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![]() Straight to Hell
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“Ummm. Lucy?” Ashliel stepped in beside me, electronic clipboard in hand. “Yes, Ash?” I knew she had a long list of requests, meetings, messages. As CEO of Hell, my days were busy. I’d built my torturous dimension to great heights over the last few hundred millennia. In the last two hundred years alone, attendance of lost souls entering Hell has risen over two hundred percent, and that number looked to be on the rise. “There’s a man who wants his punishment of having a buzzard constantly pecking his eyes out to be lessened, a man whose memories have been wiped and he wants to know who he was, and a woman who wants to warn her sister on Earth about the afterlife.” She spoke fast, knowing my time was limited. “Buzzard man, no can do. This isn’t a negotiation. His punishment was set when he entered Hell. He knows this. Deny future requests. Memory man…good point, how can he atone for his sins if he can’t remember them? See to it that his sinful memories are returned. Only his sins, mind you. And no to the woman who wants to warn her sister—they get plenty of warnings. It’s not like this place is a secret.” Ashliel’s fingers flew across her clipboard. By the time we reached my offices, she was done. Before stepping out of the glass box I looked down, into the fiery pit where the most heinous of sinners resided. It was eerily beautiful from this vantage point. Sighing, I turned my back on the bubbling pit of fire and exited the elevator, stepping into the opulence of Hell HQ. I greatly admired the skyscrapers on Earth and had modeled Hell HQ on them. Over two hundred floors, soaring high into the red and orange sky, built from gleaming black marble. My offices took up ten floors alone; the very top floor was my penthouse. Yes, I lived in luxury, but I damn well earned it. Running Hell was hard work, never a moment’s peace. And now this. A breach. It niggled me. Security was tight. It couldn’t have come from the pit; I was just there. Had it come from one of the cell blocks housed on the other side of Hell HQ? I crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked out on the cells. Row upon row of fifty- story skyscrapers, all housing sinners. They spanned as far as the eye could see, each one providing different levels of punishment. Wingless Demons patrolled the streets, their black skin and red eyes clearly identifying them. Their winged counterparts took to the skies, massive wings spanning over twenty feet, soaring around and around the buildings. Who could escape this? That is if the breach had even come from Hell in the first place. Earth was my brothers’ responsibility. They were charged with watching over the humans. I was annoyed I was being dragged into it, yet I liked the humans. I didn’t want to see them destroyed by some other dimension creature. Not if I could stop it. A ding on Ashliel’s clipboard caught my attention. I arched a dark brow at her. “You have a delivery.” “Probably from my brothers.” I sighed. Had they heard the news and were already poking fun? “They might have sent something nice,” Ashliel suggested, ever hopeful. “Knowing my brothers, I doubt it.” Stepping through the glass doors into my office, I spy a huge gift-wrapped parcel on my sleek black desk. Here we go. “Thank you, Ashliel. That will be all.” I waited for Ash to leave the room, then approached my desk cautiously. What were they up to? Gabriel and Michael were archangels like me, but when Father chose me over them to head up the Hell Division, to say the boys were a little prickly was an understatement. We hadn’t spoken in over a hundred years. Why now? Today? Were they connected to the breach? Did they instigate it? I wouldn’t put it past them. They’d do anything to see me fail. Hoping I was wrong, and that maybe, just maybe, the box on my desk was an olive branch, I tore open the wrapping and cautiously opened the lid. Inside was a single piece of paper. On it was written the name, “Emily Barlow.” Who the hell was Emily Barlow? Was she a lost soul? I reached to pull the paper from the box, but the whole thing went up in flames. Great. With a wave of my hand I put out the flames and cleaned the debris from my desk before crossing to the giant screen across the room, one so big that I had to stand in front of it, or if I preferred, recline on the leather couch a few feet away. I could split the screen into hundreds of smaller screens and monitor Earth and Hell at the same time if I so chose. This time I raised my hand and halved the screen, keeping an eye on my own dimension on the left, and scanning through files searching for Emily Barlow on the right. There were several humans with that name and I flicked through until one caught my eye. There. Emily Barlow. Human. Alive. Her dossier flashed across the screen, a mini movie of her life so far. She was young, a teenager, seventeen and a high school student, blonde hair, blue eyes, pretty. She was a bossy little thing, liked to be involved in community events and social activities at school. She wanted a career in Public Relations or the Media. As I watched, the screen glitched, froze, then resumed. Emily was in a graveyard. Something was there with her. Something dark. I leaned forward, watching intently as Emily was clasped in a tight embrace, held for a matter of seconds, then let go. Glowing red eyes looked up, directly at me. Then it was gone, leaving Emily’s body on the ground drained of life. The screen flickered, a brief moment of static, before settling