her.
Tate moaned and wrapped her arms around his waist, held him to her. She loved the way Jameson kissed. For an aggressive guy, sometimes he could be very gentle with his mouth. His lips moved over hers, his tongue against hers, quiet and soft. It made her heart flutter. She sighed and ran her hands down to his pants, ran her fingers along his belt, began pulling at the buckle. But then he pulled away, so fast she actually stumbled. He patted her cheek and then strode out of the room.
What. The. Fuck.
Sizzling Teasers: More Jameson, Tate, and Sander
Click on pictures for full view The Kane Trilogy Reading Order
Each book is only $1.99  Eighteen year old Tatum O'Shea is a naive, shy, little rich girl. Twenty-three year old Jameson Kane is smart, seductive, and richer. They come together for one night, one explosion, one mistake, and Tate is hurled into space – no family, no money, and no Jameson.
Seven years later, life is going pretty good for Tate, when she runs into Jameson again. This time, she thinks she's ready for him. She doesn't have a naive bone left in her body, and she can't even remember what shy feels like. Jameson has evolved into Satan – sharp teeth, sharper claws, and a tongue that can cut her in half. It all sounds like fun to a girl like Tate, and she is ready to play, determined to prove that she isn't the same girl he conquered once before. A series of games start, each one more devious than the last.
But the devil likes to play dirty, and she learns that playing for souls is playing for keeps. The lines between games and reality, heaven and hell, get blurry. Can she beat Jameson at his own game before someone gets hurt? Or will he leave her soulless, making him the winner, once and for all?
“I have no problem admitting that you are still, to this day,
probably the hottest pussy I've ever had,” he said, his voice casual.
- Degradation by Stylo Fantôme  Everything is fun and games until someone gets hurt, and what Jameson Kane did to Tatum O'Shea goes so far beyond hurt, he is well into the realm of unforgivable. Tate says she wants him gone for good, and he quickly learns that the old saying, “you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone”, is most definitely true.
But Jameson has never been very good at following instructions, and when Satan decides to seek redemption, he'll go to great lengths to get it. He proposes one last game – one to end them all, if she agrees to play. He is very confident that he can win, but Tate warns him that it's not possible; she will not lose again. Little does she know, Jameson is prepared to do whatever it takes. Prepared to lay the entire world at her feet. Prepared to bear his soul.
What he didn't count on, though, was handing the damn thing over.
Now Jameson can only pray that his evil ways haven't rubbed off on Tate too much. Sometimes, it's very difficult to tell who the Devil really is …
"Seven years ago, she had occupied his fantasies. Now all this time later, she occupied his mind. His heart."
- Separation by Stylo Fantôme  When Tatum O'Shea decides it's time for some payback, no one is safe from her new game - not even the devil himself. Tate is going to get her happily every after, even if it means making everyone else unhappy in the process.
But a persistent Jameson, a meddling Sanders, and an amorous baseball player make it very hard for a girl to keep her focus, and suddenly it seems Tate has a few too many suitors for her fairy tale ending.
Sometimes, it's very difficult to tell who Prince Charming really is ...
"I made this pussy. It has belonged to me for the last seven years."
- Reparation by Stylo Fantôme Author Bio: Meet the Fabulous Stylo Fantôme Crazy woman living in an undisclosed location in Alaska (where the need for a creative mind is a necessity!), I have been writing since ... forever? Yeah, that sounds about right. I have been told that I remind people of Lucille Ball - I also see shades of Jennifer Saunders, and Denis Leary. So basically, I laugh a lot, I'm clumsy a lot, and I say the F-word A LOT.
I like dogs more than I like most people, and I don't trust anyone
who doesn't drink. No, I do not live in an igloo, and no, the sun does not set for six months out of the year, there's your Alaska lesson for the day. I have mermaid hair - both a curse and a blessing - and most of the time I talk so fast, even I can't understand me.
Yeah. I think that about sums me up.
