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Title: The Complete Package (The Jake Davis Box Set)
Author: Leigh Lennon
Genre: Holiday Romance
Release Date: December 5, 2019
Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC.
 The Holiday Package and The Sweetest Package are now in a box set called The Complete Package.
The Holiday Package A Jake Davis Story Book 1
Ten days. The Cayman Islands. A holiday trip to forget the woman I lost. Suddenly, I’m face to face with the sassiest and hardest of women, who may be able to make me forget all I left behind. And I want her! This vacation is about moving on. The saucy little ginger flaunting her perfect curvy body in her next to nothing bikinis can be the distraction I need to forget it all. Her fire and brimstone attitude leaves me in constant arousal. And she proposes a holiday affair, one I gladly accept knowing this is a hell of a risk to my already floundering heart. But in the end, will I be able to say goodbye?
The Sweetest Package A Jake Davis Story Book 2
Jake: Ten days was all we had. It was supposed to be casual; just sex. Hell, the best laid plans were blown to pieces as I found myself watching my heart drive away. Sure, I let her go, but I’ve not been the same since she’s been gone.
Sasha: How can my heart beat so differently for a man I knew only for eight days? He let me go. Sure, I could have stuck around to fight for him. I should have. Hell, I wanted to. But then I understood what true love really means and I had to choose. Now I am back, immersed in his life. Can he accept everything I’ve done in the name of love?
Kindle UnlimitedAMAZON
       
Leigh Lennon is a mother, veteran and a wife of a cancer survivor. Originally with a degree in education, she started writing as an outlet that has led to a deep passion. She lugs her computer with her as she crafts her next story. Her imaginary friends become real on her pages as she creates a world for them. She loves pretty nails, spikey hair and large earrings. Leigh can be found drinking coffee or wine, depending on the time of the day.
     
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Charleston Buzz Kill
-- EXCERPT:
Vermelle LeGare had one of the oldest, most prominent surnames in Charleston. Fact is, the nicest street in Charleston was LeGare Street—pronounced Le-gree, as in Simon. Close seconds being Tradd and Church Streets. Vermelle, though, was black and poor, a fifth-generation cleaning lady. Her husband, Willie, had just dropped her off at the corner of Broad and Church—a ten-minute walk to the house on Stoll’s Alley where Vermelle was working that day. Willie’d dropped her there because he had a big roofing job that day and didn’t want to be late. Vermelle didn’t point out to Willie that his being on time would make her late for Mr. David. Mr. David was David Wayne Marion, a rich, handsome fifty- year-old man. Vermelle knew just how rich he was because his net worth had been published in an article in the Post & Courier when he took an ill-fated run at becoming governor. Seventy-five million, mostly in real estate, she recalled. After he lost in his bid to become governor, Mr. David veered off in a whole different direction and—of all crazy things—ended up becoming the star of a TV reality show. He had money, looks, and success, so fame was all that was left. But Vermelle had seen the show and… well, she intended to keep her opinion to herself. She walked down Church Street and marveled once again at the beautiful houses on the street shaded by live oak trees with their wide, majestic canopies. Her favorite was a four-story brick Georgian with a dark mahogany door and antique glass fanlight above it. The house had graceful pediments above the windows and a perfectly proportioned wall to its right. On the second floor was a classic piazza where she imagined the husband and wife sipped their sloe-gin fizzes as soon as the clock struck five. Maybe earlier. On the next block, she passed the garage door of an elegant Federalist-style house and chuckled to herself at the angry red letters stenciled onto its garage: Do not block driveway. Violators will be persecuted to the full extent of the law. Did that mean hanged, she wondered, or merely tarred-and- feathered? And wasn’t it… prosecuted? White people didn’t make mistakes like that… did they? Her favorite wall in Charleston was on the next block. Its surface was dirty concrete with patches of green lichen making it look a thousand years old. The highlight of the wall was the most intricately detailed wrought iron gate she had ever seen. She wondered if it had been crafted by Philip Simmons, a blacksmith by trade and a black man by birth whose work, she had heard, had ended up in the Smithsonian Museum. Then she passed the decrepit house with a severe lean to one side, that always caught her attention. It was a stately colonial with imposing columns but was run-down and