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New Adult / Romance
Date Published: May 19, 2017
Spark’s fly the moment they meet, but what happens next?
HE CAN’T DO LOVE
Jason Stanford is charismatic, handsome, wealthy and alone in Bordeaux, France.
He intends to stay six months in order to advance his space travel ambitions
and to learn French. His plans are turned upside down by a chance meeting
with ambitious Aurelie Dumas. She is determined to teach Jason all about what
the French do best- love.
SHE CAN’T DO COMMITMENT
Aurelie Dumas is a career focused estate agent. Jason’s star bound ambitions
soon capture her heart, but this girl can’t do long term relationships. Jason
helps her come to terms with a family secret which has fractured her family
but will that be enough to make her want to stay around.
About the Author
EILIDH MCGINNESS has always loved fairy-tales, history and other world fantasies. She is never happier than when reading a good book. Writing is a passion which she finds time for by studiously avoiding ironing and a whole manner of other household chores. Eilidh has four children. The elder two have now fled the nest and the younger two live with her in South-West France. Eilidh was born in Scotland and although now based in France during the school term spends as much time as she can in Scotland and travelling.
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Billionaires on the Beach: The Anderson Brothers
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play ABOUT THE AUTHORS: Elizabeth Lennox – Although she wanted to be a romance novelist since the eighth grade, that dream only became a paid reality for her in 2009 and a full time job in 2012. Along the way, she received a BS in History and held different jobs in the real estate, government consulting, and financial industries. All during that time, though, she was always writing, using her personal experiences, dreams, and travels throughout the United States, Europe and the Caribbean as backdrops for her stories. Elizabeth lives in Virginia with her husband and two children. Find her at elizabethlennox.com. Noelle Adams – Noelle handwrote her first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and currently resides in Virginia, where she reads any book she can get her hands on and offers tribute to a very spoiled cocker spaniel. She loves travel, art, history, and ice cream. After spending far too many years of her life in graduate school, she has decided to reorient her priorities and focus on writing contemporary romances. Find her at noelle-adams.com. Leslie North – Leslie North is the pen name for a critically-acclaimed author of women’s contemporary romance and fiction. The anonymity gives her the perfect opportunity to paint with her full artistic palette, especially in the romance and erotic fantasy genres. Leslie fell in love with romance when she first picked up a scrappy, dog-eared romance book from her local library. She began writing soon after and the rest, as they say, was history. She now lives in a cozy cottage on the British coast and enjoys taking long walks with her two Dalmatians, George and Fergie. Find her at leslienorthbooks.com. Lizabeth Scott – Who is Lizabeth Scott? A voracious reader and a full-time writer for about 4 months! Liz is a wife and mother of two grown children and the proud grandma of the sweetest little baby ever. She is the personal assistant to a terrier terror named Moxie who she occasionally takes to the drive-through for a burger. Liz is a Carolina girl who loves sand between her toes as frequently as possible. At the prompting of a friend, Liz began living her dream of writing in 2013 and is now the author of several series. Find her at lizscottbooks.com. Gloria Silk – Gloria Silk writes novels of powerful passion without cultural borders. Born in Russia, Gloria Silk has lived in various parts of Europe and the Mediterranean. She loves to travel. Her background in English literature, writing and psychology help her create well-rounded, unique characters for her stories. She’s also an artist (using watercolors and acrylics) and a designer, and is published in non-fiction under Tanya Freedman. Find her at gloriasilk.com. --
Excerpt From The Billionaire’s Babysitter by Leslie North “Hey,” she said, but he didn’t turn around, “I’m sorry if I upset you, prying. It’s none of my business. I apologize.” “I’m not nine, Laine,” he said. “So don’t try to be my understanding babysitter.” “I know you’re not a kid,” she said softly, “I was having a nice time and I feel like I ruined it.” Wyatt raked a hand through his hair and crossed his arms, closed off to her again. “I’d like to know you better,” she said, and laid her cheek on his back just for a second. Laine wasn’t one to rub up against men, but the expanse of his strong back, and the closeness they’d shared moments ago over the basil overwhelmed her. She wanted to reach out to him. She wanted him to reach for her, to find comfort in her body and she longed to wrap her arms around him and open her lips for him. She was breathless, almost humid with the vividness of that desire, so when he turned and swept her around, his arm hooking her waist and hauling her up against him, she gasped. “How much better would you like to know me?” he said, his voice low and rasping. Her fingers curled into his shirt front. Laine felt lost in his intense hot blue gaze. He touched her cheek and she nestled into his palm. She felt as if every nerve ending was alight with the sizzle of his touch. She tried to answer him, knew somehow in the blur of desire that he had asked her a question and she ought to say something, but she couldn’t look away. She could feel the heat of his breath on her lips, his arms holding her against his hard chest. He tipped her chin up and she parted her lips, ready for him, dying for him to kiss her. She blinked, squinting as the sun came out from behind a cloud and shone right in her eyes so she had to look away from him. He gave that wicked half grin that made her want to drop her panties. Wyatt turned her so the sun wouldn’t be in her eyes, “I’d rather you be blinded by my charm than the sun, come over here,” he pulled her toward the shadow of the fence and she wrapped both arms around his neck, a smile curving her lips as she reached up for him and his mouth brushed hers. The loudest screeching sound she’d ever heard shrieked from the spot where they were standing. They broke apart and he swore. “Fucking house arrest.” He muttered, taking a step back into the boundaries of the property, “Might as well put a goddamn shock collar on me like a dog.” “Wyatt—” she called after him but he was on his way back inside. GIVEAWAY!