Stalk Stylo: Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | TRSoR Author Page
Giveaway: Win a Signed Set of The Kane Trilogy
We're thrilled to particpate in the promotional blog tour for The Fantasy: A Desperate Man Volume 1, by Ella Frank and Brooke Blaine. We love all of Ella Frank's scorching hot erotic romance and are very excited about her new partnership with Brooke Blaine.
Read a super steamy excerpt, check out some hot teasers, and enter to win a $25 gift card and fabulous SWAG!
Blog tour hosted by The Book Avenue. Scorching HOT Excerpt “Come here.”
Evan James crooked his finger at the blonde currently shimmying back into her minuscule, tight, black dress. The same one she’d worn last night that had called like a siren’s song to his cock in the middle of the dimly lit club.
She looked over at him with heavy-lidded eyes and held the barely there fabric still around her waist. His eyes zoomed in on the impressive breasts overflowing out of her sheer, black bra. Covered, but not enough.
His mouth watered, and he wanted to drag her back to the bed and take hold of her ripe nipple before pulling the fabric down and out of his way to take her fully into his mouth again.
After having had her so many times in the last few hours, she’d no doubt taste of him on every inch of her soft skin. He liked that. Before, she’d tasted faintly of vanilla musk—a fragrance he wasn’t overly fond of. He’d made quick, dirty work of her though, marking and leaving his scent on her with his lips, his sex, his come, and he figured one last go-round before sending her on her way would suppress his craving for at least a couple of days.
He hoped. His appetite was voracious.
“Can’t get enough, can you?” She leaned down over the edge of the bed and placed her hands there, giving him an ample view of what he wanted. Now.
He narrowed his eyes. “Don't play with me.”
Blondie tsked and put her knees on the mattress, crawling on all fours toward him. “Oh, baby, I told you you’d never want me to leave once you got inside.”
She was right about that much. If he could live in pussy, he would. It was his weakness, his addiction, the one thing he’d give up anything and everything for. And he nearly had.
Sizzling Teasers
Click on pictures for full view  Fantasies - we all have them.
For some it’s their dream job; others want the wedding, the 2.5 kids, the white picket fence.
My fantasies are a bit more...depraved.
Dark and sinful, they have destroyed relationships and my livelihood, yet I still submit to them like a slave.
Sex.
For most, it’s a natural expression of love, caring, or lust.
But there are those of us who can’t stop once we’ve had a taste.
Those of us who don’t want to.
And the shame of that never-ending cycle will eat us alive...
My name is Evan James, and I am a sex addict.
Author Bios: Meet Ella Frank and Brooke Blaine
Giveaway: Win $25 Gift Card & Fabulous SWAG
Are you ready for the conclusion to
The Gypsy Brother’s Series?
ONE LOVE IS LIVE! Chapter One
By Lili St. Germain
The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies. “I want my lawyer,” I repeat for the hundredth time.
There are two CIA agents in front of me, and they’re playing a very cheesy rendition of good cop / bad cop.
We’ve been at this for hours. Boss Bitch — Agent Dunn, as she’s since told me — on one side, and her completely dumb but cute male offsider, Agent Brennan, on the other. In my head, to pass the hours, I’ve nicknamed them Agent Bitch and Agent Dumbass. I sit across from them, my hands in my lap, heavy metal cuffs weighing them down.
My throat is dry, my tongue parched. Agent Dumbass has a fresh can of Coke in front of him, and I can see the tiny beads of condensation running down the sides. I want it. I want to reach over and grab the can. I don’t even need to drink what’s inside. I’ll settle for the condensation making its lazy descent down the side of the bright red can and onto the dusty Formica table that separates me from them.
“Let’s try this again,” the female cop says, tucking a loose blonde hair behind her ear. The rest is up in a severe bun that reminds me of a matronly grandmother, even though this woman only looks about thirty. She’s got a slight southern inflection that reminds me of Elliot’s grandma.
I don’t reply, waiting for whatever it is she plans on doing next. Her next big thought, her latest overdone gesture, to try and convince me that I should spill all of my dirty secrets onto this table between us. So far she’s used threats against Jase, a plea deal that would grant me immunity, and long stretches of silence.