neglected. Like the owner couldn’t afford to keep it up. She had heard Mr. David on the phone once making fun of a woman who was, “house-rich and check book poor” and wondered if this was her place. Mr. David went on about how the woman was from an old Charleston family but had been spotted using food stamps on the down low at the local Harris Teeter food market. Vermelle turned left on Stolls Alley and walked over the bumpy, broken-brick pavement. The roads were in far better shape up on Nunan Street—in the heart of the ’hood—where she lived in her two-bedroom freedman’s cottage. She had observed how the well-to-do south of Broad Street folks leaned toward the old, worn, distressed look. She had heard the word ‘quaint’ used a lot but just couldn’t see it. At number 5 Stoll’s Alley, she rang the bell and waited. David Marion’s Greek Revival featured grey stucco over brick— the brick peeking through in several places. Vermelle had heard how at one point in history brick had lost favor with the rich folk so they had simply stuccoed over it. As she fumbled for her key, she looked over at the bulky two-inch-thick shutters with cut-outs of palmetto trees and the flickering gas lanterns that David Marion kept on at all time. After a minute or so, she knocked and waited. Nothing. Nothing. Out of options, she tried the doorknob. To her surprise, it opened.That was odd. She pushed it open and stuck her head in.“Mr. David, it’s me, Vermelle.” She walked into the hallway, the rare herring-bone heart-of-pine floor at her feet. “Mr. David,” she said again a little louder, “it’s Vermelle.” She walked into the living room recently decorated by Madeline Littleworth Mortimer herself. “Mr. David?” She figured he must have hurried off to shoot a scene for his dopey TV show and had forgotten to lock the house. It had happened before. She went down the hallway to his bedroom to get the sheets, towels, and his dirty clothes; the first thing she always did. The bedroom door was open, and she went in. And there, sprawled atop the 1000-count Egyptian sheets of his king-size bed, lay David Wayne Marion buck naked and with a bullet hole in his forehead . First, Vermelle screamed, scaring the hell out of Mr. David’s Labrador retriever, napping at the side of the bed. Then she called the cops. Finally, she fled the house and headed straight to the AME Church up on Calhoun. All she could do now was pray for the soul of poor Mr. David. 
GIVEAWAY!
Fame You
-- EXCERPT: When I reach the bathroom, I see Olivia standing in front of the mirror, already brushing her teeth. She changed out of her clothes. She’s now wearing a tank top with a tiny pair of shorts that show off her perfect tanned legs. I stop in the doorway as she continues to brush, but her eyes are on the mirror staring back at me. “I knew you were beautiful this evening, but you are more beautiful without the makeup and the outfit,” I say, before realizing that I am actually saying the words to her and not in my head. I walk behind her and place my phone down on the sink. She remains quiet, not sure what’s going on between us. I’ll make it clear to her so she’ll understand. My hand goes up to her arm, causing her body to freeze from my touch. God! She feels so good just like I imagined she would. Her skin’s so soft. Her eyes remain on the mirror watching my every move. I can feel her eyes begging me to keep going. She wants me to touch her. I part her hair to both sides of her shoulders as I kiss the back of her neck. She lets out a little moan as she closes her eyes. “Keep your eyes on me,” I tell her as she opens them and watches me through the mirror. “Perfect,” I whisper against her ear. My tongue slides down her earlobe as my right-hand slides around her back to her stomach. I lift her shirt up a few inches, exposing her toned stomach. I pull her body into mine as I begin to kiss her neck harder, leaving marks along the way. Her skin tastes like strawberry. It’s a good thing I have always liked strawberries. I always found them to be tasty. Another moan escapes her throat. “You are always there for Mom when she needs you,” I whisper into her ear. “Whenever Savannah needs something, you get it, no questions asked. Greg lost his mom and you were on a mission to find her even if it took us all night. You are always there for everyone. My question is, who is there for you, Olivia?” I can feel her body getting hotter by the minute. I’m turning her on so I keep going. “Who takes care of your needs?” I watch her as she inhales and exhales slowly. I’m about to tell her that I will fulfill her every need when my phone rings. I ignore it while I suck her skin into my mouth. “You should probably get that. Wouldn’t want to upset your girlfriend.” Olivia says annoyed, slipping away from me and walking out the bathroom, leaving me angry and frustrated. I make a fist and hit it off the sink. I almost had her and Erika ruined our moment. 
GIVEAWAY!