by Haven Francis Genre: YA Contemporary Fiction Release Date: June 27th 2017 Harmony Ink Press Summary: In the small town of Spring Valley, molds weren’t made to be broken, and high school senior Jay Hall’s been living comfortably in his popular jock one since adolescence. If it weren’t for the colorful, outspoken artistic anomaly Brighton Bello-Adler, he might have been willing to remain there. Unnaturally drawn to Brighton, Jay knows he needs something from him, but is he ready to find out what that something is? Temporarily ditching his old life, Jay climbs into Brighton’s Bronco and finds himself on a whirlwind road trip through parts of his small town he didn’t know existed. When the excursion takes an unexpected turn, Jay is cracked wide open, and the person who’s revealed does strange things to Brighton’s heart. But just when it appears they could be headed toward their own shared piece of paradise, the road takes a sharp right turn into Jay’s life—where the real trip is about to begin. In an unconventional love story that defies labels, two young men embark on a journey toward growing up, coming out, and finding their place in the world. It’s a trip that ranges from heartbreaking to uplifting, funny to sweet, but always unique and personal. 
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Excerpt:
Prologue—Jay
When I woke up Friday morning, I knew it was going to be the day I would finally change my life.
Which, in retrospect, seems like a totally unattainable goal for the day. I mean, who can really change their life in a single day? Just to be clear, I’m talking about for the better. Fucking up your entire life in one day—that’s totally doable. Really, all it would take is 140 characters exposing your dirty black soul on Twitter. You wouldn’t even have to leave your bed.
Realistically, fucking it up would have been the more likely outcome considering the exact changes I needed to make. Again, I’m only realizing this in retrospect, which I’m suddenly starting to despise. Why the delayed reaction, common sense? Seriously.
In my defense, I was blinded by an epiphany. I shit you not. It’s the only explanation for the clarity that pushed out all the regular crap that usually occupies my brain.
Has that ever happened to you? Have you ever opened your eyes and immediately cringed because suddenly the exact depth of suck-ass your life has reached is slapping you repeatedly in the face? Trust me, it sucks. I mean, you go to bed in a comfortable state of denial thinking life’s great. In my case my girlfriend had watched me hit the game-winning double, and afterward my teammates and I had knocked back a few beers before heading home to our McMansions in Folsom Hills. Life is dandy. You sleep like a damn baby—that’s how comfortable you are in your warm shit pile of a life.
And then—ka, fucking, boom—you wake up and… oh hell no, how the hell did this happen? Someone bring me a fallout shelter because I need a safe place to escape from my life for the rest of eternity.
But no fallout shelter comes, and eventually you’re forced to see that your entire life must be destroyed and then resurrected. And all you can think is thank God this mayhem came in the form of an epiphany, because you’re definitely gonna need some divine powers to help you out.
It was all a mess, but the thing that was really screwing with my head was why it all had to change. I mean, I knew why. Deep down I’d always known why, but I had managed to live in the safety of denial for years.
Not anymore. The veil of delusion was lifted and suddenly, everything was blindingly clear.
And what was clear to me that morning was that I had forfeited the life that should have been mine. In fact I had veered as far as I possibly could from my should-have-been life. The path I’d chosen was definitely not the one less traveled. I took the path that had been tromped over a million times. It was a sharp right turn, backward a good mile and a half, around corners, down hills, through a forest, and across the universe from where I’d really wanted to go.
But suddenly I was forced to go there. The maze I would have to navigate in order to backtrack be damned.
Once the shock and terror passed, I felt inspired. I was all knowing and all-powerful and anything was possible. Reality could suck me, because I wasn’t taking its crap anymore.
That Rambo bullshit lasted for a good hour. And then I walked into school.
I could feel my confidence crack as soon as the big metal door closed behind me. But a crack wasn’t going to stop me from doing what had to be done because, dammit; I had an epiphany. I was working alongside higher powers, and it was now or never.
But hell, I mean I couldn’t just change everything immediately. So I wrapped my arm around Sadie and walked to my literal circle of friends who were huddled in the middle of the commons like they were every morning. At first I looked at them with my brand-new superior eyes and thought, I’m better than this. I have more to offer the world than my exceptional athletic ability, good looks, and diligent study habits. I have nothing in common with these people. My should-have-been-life is so much better than this.
While thinking these thoughts, I was midsentence—talking to Jones about the party he was having on Saturday—when Mack slapped me on the chest. He started insulting my performance from the night before, which was obviously bullshit because I always kill it on the field. I insulted him back. This was the banter we were comfortable in. Friendly digs were thrown around for a minute, and then he brought Sadie into it, telling me she needed to do a better job of “warming me up†before our next game. I didn’t defend my virginal girlfriend, but instead told him I was always plenty warmed up (wink wink). Which probably should have been the first, or now that I’m thinking about it, at least the third (seriously retrospect, damn you) sign that my life was not, in fact, on the fast track to change. But really I didn’t see it until I began to turn my head back to Sadie.
That’s when my world went into some weird stop-start motion of clarity:
Jesus, all these guys are wearing the same damn outfits: basketball shoes, perfectly distressed jeans, and brand-name T-shirts under their letterman jackets.