again. This time I no longer saw Emily, but a man. He was sitting at a table, one hand resting on the table, palm up, and in the center of his palm a deep azure blue rock. He sent the message. Did he mean to send it to me I wonder? His eyes sprang open and he flopped back in his seat as if exhausted. I looked into his eyes, magnified the screen so it focused on his face. A very handsome face: strong jaw covered in a light beard, full lips that held my attention for slightly too long. I wondered what they looked like when he smiled. Then I wondered…why am I wondering about his lips? Okay, seriously, he’s a human, I scolded myself. But it had been a long time since I’d…you know. Had any fun in that department. Maybe a dalliance with a human would take my mind off the stresses of running Hell. As much as I loved my job, I’d yet to have a vacation. I shifted my attention from his kissable lips to his eyes. A combination of hazel and gold, they were striking with their dark lashes. And the way he was looking directly into the screen, it was as if he were looking right at me. Decision made. ![]()
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![]() Lovers Like Usby Krista & Becca Ritchie Like Us Series #2 Publication Date: October 31, 2017 Genres: New Adult, Contemporary, RomanceDamaged Like Usby Krista & Becca Ritchie Like Us #1 Publication Date: June 27, 2017 Genres: New Adult, Contemporary, RomanceAbout Krista & Becca Ritchie![]() Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Newsletter
ABOUT THE BOOKThe Texan Duke Series Genre Publisher Publication Date
About Karen Ranney
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by K.A. Last Genre: YA Urban Fantasy/Horror Release Date: October 2017 Summary from Goodreads: Three teenagers. One witch. Twelve souls. Harvey Anderson always knew the universe was against him, but thereâs a lot of stuff he never expected to happen, like having a crush on the most popular girl at school, and then falling into a giant hole in the middle of nowhere with her. And if that wasnât enough, somehow they managed to release a soul-sucking, ancient witch as well. So yeah, thereâs that. Youâd think itâd be pretty hard to beat, but knowing Harveyâs luck, itâs about to get a whole lot worse.
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Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2zRrDCy
Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2zStKpA
Excerpt:
I glance around at the empty camp. All the other groups have moved off in various directions. I bite my lip, knowing what Iâm about to say isnât going to go down too well with Toni.âI vote for Lianâs plan,â I say. âWhat?â Toni puts her hands on her hips. Her mouth opens and closes. Sheâs too nice to say anything really mean while Lian can hear, but I know she doesnât like her. Iâm not even sure if I like her, even though sheâs given me no reason not to. Lian looks at the map. âPoint eight is north-east.â She turns on the spot. âThis way.â âThatâs the wrong direction,â Toni says. Lian frowns. âWhich way then?â Toni holds the compass so we can all see. Lian nods then marches off, the map in front of her. Toni glares at me. I sigh and follow Lian. Toni will get over it. All I want is to get this done, and the only way to do that is to start somewhere. We make our way through the bush. Now and then, I hear the voices of other students. Weâve picked a route that should lead us straight to point eight, but it doesnât cross paths with any of the other points. I begin to wonder if this plan was the best one, or if weâre wasting time. What if the farthest point has no flag? âOdds are theyâd put a flag at the point that takes the longest to get to,â Toni says. âAre you a mind reader?â I ask. âBecause I just thought about how possible it would be that it didnât.â âHave a flag?â I turn to look at her. âNo, a hippopotamus. Yes, a flag.â âYouâre acting really weird today.â Toni studies the compass, and I wonder how she hasnât fallen over. I stumble on a rock and mumble a swear word. âWeirder than I usually am? Thatâs ⦠weird.â Toni stops, and I almost bump into her. She looks at the compass and frowns. âThe needle keeps jumping around.â She glances up and scans the trees around us. âCan you hear that?â Lian asks. Greg moves away from us a bit, crunching sticks and leaves. âI canât hear anything.â âStand still, you big oaf.â Toni glares at him. âDonât tell me what to do, nerd girl.â âIs that the best youâve got?â âWhat are we supposed to be listening to?â I ask. The four of us stand here, silent, with our heads cocked to the side. If someone came across us weâd probably look pretty funny. A low howl sounds through the trees. Goosebumps rise on my arms. âWhat was that?â Lian turns towards the noise. Before anyone can answer, a crow caws and takes flight, its feathers rustling. âCrows,â Greg says. âDonât be scared.â âIâm not.â Lian clutches the map to her chest I am. âSince when do crows howl?â
About the Author
K. A. Last was born in Subiaco, Western Australia, and moved to Sydney when she was eight. Artistic and creative by nature, she studied Graphic Design and graduated with an Advanced Diploma. After marrying her high school sweetheart, she concentrated on her career before settling into family life. Blessed with a vivid imagination, she began writing to let off creative steam, and fell in love with it. K. A. Last is currently studying her Bachelor of Arts at Charles Sturt University, with a major in English, and minors in Childrenâs Literature, Art History, and Visual Culture. She now resides in the countryside on the mid-north coast of NSW.