None of that will break me. I’ve been tortured by Dornan fucking Ross. This woman’s going to have to try a lot harder, or maybe get out some pliers and start yanking my teeth out of my mouth, before I’ll give her a single damned thing.
She snatches up a manila folder and opens it, handing a photograph to her male offsider. “Stick these up,” she barks at him, and he moves slowly, ripping a section of blue-tack from a large blue ball of the stuff that must live permanently on the wall to my left. I watch, just slightly interested as to what they’re going to try and scare me with.
They don’t disappoint. As I watch them pin 5x7 photographs to the wall, I can’t help but feel some sense of satisfaction for the lives that ended at my hands. I have to remain impassive though, so I tamp down the gloating grin that wants to spread across my face and settle for my resting bitch face instead.
Dunn peeks at me from the corner of her eye, and I return her gaze impassively. She might think she can get under my skin, but I grew up in the Gypsy Brothers MC for shit’s sake. I know how to hold out in front of a cop.
“Chad Ross,” Dunn says, smoothing her pants as she stands up and circles the table, coming to stand next to the photographs her partner is sticking up in a haphazard fashion. I wait for her to reach out and straighten them. Boom. Three seconds later, she does just that, making sure all of the photos line up.
“Chad Ross was poisoned,” she continues, tapping one manicured fingernail against the photo of his bloated death face.
“Looks nasty,” I reply.
“It’s a nasty way to die,” Dunn says, peering at me. “The killer added pure methamphetamine to an energy drink he later consumed. He was probably dead before he hit the ground.”
He wasn’t. He suffered. Thankfully.
“And you’re showing me this why?” I ask, studying my own nails, bitten down to the quick. I never was a girly girl. It’s not easy to keep your nails tidy when you’re constantly trying to claw your way back from death.
Dunn looks at me pointedly before jabbing her fingernail towards the second photo. Ahhh, yes. Maxi in all his naked, bloody glory. His face is a mess from the coke I shoved underneath his nose, the coke laced with strychnine that made blood gush from his nose like warm water from a faucet. I still remember the way his blood felt on my hands. How surreal everything was, bright and garish, as my skull burned with a small amount of the poisoned coke I’d snorted myself.
How I’d nearly died in my quest to kill him.
How it was so worth the risk to see the look on his smarmy fucking face, when I whispered in his ear who I really was and sat back on his lap to watch the fury rise in his cheeks.
As he realized a black widow was the one who’d just fed him his last meal of poison and cocaine.
I glance at Agent Dunn, clearing my throat and attempting to look bored.
“Strychnine-laced cocaine,” she says. “In fact, the same thing you were admitted to hospital for that very night. Jason Ross brought you in to emergency room. They said you almost died.”
“It was a hell of a night,” I reply curtly. “My nose still bleeds just thinking about it.”
She raises her eyebrows in disbelief, and in that moment I have no doubt that she’s cataloguing me as a sociopath or similar.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say suddenly.
“Shoot,” Dunn responds.
I reach my hand out slowly, methodically and take hers, a bold move. She could pepper spray me, shoot me. You’re not supposed to touch the interrogators. But she’s ballsy enough that she doesn’t want to take her hand away, even as I watch her flinch minutely.
“How do you keep your nails so pretty?” I ask sweetly, the saccharine in my voice not reaching the cold death stare I give her. I hold up my other hand. “Mine are hopeless. You spend much time in the field, Agent Dunn?”
She takes her hand away, and I let my own cuffed hands fall back into my lap. I know her skin must be crawling from my touch.
I hope the feeling stays there for a long time. She should not have fucked with me.
“I take good care of myself, Miss Portland,” she says briskly. “Which is more than I can say for you.”
“My child died,” I say blankly. “Physical appearance isn’t on the top of my priority list right now.”
She bristles momentarily. “I am sorry for your loss,” she says finally.
I sit back, crossing my legs. “No, you’re not,” I reply.
She points to the third photograph, which is… hell, I’ve got no idea what that is. I tilt my head, trying to figure out what I’m looking at.