Holy shit, almost all of them have their arms wrapped around popular, beautiful cheerleaders.
And, for fuck’s sake, they’re all talking about last night’s game or Jones’s party.
It freaked me the hell out because—God, this is just too sad—they were clones. They could have all been the same damn person. It was eerie as hell. And at first it felt like more proof that I deserved better.
But then, when I finally looked at Sadie, I saw my arm: my letterman jacketed arm was wrapped around a popular, beautiful cheerleader, and it all hit me again without warning—because that’s how theses god-awful epiphanies work.
I woke up that morning convinced I was different, that I deserved more. And yet, I put on the exact same jeans, T-shirt, and basketball shoes as all these guys. Then I automatically walked into that circle, wrapping an arm around Sadie and dragging her with me because she was the piece that completed my jocktastic ensemble. And then I spewed out the exact same words all these guys were spewing out.
And that’s what got me.
I had nothing else to talk about. Sports, parties, and girls—that was pretty much the extent of my vocabulary. There wasn’t actually a unique and interesting person locked in some weird chamber inside of me trying to claw his way out. I was Jay Hall: quintessential popular jock asshole. Despite the fact that I knew there was one thing that separated me from these guys, it didn’t make me different from them. I had no right to even consider that I deserved to be anyone else.
Mind. Blown.
As the day went on, I couldn’t deny the fact that I was trapped, cocooned by a mass of kids living the exact same life as me. The roadblocks were clean-cut, attractive, and popular, and they were as deep as childhood and adolescence combined. And the road I was trying to go down was narrow, muddy, and filled with potholes anyway. So why did I even give a shit?
By third period I had given up the dream. And I was feeling claustrophobic.
When I woke up on Friday morning, I knew it was going to be the day I would finally change my life. I thought I’d had an epiphany. I thought I needed a divine, unexplainable act to finally give me the courage to do something.
But in the end it wasn’t divinity at all.
It was a simple piece of paper with a few numbers scratched on it. A piece of paper that ended up turning my life upside down and cracking me open in the process.
On Friday morning if you had told me that a damn piece of paper would, within twenty-four hours, cause my entire world to implode, I would have told you to shove it up your ass. Paper schmaper, I was working with a goddamn epiphany.
An escapist filled with wanderlust, writing is Haven’s responsible adult version of getting in the car and driving without aim. Reading and music are close seconds. She and her husband can often be found checking out their favorite bands locally or hundreds of miles away via road trips. Reading is something they don’t have in common, but he tolerates her dimly lit late-night habit. Haven once made a living writing about trends in interior design but thoroughly enjoys that fact that people, unlike furniture, can fall in love. She especially loves when they fall desperately and into a forbidden kind of love. Haven also works as a graphic designer but considers Mom her most important title. She has a slightly embarrassing fascination with the period of life that sits awkwardly between childhood and adulthood; the years when nothing is certain, lots of mistakes are made, falling in love is inevitable, and finding yourself is a struggle. For her it’s a fun place to escape to and she hopes her readers agree.
HAPPY RELEASE DAY
From Bestselling and Award Winning Author
Loree Lough
Based on a Screenplay by Kevin James O'Neill
"This is the kind of book that wins Pulitzer Prizes."
- Catherine Lanigan, Author of Romancing the Stone
50 HOURS
Loree Lough
Genre:†General Fiction
Publisher: Progressive Rising Phoenix Press Publication Date: June 30, 2017
A broken man, a dying woman, and a friendship that changes them both.
Franco Allessi is a broken, lonely man who wants nothing more than to outrun the ghosts of his past. For years, he tries to numb the pain of his wife's death with cheap beer and whiskey. When he's convicted of drunk driving, the judge revokes his license for six months and orders him to serve fifty hours of community service. Franco chooses Savannah Falls Hospice for no reason other than it's walking distance from his dilapidated house trailer.
On his first day on the job, he meets Aubrey Brewer, a woman whose time on earth is quickly ticking to a stop. Their unusual connection teaches powerful, life-changing lessons about friendship, acceptance, and the importance of appreciating that precious treasure called Life.
Loree Lough is an exceptional author, and that's why I approached her about writing the novel for my Feature film, 50 Hours. But I had no idea how wonderful her novelization would be until I read it. Loree was able to dig so deep into my characters. She unearthed and richly developed the filmís skeletal characters and give them three dimensional lives. I am so happy with the book!
- Kevin OíNeill, writer/director/actor/producer
Praise for 50 Hours by Loree Lough
50 Hours is a moving story about love, loss, friendship, and last chances. Itís a reminder that our lives are precious stories, no matter how long or short. This is a must-read for all of us who have been touched by cancer ñ victims, caregivers, family, and friends. This poignant and touching tale will inspire hope in the midst of even the darkest hours.
- Cerella Sechrist, author of the popular Findlay Roads series from Harlequin
You'll laugh, you'll cry... 50 Hours is an unforgettable tale of healing, redemption, and the cost of true love. With a delicate pen, author Loree Lough writes an honest and poignant view of what cancer patients face with commendable bravery. A must-read for readers of every kind!
- Rachel Muller, author of bestselling World War II series, Love & War, and the newly released, Phillip's War
Loree Lough took a difficult subject and turned it into a compelling read with light humor to soften the inevitable sadness that comes with a depressing disease.