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Gothic Romance
Date Published: 10/31/17
Centuries ago, his ancestor fell in love with a woman cursed by a jealous witch. No one believed him until it was too late. Eric Fontalvo was determined to prove one thing... that a family curse didn't cause his father's death.
The plan was working until the day he found her...again. Suddenly his life changes forever, and he is forced to question everything he believes.
Moving into an old plantation house was just what Tandie Harrison needed to recover from tragedy. So she writes a book, a story based on a man in her dreams. There's only one problem though... the characters from her novel keep showing up on her doorstep.
And then she finds a diary written hundreds of years ago.
As if that isn't strange enough, she meets him...the man from her dream, someone who reawakens her psychic power along with something else from long ago.
Can Eric and Tandie's love destroy the force keeping them apart? Or will darkness win again?
Hacienda Moon is a new classic tale of two lovers crossing time. A seductive tale of one woman's journey to confront the demons of her past and to find the courage to face her future. It is a mesmerizing novel that explores the deepest depths of human nature, and the characters will hold and haunt you long after you have read the final chapter.
About the Author
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Author of the Bestelling Lost Immortals Saga, Pathseekers and Musical Interlude Series, KaSonndra Leigh is also a mother, blogazine owner, reader, gardener, home renovator, and a slayer of undead Egyptian mummies in Tomb Raider. She believes in karma, coffee, and seriously wish that the producers of Xena would bring her favorite show ever back.
Strange things about KaSonndra: Everything. She’s weird, odd, unusual, and generally tends to make people think she swooped down from another planet. Maybe she did. Who knows? She’s also a member of the #zombiesurvivalcrew on twitter. So if you need protection from the upcoming apocalypse, don’t hesitate to call on KayLeigh and crew!
KaSonndra was born in the race-car city of Charlotte, NC, and now live in the City of Alchemy and Medicine, NC, when she’s not hanging out in Bardonia (Lost Immortals Saga setting). Most of her characters are based on people that she has met throughout her travels and adventures. People tend to stop and start conversations with KaSonndra as if she has known them her entire life. Does this freak her out? Not really. Her mom says that one day she’ll get kidnapped by one of these folks. KaSonndra’s response? She told her mom that if it weren’t for these lovely people, then she wouldn’t be able to create such fabulously romantic stories.
A few other tidbits about KaSonndra… She has watched the movie Under the Tuscan Sun almost 200 times. This is her explanation regarding her obsession. She figures that if she keeps watching the film enough times, then suddenly the house that Diane Lane lives in will magically appear in her backyard. Yes! KaSonndra has a huge imagination!
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Firedby Cora Brent Publication Date: October 31, 2017 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, RomanceRead for FREE in KindleUnlimited: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AU In this fiery series debut from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cora Brent, a workplace romance might prove too hot to handle. Still reeling from a nasty divorce, Melanie Cruz’s pride takes another beating when she loses her enviable job at an upscale resort. After a flurry of unsuccessful interviews, she finally—desperately—accepts a job managing a small chain of family-owned pizzerias in a quaint downtown Phoenix neighborhood. The job also comes with Dominic Esposito, her overbearing but ridiculously handsome boss. Falling for him might be the last thing she expects, but maybe it’s the one thing she needs. As hard as they try to resist, Melanie and Dominic embark on a romance as hot as a brick oven, and Melanie has every reason to believe that maybe, this time, she’s finally found “the one.” But Dominic has a secret—one even his family doesn’t know. And the scandal could threaten everything he and Melanie have worked for…in business and in love.About Cora BrentCora Brent was born in a cold climate and escaped as soon as it was legally possible. Now, she lives in the desert with her husband, two kids and a prickly pear cactus she has affectionately named ‘Spot’. Cora’s closet is filled with boxes of unfinished stories that date back her 1980’s childhood and all her life she has dreamed of being an author. Amazingly, she is now a New York Times and USA Today bestselling writer of contemporary romance and begs not to be awakened from this dream.Website| Facebook | Twitter | Newsletter ![]() Subhuman