Home For Christmas
-- EXCERPT: I tossed the shot back and enjoyed the burn of the whiskey as it traveled down my throat. “Nice costume,” a warm voice said next to me. His words cut through the noise of the club and settled in my gut, spreading tingles throughout my body. That voice was as smooth as the whiskey I’d just drunk. I sucked in a breath, want and need curling low in my gut. The voice was familiar, like I’d heard him speak before. As if I’d listened to it for countless hours long ago, but that was wishful thinking. An impossibility. I turned sideways and faced…Batman. His three-quarter face mask and his beard hid his identity spectacularly, but as my eyes traveled down his body, I nearly choked on my tongue. Jesus, the man is beautiful. His cape covered only the tops of his shoulders, and the smooth skin of his shirtless chest was on full display. He was lean with just enough muscle definition that it made my mouth water. He was the epitome of everything that turned me on. The perfect build. His nicely rounded pecs were tipped with flat nipples, the small nubs pointing at me in the dim light, and although he didn’t have the perfect six-pack, he did have the sexiest dips coming in from his hips. Cum gutters were cut off from my viewing pleasure by the dark jeans he wore. Damn, those jeans looked like they were tailor-made for him, fitting his hips and package perfectly and hugging his long legs. “Damn, Batman, you’re lookin’ pretty fuckin’ hot yourself,” I drawled, my southern accent becoming more pronounced the more aroused I became. He stilled, tilting his head to the side. “Have we met before?” “Maybe? I don’t know.” I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Does it matter?” One side of his mouth turned up in a small grin, and he shook his head before grabbing my hand. That simple connection floored me. It was like lightning had struck me, setting every nerve ending on fire. Want and need slammed into me, stealing my breath. People say “sparks flew” and “instant chemistry” but I’d never experienced it before. Until that moment. And it hit him too if the slow lick of his lips gave me any indication.
GIVEAWAY!
Twisted Lies
-- EXCERPT:
“Hey!” a guy yells. I look over and see the guy walking toward me from his house. He’s big, like a football player. The guy has some serious muscles. He looks like he’s around my age or a year or two older. “You can’t be here,” he says, stopping in front of me. “Where? The beach?” “It’s private property,” he says, putting his hands on his hips, making him look even larger. “I live here,” I tell him as I stand up. “Where?” he asks, like he doesn’t believe me. “Down there,” I say, pointing to Brock’s house, although you can’t really see it with the bend in the shoreline. “Then you need to stay there. On your own property. This is mine, and I don’t allow uninvited visitors.” I roll my eyes. “Seriously? I can’t even walk on the beach?” “Not on this part. It’s private property.” “It’s a beach. I should be able to walk on it.” “And I’m asking you not to. If you can’t follow that simple rule, then I’ll need to call the cops.” I huff. “Are you kidding me?” “Do I look like I’m kidding?” he asks, staring down at me. As I look at his face, I feel like I’ve seen him before. Why does he look so familiar? “Have we met before?” I ask. “You slammed into me on the street,” the guy says, folding his arms over his chest. “So in addition to trespassing on my property, you also almost tripped me when I was running.” “I didn’t do it on purpose,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, mimicking his pose. “I went to pick up my phone and didn’t see you.” “How can you not see someone coming right at you?” “I was upset, okay?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Maybe you should give people a break, especially when you don’t know all the shit going on in their lives.” “What shit are we talking about?” he asks, sounding curious. “Nothing. Never mind.” I sigh. “Am I allowed to walk across your precious beach to get back?” “Yes, but that’s the last time. I don’t want to see you back here.” I look behind me at the long stretch of beach. “What if I want to keep going? Do I have to go in the ocean to avoid stepping on your beach?” “That’s private property too.” “The ocean is not private property. You can’t own the ocean.” “Why is this so hard for you to understand? You shouldn’t be back here. Even if it wasn’t private, this isn’t a walking beach. It’s rocky and the waves are unpredictable. If you want to walk by the water, go to a real beach. A public beach.” “Why would I do that when I have one right here? I don’t care if it’s rocky. I have shoes on.” “Would you stop arguing with me and just go?” he says, raising his voice. I glare at him. At those beautiful blue eyes. That chiseled face. If he wasn’t so mean I’d think he’s hot. I might even say he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. But his attitude ruins it. “Fine! I’m going!” I turn and run off toward the ocean. “What are you doing?” he yells as I go in the water. “You told me not to walk on your stupid beach!” I yell. “You’re gonna drown!” he yells, running toward me. “I’m not gonna—” I’m stopped by a wave slamming into me and shoving me to the ground. The water pulls me toward the shore, dragging me along the sharp rocks. I feel my shirt lifting up to my bra, the skin on my torso exposed, the icy water hitting it. “Help!” I manage to yell as another wave hits me. Strong hands lift me from the water, sweeping under my back and legs and carrying me back to shore. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” the guy says. I can’t answer, coughing up the water that went in my mouth. Still carrying me, he walks toward the rocky ledge just below the back of his house. He gently sets me down on my feet but keeps his arm around me. “You okay?” “No,” I say, shivering as the wind blows. “That water is really cold.” He hesitates, looking up at his house, then back at me. “We need to get you inside.” “Inside your house? You wouldn’t even let me on your beach, which is why I’m now freezing to death and bleeding.” “Bleeding?” I point down to my knee which has blood running down it. The guy keeps a hand on my back as he bends down to inspect my knee. “Shit, you really got scraped up.” His eyes move over my body, then his hand goes to my abs, which is still exposed from my shirt riding up. I suck in a breath as his thumb sweeps just below my bra. “What are you doing?” “Wiping the seaweed off.” His hand swipes over my stomach, causing a ripple of pleasure through the area just below it. “You’re covered in sand.” He stands up. “We need to get this cleaned before it gets infected.” “WE?” I glance down the beach. “Um, yeah, I’ll just head home and do it there.” “You’ll never make it. You’re a mess. I’ll get you cleaned up, then take you home.” He wants me to go in his house? I think I can trust him, but I’m not sure. I just met him. “I’m just gonna head home.” I take a step and pain shoots from my knee, like there’s a rock stuck in the skin that’s scraping me every time I move. “I really think you should come inside,” he says. “You might’ve damaged your knee.” “It’s fine.” I take another step. More shooting pain. “Shit,” I mutter, biting my lip. The guy comes in front of me. “What’s going on here?” “Nothing,” I say, cringing from the pain. “I just need to go slow.” “You can’t even walk. Let’s go inside.” “No. Really. I’m fine.” He cocks his head. “Are you afraid of me?” “Afraid?” I nervously laugh. “Why would I be afraid of you?” He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks in my eyes. “I’m trying to help you. I’m not going to hurt you.” I stare back at him. “Said the killer before slaying the victim in his secret lair.” He laughs. “Secret lair?” He points to his house. “Does that look like a secret lair?” “The secret lair would be inside the house, like a hidden room.” “There are no hidden rooms,” he says, holding back a smile in an attempt to be serious. “I promise.”
GIVEAWAY!
Jackal
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo 99¢ for a limited time only! -- EXCERPT: I got on my bike and went in search of Tank’s house. The car parked in the driveway of the green house looked to be the same one that had been outside the clubhouse that night over two years ago. I killed the engine on my bike and walked up the porch steps, then knocked on the door. A slightly curvier Josie opened the door, her hair up in a messy bun, no make-up on her face, but fuck if she didn’t look gorgeous. Her hips seemed a little wider than before and her breasts looked bigger too. She damn near took my breath away, and I knew I was staring. There were dark circles under her eyes, and there was a yellow smear on her tank top, but I ached to reach for her. I smiled. “Hi, Josie.” Her eyes went wide and she stepped outside, pulling the door mostly shut behind her. She cast a nervous glance into the house before facing me again. “What are you doing here, Jackal?” “I came to help Zipper and I wanted to see you.” She nervously looked over her shoulder again through the crack in the door, pulling it closed a little more before looking at me. Something was up, but I didn’t know what. I knew Tank wasn’t in there, so who was? Was there a guy in there she didn’t want me to see? I hadn’t really thought about her hooking up with someone while I was gone, but I should have. A beautiful redhead like Josie? She probably had men falling at her feet. “You should go,” she said. “Go, but… What’s going on, Josie? Are you pissed I didn’t call?” I glanced at the door, anger burning in my gut. “Is there someone else?” “Please, Jackal. I can’t do this right now.” She stepped back inside, careful that I wouldn’t see into the house, then shut the door. I heard the lock click and her footsteps wander away. What the fuck was going on? 
GIVEAWAY!
MARCUSby Bethany-Kris Guzzi Legacy, #6 Publication Date: December 2, 2019 Genres: Adult, Romantic Suspense, Organized Crime. Erotic Romance, Standalone
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