- Emma Gingerich ñ author of Runaway Amish Girl; the Great Escape
50 Hours is a book you wonít be able to put down, and its messages of love and compassion will linger with you long after youíve turned the last page.
- Kate James, award-winning author of Sanctuary Cove, Silver Linings, and The Truth About Hope
The novel is a reminder that life is indeed short, but always worth living. And almost alwaysÖ one life will touch many others. Great job Loree!
- Robin Bayne, author of Reunion At Crane Lake. www.robinbayne.com
Emerson said, "To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived, this is to have succeeded." Aubrey and Franco succeeded. Believe me when I say, THIS IS THE KIND OF BOOK THAT WINS PULITZER PRIZES.
- Catherine Lanigan, author of Romancing the Stone, The Jewel of the Nile, and over forty-five novels and non-fiction
To read the complete praises and accolades, visit the 50 Hours Book Page at Book Unleashed.
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Available now. Grab your copy today.
 An Excerpt from the Book
Take an inside look at 50 Hours with this sizzling excerpt from the book.
DURING THE DRIVE BETWEEN THE COURTHOUSE AND MAMAíS BOY DINER, David Gibbons barely spoke. Even now, seated at their table near the windows, he remained quiet. Except for reciting his breakfast order, he hadnít said a word, but Franco knew it was only a matter of time before he let him have it with both barrels, as his grandpa used to say.
Finally, when the waitress was out of earshot, he stared hard at Franco.
ìWell?î
A-a-and there it is, he thought, running shaky hands through his hair. ìOkay. Look. I know I should have called before all hell broke loose, but . . . but I was testing myself.î
David grabbed the sugar dispenser. ìTesting yourself.î He sounded more like a disappointed dad than an AA sponsor.
ìI thought maybe I could get through it on my own this time.î
ìBull.î He let the white granules stream into his cup. ìYou didnít think. If you had, you wouldíve given a thought to what happened last year. And the year before that.î
Franco knew heíd messed up. Again. And that he had nobody to blame but himself. Head pounding, he rubbed his temples as Davidís spoon clanked against the sides of the mug. Had he ever met anyone who made more noise stirring coffee? He didnít think so.
David pointed at Francoís swollen lips and the bloody butterfly bandage a nurse at the jail had taped over his left eyebrow. ìSo, who cleaned your clock?î
ìWell, there was this pool cue, see . . . î
ìReal funny. I notice youíre favoring your right ankle. I suppose the pool cue did that, too.î
ìNo. That was the work of the biker, attached to the pool cue.î Franco chuckled, then gripped his aching ribcage.
ìBusted ribs too, huh?î
ìProbably.î
ìProbably? You mean they didnít take you to the ER?î
ìThey offered. I said no.î
ìIdiot.î
David couldnít call him anything he hadnít already called himself.
ìYouíre gonna have one heckuva scar when you peel that bandage off your forehead. Maybe itíll serve as a reminder, help you really think next time you decide to, ah, test yourself.î
ìYouíre all heart, David. All heart.î He smirked. ìExcept for your mouth, of course. Thatís more like another part of your anatomy.î
David waved away the insult. ìYou know how frustrating it is, watching you get this close to earning your one-year chip,î he said, thumb and forefinger an inch apart, ìand then you go and bungle it by pulling another dumb stunt? Every. Single. Year?î
Franco didnít have a comeback for that one. Heíd screwed up. Royally. At least no one got hurt, other than himself. David knew it, too.
The men sat in stony silence as the waitress delivered their food.
David peeled back the top of a tiny jelly container. ìWhen was the last time you went to a meeting?î he asked, smearing its contents on a wedge of toast.
It had been more than a month, but Franco didnít want to open himself up to another firestorm, so he stuffed his mouth with food and shrugged.
David counted on his fingers: ìPushing your limits. Breaking the rules. Avoiding tough questions.î He salted his eggs. ìYou remind me so much of my kid, itís almost scary.î He used his fork as a pointer. ìAnd that shouldnít come across as a compliment, since heís ten.î
TouchÈ, Franco thought, gulping his OJ. He winced when it stung the cuts inside his mouth.
ìMaybe this community service stuff will finally shake some sense into you.î
Heíd been acting like a fool for so long, it had become a habit. And yet he said, ìMaybe.î
ìHow long did the judge give you to choose your community service project?î
ìTwenty-four hours.î
ìWell, it just so happens I have an idea.î
Franco stopped chewing. ìYeah?î
ìThereís a hospice, a half-mile or so from your traileró which is lucky for you, since you canít driveóand I happen to know theyíre in need of a gardener.î
Before Jillís death, his landscape business had kept the wolf from the door. In the three years since, the only garden tool heíd touched had been the shovel Clayton kept out back for scooping up his dogís poop. It might be nice, working hard again. Working so hard that he fell into bed too exhausted to have nightmares about the wreck that took Jill from him.
ìYou know the old saying, ëIf it seems too good to be trueí?î Franco lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. ìBut youíve got my attention.î
David explained that his sister-in-law had spent her final days at Savannah Falls. ìSo I know for a fact that itís a great place. I can take you over there, make introductions.î
ìI dunno, Dave. A hospice center? You know better than anybody that Iím not exactly a people person. Dealing with sick people?î He winced again.