“It’s a leg,” Dunn supplies.
“Ohhh,” I say, nodding. “Thanks.”
It is indeed a leg, or at least part of one. Charred and black, with spots of unmarred flesh and blood still peeking through in sections. Huh. I wonder who it belonged to.
“Two Ross brothers were killed in an explosion. Somebody put homemade bombs in their fuel tanks, can you believe that?”
I shrug. “Sounds like they must have had it coming.”
Dunn points to the final photos, and a cloying heat bleeds up my chest and neck as I remember those three months of horror and torture I endured at Dornan’s hands before I was broken out. The way Dornan’s father Emilio flew backwards with a meaty thump as the top of his head was blown clean off, blood and brains flying everywhere. Mickey’s look of horror that didn’t fade after the bullet entered his face, such a satisfying end for men whose only fault in death was that their ends were much too swift. I imagine how much more satisfying it would have been to hang them by their feet and burn their eyes out with cigarettes and blowtorches, or pull their teeth out with rusty pliers, one by one.
That would have been much more fitting for the men who tried to destroy me, the same men who murdered my father.
Still… they’re dead, and that’s better than them being alive.
“That’s got to give you a headache,” I joke, referring to the last two pictures. The blood and gore have no effect on me. My stomach is made of iron after the atrocities I’ve seen, after all that I’ve endured. If this bitch wants to rattle my cage, she’s going to have to try harder.
“And then we have Jimmy,” she says, sticking one last photograph to the wall. Jimmy’s face, still frozen in shock, the trail of blood from his temple where Jase shot him barely noticeable in the extreme close-up.
“He looks unwell,” I comment. “Thing is, I’m still not sure why you’re showing me all of this.”
Dunn frowns so hard it looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel.
“Here’s the thing,” she says, throwing a stack of photographs in front of me. “We’ve got you. We have your DNA on the first two victims, and motive. We’ve got probable cause to take you to trial.”
I sift through them, suppressing a twisted smile as I see what happened to Jazz and Ant after they bit the big one when bombs in their motorcycle fuel tanks exploded, ripping them to pieces. It isn’t pretty, what became of them. But to me, it’s beautiful.
I drop the photographs on the table and lean back in the hard metal chair I’ve been sitting on for the past five hours.
“These people are — were — like family to me. Don’t you think it’s a little tacky showing me all of this? I’m still grieving for these boys. They were like brothers to me.”
Agent Dunn actually rolls her eyes at me. At least she’s got some spunk somewhere in there. “Give it a rest, Miss Portland,” she says impatiently. “You’ve got more motive than anyone else, and no alibi for any of these murders.”
“Motive?” I ask sweetly. “And what might that be?”
Agent Dunn hesitates. Go on, I think. Say it. They raped me until they thought I was dead. The murdered my father, and you want to arrest me? Say it.
“I’m not authorized to talk with you about an active investigation,” Dunn says finally. “But I really think you should start talking, Miss Portland.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay,” I say finally. “I give up. You got me. I’ll tell you something. Let me write it down.”
Dunn’s beady eyes practically wig out of her head. She studies me for a moment, probably to see if I’m telling the truth, and I stare right back at her. If she wanted a wallflower who’d stare at the floor, she arrested the wrong girl.
After a beat, she stands up, turns and bustles out of the room. I divert my attention to Agent Dumbass, who looks like he’s about to fall asleep in his chair.
“I’ll make a full confession,” I say, “if you give me that.” I point to the coke can and he eyes it dubiously. After a pause, he slides the can over to me with one finger. With a smile, I pick up the can between my cuffed hands and take a long drink.
The fizzy liquid burns on the way down my throat, but it’s delicious. I drink as much as I can before Agent Bitch returns, setting it back down on the table and smiling at Dumbass. I slide the can back towards him with a wink. Let him think we’re friends. Let him think I’m just a silly young girl who couldn’t possibly hurt anyone. He looks surprised, taking the can back as Agent Bitch walks back into the room.