ìOh, quit your bellyaching. Youíll be outside, mowiní and hoeiní, and the patients will be insideóî
ìódying.î Hungry as he was, Franco shoved his plate aside, because it hurt to chew, and the bacon and buttery eggs burned the cut on his lip. ìI dunno,î he said again.
ìYouíll do fine, if you just do your job and keep your big yap shut. For a change.î
Franco grinned despite himself. Had it been good luck or bad that put him together with a guy who never sugar-coated anything?
David slid his cell phone across the table. ìCall your lawyer, find out how we go about informing the judge that youíve decided to get back into the posie-planting business. Cause last thing you need right now is to violate courthouse protocol.î
Franco slid Carlisleís card from his pocket, and as he dialed, David said, ìWhen youíre through there, Iíll call Mrs. Kane, the director, arrange a meeting between you two. Sheís a good egg, but she doesnít take any guff, so Iíd watch my step if I were you. With any luck, sheíll put you to work tomorrow.î
ìI have a job, yíknow.î At least he hoped he had a job. Clayton might tell him to take a permanent hike once he heard . . . everything.
It only took a minute to run the hospice idea past the young attorney, and less than that to find out that a phone call from Carlisle would get things straight with Judge Malloy.
He returned Davidís phone. ìThe kid said I should get over to Savannah Falls and sign up ASAP. Said the judgeís office wouldnít waste any time checking up on me. And that I need to keep track of my hours, so that when the paperwork comes through . . . î
Phone pressed to his ear, David wasnít listening, because heíd already connected with Savannah Falls. Franco picked up a slice of cold bacon, and took care not to let it graze his sore lips when he bit off a chunk. He slid the plate close again. Hard to tell when heíd have the timeóor the moneyófor another meal, so he did his best to clean his plate, listening as David explained the situation to the takes-no-guff Mrs. Kane.
ìShe can meet with you this afternoon,î he said, dropping the phone into his shirt pocket.
It was all happening too fast. Way too fast for Francoís taste. ìBut . . . but I need to figure out how to get the Jeep out of the impound lot. And get over to the garage, see if Clayton can find something for me to do that doesnít involve a driverís license.î
ìIíll chauffer you around today. But first things first. Iím taking you home so you can clean up your boozy self. You need a shower. A toothbrush. And a change of clothes.î He wrinkled his nose. ìYou lookóand smellólike something my cat puked up.î
ìCat puke, huh?î Franco smirked, even though it hurt to do it. ìPeople can call you a lot of things, Gibbons, but tactful isnít one of them.î
ìTact!î David got to his feet and tossed a twenty onto the table. ìWho has time for tact with you falling off the wagon and going ballistic every couple months?î
Ordinarily, a crack like that would have set Franco off. For some reason, it struck him as weird penance, because he knew he had it coming.
Giveaway
WIN
Prizes up for grabs:
$10 Amazon Gift Card 50 Hours (eBook Copy) 50 Hours (Print Copy)
Contest runs from June 30 - July 8, 2017.
About†Loree Lough
Bestselling author LOREE LOUGH once sang for her supper, performing across the U.S. and Canada. Now and then, she blows the dust from her 6-string to croon a tune or two, but mostly, she writes novels that have earned hundreds of industry and "Readers' Choice" awards, 4- and 5-star reviews, and 7 book-to-movie options. Her 115th book, 50 Hours, is her most personal to date. Recently released, The Man She Knew, book #1 in her ìBy Way of the Lighthouseî series from Harlequin Heartwarming.
Official website:†http://www.loreelough.com/
Connect with Loree Lough†on social media:
Book Tour Schedule
Follow the book tour from June 30 - July 8, 2017.
Discover more features, excerpts, reviews, interviews, fun facts and other extras on the tour.
To check the latest tour schedule, visit the 50 Hours Book Page at Book Unleashed.
In partnership with
 Meet the Author: Darcy Burke is the USA Today Bestselling Author of hot, action-packed historical and sexy, emotional contemporary romance. A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her guitar-strumming husband, their two hilarious kids who seem to have inherited the writing gene, and three Bengal cats. Visit Darcy online at www.darcyburke.com and sign up for her newsletter, follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/darcyburke, or like her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/DarcyBurkeFans.
About the Book: Difficult and defiant as a child, Bran Crowther, Earl of Knighton left England as a young man to pursue independence and adventure. He never expected to inherit the title and when duty calls him home, he still finds Society’s codes constricting and others’ expectations oppressive. Nevertheless, he needs a wife to be a mother to his young daughter, preferably a woman of intelligence and warmth who is, above all, immune to his idiosyncrasies—and to falling in love.
Widow Joanna Shaw isn’t interested in a second marriage, not after the loveless, passionless union she endured. She’d much rather dote on her young niece and nephew since they will likely be the only children in her life...until she meets a precocious girl, in desperate need of a mother. But her father, the so-called Duke of Defiance, is as peculiar as he is handsome, and Jo won’t take another risk with her heart. Their rules, however, are made to be broken, even when the consequences could destroy them both.
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Reach for You
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo / iBooks Previous books in the series: -- CHAPTER ONE:
We journey. Ceaseless and hungry. Carved into stone tablet. Tenerife, Spain The campsite was ominously silent. Then a breeze lifted and my ear caught the faint clank and rattle of the bones and knives hanging in the pine trees behind us. “You don’t think they’re both dead, do you?” Selena whispered. I scanned the dilapidated camper ahead of us, a do-it-yourself RV created out of an old bread truck. Despite the midafternoon warmth, the doors were shut tight. The tent behind it, barely visible from our angle, bowed under the weight of rain that had pooled in its canopy. There was no campfire smoke. No trampled grass. In comparison to when we’d come here last week, the place looked deserted. Goose bumps pebbled my skin. I gave the camper another once-over. “Zea was really old and sickly. He could have died—or if the kidnappers came here first looking for Lotli, they could have found him. They might have—” Selena cut me off with a glower. “You mean, supposed kidnappers.” My jaw clenched. Yeah, that was exactly what I meant. I understood why my cousin didn’t like that everything we’d discovered pointed to her boyfriend, Newt, being involved in Lotli’s disappearance, and perhaps Zea’s as well. But I thought we’d gotten past that, like a bunch of times already. I swiveled toward where we’d parked our Land Rover. The Professor stood rooted next to it, a mixture of disgust and apprehension crinkling his face. From his scholarly glasses and sandy brown hair all the way down to his polished loafers, he looked anything but ready for our reconnaissance trip out here on the back roads of Down East Maine. An afternoon of research at Oxford University would have been more appropriate. “You want to check inside the tent while we look in the camper?” His gaze flicked to the soggy tarps. He cleared his throat, then—as posh as ever—said, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not totally against the idea. But the thought of discovering a rotting corpse is a teensy bit abhorrent.” “Would you rather discover one in a closed-up camper?” I snapped. It was lucky we’d driven into the campsite from the main road instead of walking like we’d done the last time. I’d assumed the Professor had an adventuresome spirit to go with his young Indiana Jones good looks. Especially since he was an archaeologist, though this summer he was tutoring Selena’s eleven-year-old brother as a favor. Still, and despite how eager he’d seemed to come with us, the Professor had freaked the second we started past the creepy stuff Zea and Lotli hung in the trees to scare people off: the knives and bones, pieces of copper pipe, broken mirrors, and doll parts. Frankly, I was surprised he’d even gotten out of the Land Rover at all. I pasted on a smile. “Sorry. I don’t much care for the idea myself. Let’s just hope he’s napping or something.” The Professor wiped his hands down the sides of his chinos. “I truly hope you’re right.” As he headed for the tent, I tramped toward the camper with Selena close behind. If only Chase were here now. The creepy stuff hadn’t bothered him at all, and the fear of Zea being dead would have only driven him forward faster. My chest tightened, my longing for Chase aching inside me, raw and unrelenting. If it weren’t for me, he would be here now. Instead, both he and my mother were trapped in the djinn realm, prisoners of his father, Malphic. If it weren’t for me, Lotli wouldn’t be missing either. “Well?” Selena jerked her head at the camper door. “Are you going to just stand there?” I raised my hand and knocked. One second passed. Two seconds. I rapped harder. Nothing. I tried the doorknob. It turned beneath my grip. I opened the door a crack, hesitated, and took a deep breath before pushing it open all the way. A wave of hot, musty air rushed past me as if the camper had been closed up for days. “Hello?” I said, sticking my head inside. I gave the air a cautious sniff. No dangerous odors, like a leaky gas stove, permeated the air. No rotting-trash smell—or decomp. Selena nudged my shoulder. “What are you waiting for?” I swallowed hard and stepped forward. The place was cramped, a gypsy wagon on steroids. Tassels and prisms curtained the windows, letting only faint streaks of light inside. Miles of fuchsia and turquoise fabric draped the ceiling and walls. Animal skulls, feathers, and nubby candles clustered inside miniature altars. The fridge, table, and chairs, every surface that wasn’t fabric covered, was painted purple or black. Stars decorated the ceiling. An antique bed piled with crimson quilts and an avalanche of pillows took up the camper’s entire backend. It was cozy enough, I supposed. But I couldn’t begin to imagine what life had been like for Lotli, apprenticed to Zea as a child because of her magic abilities, essentially indentured. Not that I thought a devout shaman like Zea would have been cruel to her. It was just so different from anything I’d experienced. “Zea, are you here?” I called out. “We need to talk to you about Lotli.” I minced my way deeper into the cramped space, working my way toward the back of the camper. Cold sweat carved a trail down my spine. I crept past a tiny kitchen and dining nook, then the bathroom—one toothbrush in the holder, a washcloth draped over the edge of a yellowed sink. I returned to the front of the camper and pulled aside the curtain that divided the living area from the bread truck’s cab. Seats for the driver and a passenger, seashells glued to the dash, insulated coffee cups in the holders-- Something brushed the back of my neck. I yelped and jumped sideways, whipping around to see what it was and smacking my elbow against the wall. Pain zinged up my arm. I glared at Selena, standing barely an inch behind me. “Shit,” I said, rubbing the sting from my arm. “You scared the hell out of me.” She gave me a sheepish pout. “Sorry. I thought you knew I was there.” “I didn’t think you were that close.” It wouldn’t have hurt half as bad, except I was already sore and