She looks between me, the can and the goofy look on Agent Dumbass’s face and shakes her head.
Sliding into her seat, she drops a yellow legal pad on the table between us as she addresses Dumbass.
“She killed a man by poisoning his drink with pure meth,” she says to her partner. “You sure you want that back?”
“Allegedly,” I add.
The oaf stares at the can for a few seconds. Finally, he pushes it back in my direction with an embarrassed look.
In the past five hours or so since I was unceremoniously dumped in this interrogation room, I’ve gone through the whole gamut of emotions. Fear. Shock. Despair. Now, I’m at anger. Anger that bubbles within me. Anger that is thinly disguised as apathy to these two morons.
Dunn drops a blue Bic pen on the legal pad and pushes it over to me. I hold up my cuffed wrists helplessly.
“I can’t write with these things on,” I say.
Dunn gives me the filthiest look before nodding at Dumbass. He stands and circles around to me, removing my cuffs before returning to his spot.
I WANT A LAWYER. I write it as obnoxiously large as I can, underlining the word LAWYER three times.
Agent Bitch’s smile disappears, replaced by a thin line of contempt at her mouth. I grin. Good luck getting those cuffs back on me, motherfucker. I sit back in my seat and snatch up the Coke, draining the rest of the can before they think to take it from me.
“We can play this game for however long you want, Miss Portland,” she says curtly, fiddling with the stack of crime scene photographs in front of her. I smile.
“I’ve got all day,” I say sweetly, even though I really, really don’t. Dornan has Elliot’s daughter and ex-girlfriend, and possibly Elliot himself, and Jase and I have twenty-four hours to meet him and get the girls out of danger before he kills them. At least, that’s what I’m assuming he plans to do to them. I can’t even comprehend what else he might be planning to do to those poor girls to get back at us.
Agent Dunn shakes her head one last time, gathering up the files and stalking towards the door. “I’ll give you some time to think about your position,” she says.
“Isn’t this illegal?” I call out to her. “I’m an American citizen. I have the right to an attorney. Get me a goddamn lawyer!”
Really, I just need a lawyer to post bail so I can get the hell out of here. Not that I’m sure I’d actually be bailed out, but I need something, and talking to these two is proving fruitless. A cold panic is building up inside my stomach, in the hollow space where my baby once lived and died.
God, it’s still so raw, so vicious when the memory of our tiny little baby takes hold and squeezes me. Sometimes, selfishly, I wish I could forget about her, because losing her has cursed me with more pain than I could ever imagine.
If I had any remnants of doubt about killing Dornan before? They’re gone, bled from me in the moments after our daughter was born, still and dead, in the early hours of the morning when the world was still dark.
He took her from me. From us. And I cannot rest until he’s dead and buried, a rotting corpse in the cold ground, a memory and nothing more.
Dornan Ross needs to burn for the things he’s done.
Agent Dumbass follows his partner out of the room and pulls the door shut. I immediately stand up and go to the door, testing the handle. Locked from the outside. Of course. I go back to my chair, collecting the pen someone so thoughtfully left for me and shoving it into my pocket. You know, just in case I need to stab somebody sometime soon.
Which, as it turns out, is sooner than I’d anticipated.
About an hour later, Agent Bitch sticks her head back into the room. “Your lawyer’s on the way,” she says, closing the door behind her again.
This could be anyone. A cop posing as a lawyer to get a confession on tape. A hit man, sent by the Gypsy Brothers or the Cartel. I’m like a sitting duck in here, and I don’t like it one tiny bit.
But what greets me isn’t any of those things.
It’s so much worse.
I don’t move an inch as the door swings open and he walks into the room. Dressed in a suit I’ve seen before, clutching a black leather briefcase by his side. He looks positively fucking amused.
“Well,” I say bitterly, “They’ll let any motherfucker take the bar these days, won’t they?”  *The final book in the #1 iBooks bestselling Gypsy Brothers series*
Will Julz complete her mission for vengeance against the Gypsy Brothers? Or is Dornan still one step ahead?
More shocking secrets will come to light and lives will be lost in this final, devastating instalment of the Gypsy Brothers series.
One Love Trailer If you've been waiting to start this series,
now is the time, book 1 is free: Seven Sones
This story unfolds over seven volumes approx. 25 - 30,000 words each.
My father was most certainly NOT an innocent man. As the leader of the Gypsy Brothers MC, he was guilty of many things. But he died for a crime that he didn’t commit, framed by an enemy within who then stole his club and everything he had ever worked to protect.
Including my innocence.
When Dornan Ross framed my father, he set into motion a series of events that could never be undone. My father was murdered by Dornan Ross and his sons when I was fifteen years old.
Before my father died, Dornan and his sons stole my innocence, branded my skin and in doing so, ensured that their lives would be prematurely cut short. That they would suffer.
I’ve just turned twenty-one, and I’m out for blood. I'm out for revenge.
But I didn't expect to fall for Jase, the youngest brother in the club.
I didn't expect that he would turn my world upside down, yank my heart out of my chest and ride away into the sunset with it.
Now, I'm faced with an impossible choice - Jase, or avenging my fathers death?
Books 2 - 7
(click on pic for Amazon purchase links) Teaser Pics
(click on pic for full view) Meet the author Lili writes dark romance, suspense and paranormal stories. Her serial novel, Seven Sons, was released in early 2014, with the following books in the series to be released in quick succession. Lili quit corporate life to focus on writing and so far is loving every minute of it. Her other loves in life include her gorgeous husband and beautiful daughter, good coffee, Tarantino movies and spending hours on Pinterest.
She loves to read almost as much as she loves to write.
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Excerpt from Before Ryan Was Mine, The Remembrance Trilogy, Prequel, Copyright 2014, Kahlen Aymes,
All Rights Reserved.
My beer slipped from my fingers, and I scrambled to catch it but it was being lifted by another set of slender fingers without the blazing red nails. By the time my eyes shifted up and focused, Julia was leisurely taking a drink from my bottle. Her hooded green eyes appraised me, with my date almost on my lap. I barely noticed Leah because my attention was on Julia, and then her eyes shifted twelve inches right, landing on Leah. Julia hated beer, but still here she was, stamping her ownership with something as simple as a pull on my beer bottle. She probably didn’t even know the effect it had on me at such a base level, but I fucking loved it. Something tightened deep inside my chest, and my dick twitched inside my jeans.
“Ryan! Are you gonna let her do that?” Leah demanded indignantly, her eyes flashing haughtily up at Julia.
My lips raised in the slightest smirk. Julia echoed it when her eyes locked with mine.
“Yeah, she… uh, she can do that,” I confirmed without emphasis. Amusement at Julia’s confidence made me want to laugh out loud. I felt fucking elated.
Leah huffed beside me and angrily flung herself back against the cushions of the couch, removing her leg from mine. “Well, do you know her?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know her.” Boy, do I know her.
Julia wobbled a little, and I could see she’d had more to drink than she needed. Still, she grinned at me, her arm bent at the elbow as she curled my beer close to her chest, not drinking, just holding it in place. My instinct was to reach out or stand up to steady her.
Angrily, Leah pushed on my shoulder and spewed venom in Julia’s direction. “Are you going to introduce us? Is she your sister?”
Julia started to giggle. “Pffft! Do I look like his sister?”
“Then who are you?” my date demanded, her expression hard. I watched the exchange, anxious to see what Julia would say.
“Oh, we’re ….” She handed back my beer and walked behind me to sit on the top edge of the back of the couch and slid her hand over the shoulder Leah had shoved. “Well, let’s see… we’re… mmmm...” Her words were nonchalant but her eyes widened, waiting for me to finish the sentence. “What exactly are we, Ryan?”
“This is my best friend Julia. Jules, this is Leah.” I said the words carefully, but couldn’t tear my eyes from Julia’s face. Her features were filled with laughter and devilry.
“His date,” Leah spat.
“Congratulations.” Julia focused on Leah and wagged a finger in her direction. She was clearly tipsy. “You need a donut.”