bruised from being thrown out of the djinn realm earlier in the day. Her pout transformed into a smug smile and she flipped her blond hair over one shoulder. “Looks to me like Zea and Lotli might have pulled a vanishing act after all. Huh?” I stopped rubbing. “Or the Professor’s about to find something disgusting in the tent.” “Want to bet?” I closed my eyes, struggling to regain my composure. We couldn’t afford to waste time discussing the same thing over and over again, any more than I could have afforded the luxury of staying home to nurse my aches and pains. Chase and Mother were in danger. And I couldn’t go back to the realm and rescue them until we found Lotli. Without her and her flute-magic, it would be too risky, perhaps even impossible to enter or escape from the realm. I shoved past Selena and strode to the tiny bathroom. “While we’re here, we should find something personal of Lotli’s that you can use to scry and see where they’re holding her.” Glancing around, I spotted a scruffy hairbrush. You couldn’t get much more personal than that. I grabbed it and brandished it toward Selena. She stood just inside the bathroom doorway, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. “Cut it out, Annie, I’ve had enough of you talking like Newt kidnapped Lotli, the innuendos and little jabs. Maybe his family’s hiding something, but Newt doesn’t have anything to do with it. So quit acting like he’s evil, okay?” I mirrored her stance. “He told you his dad was a stockbroker, that they owned their summer home. Those were lies. His brother is a registered creep. No matter what you want to think: Newt’s not innocent.” She turned her back on me, her voice bordering on hysteria. “I don’t know why I bothered coming. You’re so, so . . . You always have to be right—” Her voice died and she slowly faced me. Angry red blotches mottled her face. But tears rimmed her eyes. My anger drained. She didn’t look pissed. She was trembling like she was about to fall apart. Earlier today, when we’d first heard about the lies Newt and his family had been telling, I’d seen something in Selena’s eyes, something beneath her disbelief. “What is it? Tell me,” I asked gently. She raked her hands over her face. “Nothing. You just need to trust me. I know Newt couldn’t be involved. And he wouldn’t have let his brother do it either.” I leveled my gaze with hers and toughened my voice. “What makes you so certain? Tell me the truth, Selena.” Her chin quivered. “I just know.” Tucking the hairbrush handle first into my hip pocket, I stepped closer. I pushed her hair back from her face. “You’re my cousin. Please. Tell me.” “Nothing. He just wouldn’t do it. He loves me.” “I get that. But—” She shoved my hand away. “No, you don’t get it. I know he loves me. Like forever.” Her eyes pleaded for me to understand what she couldn’t bring herself to say. A possibility seeped into my head. My hands went to my mouth, covering a horrified gasp. She couldn’t mean. She couldn’t have. “What did you do?” “I kind of—I put a . . .” Her voice faded and she looked down at the floor. “A spell?” A month ago, the idea of witchcraft being involved would never have occurred to me. Now it seemed more than likely. “You can’t tell anyone. Mom, Dad, Grandfather—they’d kill me.” She curled her arms over her head, her shoulders shaking as she crumpled down against the wall. I crouched and put my arms around her. “Whatever it is, it’ll be fine. It can’t be that bad.” “It is,” she sobbed. 
GIVEAWAY!
THE BAD LUCK BRIDE
by Jane Goodger
Pub Date: 6/13/17
Welcome to St. Ives, the charming seaside town where even a down-on-her luck bride might find her way back to love . . .
As if being left at the alter for the third time isn’t bad enough, Lady Alice Hubbard has now been dubbed “The Bad Luck Bride” by the London newspapers. Defeated, she returns to her family’s estate in St. Ives, resolved to a future as a doting spinster. After all, a lady with her record of marital mishaps knows better than to dream of happily-ever-after. But then Alice never expects to see Henderson Southwell again. Her beloved brother’s best friend disappeared from her life soon after her brother’s death. Until now…
Alice is just as achingly beautiful as Henderson remembers. And just as forbidden. For the notorious ladies’ man made one last promise to Alice’s brother before he died—and that was never to pursue her. But one glimpse of Alice’s sorrow and Henderson feels a powerful urge to put the light back in her lovely eyes, one lingering kiss at a time. Even if it means falling in love with the one woman he can never call his bride . . .
Jane Goodger lives in Rhode Island with her husband and three children. Jane, a former journalist, has written seven historical romances. When she isn’t writing, she’s reading, walking, playing with her kids, or anything else completely unrelated to cleaning a house.
Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts and a giveaway!
Title: TELL ON YOU
Author: Freda Hansburg
Publisher: Micro Publishing Media
Pages: 248
Genre: Thriller
Tell on You is a psychological suspense novel that best fits within the Gone Girl-inspired niche genre of “grip lit.” Jeremy Barrett’s obsessive love equals that of Jay Gatsby for Daisy Buchanan, as life imitates art in his private school English class. But his angst-driven infatuation brings dire consequences as he is drawn into the machinations of his disturbed 16-year-old student Nikki Jordan, whose bad intentions rival those of her teacher. A fast-paced, drama-filled tale, Tell on You reminds readers about the wildness and trauma of adolescence—and the self-defeating behaviors to which adults resort in times of stress. From gaslighting to vicious bullying, poisonous family privilege to the loss of a parent—Freda Hansburg draws on her experience as a clinical psychologist to explore the depths of each dark situation in Tell on You.
PURCHASE YOUR COPY:Amazon
“OWW!!” EIGHT-YEAR OLD Brandon Jordan screeched as his sister Nikki twisted his arm in an Indian burn. “Nikki, stop!”
His cries brought Mom crashing into Nikki’s room. “Nikki, I won’t have you bullying your brother again. Let him go this instant.”