A laugh burst from my chest because I couldn’t help myself. You need a donut. I thought it was fucking hilarious, but Leah was clearly pissed.
“What did you say?”
“You seriously need a donut.”
Leah looked indignant and furious, but my shoulders were visibly shaking with laughter when Julia turned her attention to me. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Excuse me,” I murmured to Leah then immediately rose to follow Julia a few feet away. “Are you being careful?”
“Is it just a coincidence that you and Twiggy are here tonight?”
I swallowed at the accusation in her tone. She was tipsy, but her eyes still burned into mine. “Yeah. I had no idea you were even going out, but I’m glad I’m here. Who is that guy?” I wanted to ask why she let him touch her in such a familiar way but clamped my jaw shut.
“He’s a guy. Collin, I think? No big deal.” She shrugged nonchalantly, and her hand came to rest on the front of my shirt. I should have been reassured as her deep green eyes looked up imploringly. “Don’t worry, Ryan.”
It was all I could do not to cover her fingers with my own. “I worry.”
“I know.” She leaned in and wrapped her arms around my waist in a brief hug and the scent of her perfume engulfed me. “I’m glad to see you. I’ll call you tomorrow."
 When Ryan Matthews meets Julia Abbott for the first time at Stanford University, he immediately knows she will change his life. They have an instant, unbreakable connection that goes beyond partying and palpable attraction. Although his intelligence and good looks land him any girl he wants, Ryan hesitates to cross that line with Julia because she quickly becomes the best friend he’s ever had.
Both secretly in love, Ryan and Julia are terrified to take the chance that could mean the loss of the very person they don’t want to lose. As the bond between them grows stronger, they are both miserable as they are forced to watch as they each date other people. But will Ryan’s all-consuming jealousy and Julia’s deeply broken heart torment them enough to make one or both walk away?
Join Ryan and Julia on the beginning of the journey that has made Kahlen Aymes’ Remembrance Trilogy an international bestselling favorite among her readers. This book was written after The Trilogy was finished due to an abundance of reader requests for more of Ryan and Julia’s story.
And so…
The Mad, Mad Love Begins…
Teaser
(click on pic for full view) The Remembrance Trilogy Reading Order Meet the author I'm a single mother of one daughter, Olivia. She's amazing in every way. I was born in the Midwestern United States and educated at a private university where I received a Bachelor's degree in Marketing and Business Administration. I've always been creative with art, music, theater and writing. I decided to write a story as a way to build a network for a business venture. The reader support of my stories and my overwhelming desire to find out where my characters would take me, soon had the writing morphing the business. No one was more shocked than I. When readers began nominating my work for online awards, it took my breath away and only made me love it more. It soon became clear that writing was, and should be, my focus. Stalk Her: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
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Excerpt But when I close my eyes, I can see him—and me. I can see me pressed up against the mirror in the bathroom, my hands making starfish prints as I brace myself against his thrusts. I can hear his harsh breathing, his commands to come, come now, Charlotte. There was that passage of time that felt endless when he was between my legs, licking me softly and leisurely as if there wasn’t anything in this world that gave him more pleasure than helping me find my own. I touch myself, but it’s useless. My body wants one thing: Nathan Jackson.
I’m on fire and the ache of want is so acute it’s like a knife in my chest. I’ve had multiple surgeries, chemo treatments, radiation but that’s nothing compared to what I feel now.
Time and distance had dulled my pain and that my desire and love for Nathan had actually started to ease only to be stoked into high, hot flames by his reappearance in my life.
He is the poison and the antidote.
 Charlotte and Nathan were supposed to be forever. They grew up together. Their families were intertwined. Charlotte was Nathan's first love. Nathan was Charlotte's first everything.
Until they weren't.
How do you hold on to the person you know in your heart you are supposed to be with when everything and everyone in the universe is telling you it's over?
How many times does a heart break?
When is enough…..enough?
How long is forever?
Teasers
(click on pic for full view) Meet the author Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog. She's been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at jensfrederick@gmail.com.
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