“But I caught him in here messing with my stuff!” Nikki gave Brandon’s arm a final wrench before releasing him. Pouting, he scurried from her room.
“I don’t care what he did. I told you, keep your hands to yourself.” Her mother turned away, judgment delivered.
Probably in a hurry to get back to her vodka and reality TV. “At least when Dad was here, somebody stuck up for me,” Nikki called after her.
Mom’s angry face reappeared. “Stuck up for you?” A bitter laugh. “Stuck it to you, and all of us, is more like it.”
“Wasn’t me he left,” Nikki said.
“Really? When’s the last time he even phoned you?” Her mother walked off with that parting shot.
“Like you’d know, bitch.” Nikki said it under her breath, but not under enough.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Mom stormed back into the room, got right up in Nikki’s face, breath boozy. “You’re grounded for the next three days, kiddo. Give me your car keys, right now.”
“Maa!” Nikki protested. “How will I get to school?”
Her mother held out her hand for the keys. “Get up an hour early and I’ll drop you on the way to work.”
“No way!” Nikki fished the keys from her bag and dropped them into her mother’s open palm.
“Then walk.” Her mom headed out of the room, turning back for one last jab. “Or call your father.”
This time Nikki closed the bedroom door before cursing her out. Walking to school sucked, and tomorrow’s weather forecast called for cold. Call your father. Very funny. Dad lived in Austin now. But it gave her an idea.
Nikki picked up her phone to make the call, rehearsing the pitch in her mind. I’m so lonely, Mr. B. I’m taking care of my brother again because my mom went out. And she forgot we were supposed to take my car in for a new battery. And I was wishing…I know I shouldn’t ask you…but if you met me and gave me a ride to school tomorrow, I’d get to see you. You wouldn’t have to take me right to school, just drop me nearby.
She’d sell it to him. And after that, she’d see about getting even with her mother and
brother. Maybe steal Brandon’s Game Boy batteries and hide them. And see how much
distilled white vinegar she could add to Mom’s vodka bottle before the bitch actually
noticed. Nobody, but nobody, got to score the winning point against Nikki Jordan.
About the Author
Freda Hansburg is a psychologist and Tell On You is her debut trade thriller. She self-published the suspense novel Shrink Rapt and co-authored two self-help books, PeopleSmart – a best-seller translated into ten languages – and Working PeopleSmart. Freda lives in the South Carolina Lowcountry, where she is working on her next novel and her Pickleball game.
Her latest book is the thriller, Tell On You.
WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:WEBSITE | TWITTER | FACEBOOK
This tour brought to you by
Maldeamores (Lovesick)by Mara White Publication Date: June 22, 2015 Genres: Contemporary, Taboo, Romance
Purchase: Amazon Belén: I’ve loved Luciano ever since I can remember, desired him before I even knew what it meant. He’s always been the only man in my life—my constant protector, and his rejection only intensifies my need. Luciano: I’ve never known a love more fierce than the one I feel for Belén. But I force myself to deny her no matter how much it hurts. Our love is a sickness and both of us are infected. Because there’s no cure for being from the same family.
About Mara WhiteMara White is a contemporary romance and erotica writer who laces forbidden love stories with hard issues, such as race, gender and inequality. She holds an Ivy League degree but has also worked in more strip clubs than even she can remember. She is not a former Mexican telenovela star contrary to what the tabloids might say, but she is a former ballerina and will always remain one in her heart. She lives in NYC with her husband and two children and yes, when she’s not writing you can find her on the playground.Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Amazon |Bookbub
Passions—and tempers—flare as one star-crossed couple gets a second chance at love.
KING OF CLUBS
Aces & Eights #2
Sandra Owens
Releasing June 27, 2017
Montlake Romance
In the second novel in acclaimed author Sandra Owens’s Aces & Eights series, passions—and tempers—flare as one star-crossed couple gets a second chance at love.
Covert FBI agent Court Gentry loves his brothers, his job, and his Harley-Davidson. Once he loved a girl, too, but when she broke his heart, he put his emotions on lockdown…until she crosses his path again.
On vacation six years ago, free-spirited Lauren Montgomery fell hard for Court Gentry. She returned home happier than ever, only to descend into a spiral of abuse by her ex-husband, Stephan. When Stephan threatened to kill any man who touched her, Lauren cut Court from her life—but not from her heart.
When Lauren and Court reunite after her friend marries his brother, Court guards himself against the person who made him feel such intense passion and pain. Except the undeniable spark between them is impossible to contain and heating up fast. Six years ago, it was love. Now, it’s just lust. Keeping it merely physical is a foolproof plan…right?
When Stephan is released from prison, Lauren can’t outrun her past anymore, and Court vows to protect her. But with Lauren in imminent danger, Court must question his heart and risk his life to save the woman he never stopped loving.  
A best-selling, award winning author, Sandra Owens lives in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. Her family and friends often question her sanity, but have ceased being surprised by what she might get up to next. She’s jumped out of a plane, flown in an aerobatic plane while the pilot performed death-defying stunts, has flown Air Combat (two fighter planes dogfighting, pretending to shoot at each other with laser guns), and rode a Harley motorcycle for years. She regrets nothing.
A member of Romance Writers of America's Honor Roll, Sandra is a 2013 Golden Heart® Finalist for her contemporary romance, CRAZY FOR HER. In addition to her contemporary romantic suspense novels, she writes Regency stories. |