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Anya screamed and ran to Richards. Grabbed him by the back of the jacket and pulled. “You have to help me!” The freezing air buffeted her in the face when she looked up and saw a man only vaguely resembling Armand Scott pounce to the ground from on top of Connor. Snowflakes blew sideways past him and stuck to the walkway between them. His cranial deformity was identical to that of the remains she’d unearthed in Russia, only the physical expression of the flesh was for more terrifying than she could ever have imagined. She’d envisioned its face as being similar to that of modern man, but there was nothing remotely human about Scott’s appearance. Everything about him was alien, from the grayish cast of his skin to the way he twitched and moved in lurches, as though unfamiliar with the mechanics of motion. Fissures crackled as they raced through the Plexiglas. The creature scuttled forward and cocked its head, first one way and then the other. Blood dribbled from its mouth when it issued a hiss that sounded like steam firing from a ruptured pipe. Anya screamed and threw herself to her knees. “Come on!” She grabbed Richards underneath his arms and shouted with the effort of lifting him. He found his feet, but couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the creature. “It’s magnificent,” he said. “Hurry!” Friden shouted. The stairwell echoed with the drumroll of footsteps hitting the iron steps. Anya looked back and saw several silhouettes bounding down the staircase toward them. She jerked Richards so hard she nearly sent him sprawling once more, but he regained his balance and stumbled backward with her. She took advantage of his newfound momentum to drag him away from the creature, which lunged forward, cutting the distance between them in half. A scream from behind her. She whirled to find Kelly in the opening to the Skyway, her hands clapped over her mouth. When Anya looked back, the creature was within ten feet of them and tensed to make another advance. More popping sounds from above her. The cracks spread through the walls in her peripheral vision. Chunks of Plexiglas fell to the ground between her and the creature, which released a series of clicking sounds and retreated into the blowing snow. A loud snap and a cable sang past to her right. The entire bridge shuddered. “Hurry, Anya!” Friden shouted. “There’s another one behind us!” Jade screamed. “Start barricading the stairwell,” Evans shouted. “And then what?” Jade asked. “We’ll be trapped in here without light or heat or any way to signal for help.” Anya pulled Richards toward them. If she could just cross the threshold at the end of the Skyway, they could seal the creature on the other side. Anya hit the ground on her knees and barely scrambled out of the way before Richards landed on top of her. The walkway sloped downward toward where the creature crouched. The domed Plexiglas shattered and dropped enormous shards between them. The storm raced through the gap, creating a moving wall of snow between them that nearly concealed the creature as it approached, low to the ground and coming up fast. A resounding thud. The Skyway slanted downward, so steeply that Anya started to slide. She grabbed Richards by the back of the jacket with one hand and reached for anything at all with the other. “Hang on!” Evans shouted and dove for her. He caught her by the wrist and halted her slide. Another cable snapped and whipped the frozen glass beside them hard enough to shatter the glass and impale her cheek with tiny fragments. Evans groaned and pulled her up toward the doorway, the seal around which was already buckled and peeling away from the building. “Give me a hand!” he shouted. Friden tentatively crawled to Evans’s side, grabbed Richards, and pulled hard enough on the back of his coat to pry him from Anya’s grasp, lightening her burden enough that Evans could drag her up the slope and over the fractured edge. She scurried past Evans, turned around, and helped the others pull Richards into the stairwell. Bolts snapped and structural rings disengaged. Bits of Plexiglas cascaded down the bridge toward where the creature crawled toward them. A chasm opened behind it. Connor’s body slid through, tumbled out over the nothingness, and vanished into the storm. “Close the door!” Anya screamed. The creature slapped at the floor with its bare hands as the bridge grew steeper, digging its fingernails into the tiles in an effort to gain traction. Evans pried the door from the recess until the others were able to help him drag it across the entryway. The creature shrieked and scrambled uphill, blood dribbling from the gunshot wounds on its chest. Ten feet. Five. It was nearly upon them when the Skyway broke away from the building. The creature’s eyes widened. Its nails tore from the cuticles. It screeched and flailed. The last thing Anya saw before they sealed the door was the expression of sheer terror on its face as it plummeted into the blowing snow. “Someone help me!” Roche shouted from the landing at the top of the staircase, where he struggled to jerk the door from its slot in the wall. “It’s right behind me!” Anya rushed for the stairs and hit them behind Kelly and Jade, who were already halfway up. She barely had the strength to climb and had to use the railing to pull herself higher. She nearly lost her balance when her hand slipped in something wet, but she managed to stumble forward and made it to the landing, where the others already had the gap down to a mere foot. A dark shape streaked straight toward the opening from the foyer on the other side, the light reflecting from its inhuman eyes. “It’s coming!” Anya screamed. She threw herself against the face of the door and used her shoulder to help the others drive it closed with a resounding thud. The creature struck it from the other side, hard enough to knock her backward, but she braced herself and leaned into it again. Kelly screamed beside her as the creature hurled itself against the steel door, over and over. Until, finally, it stopped. Anya desperately listened for any indication of what it was doing on the other side but couldn’t hear anything over the combination of their heavy breathing and whimpering. She pictured Arkaim, with its twin fortified rings, a veritable fortress that should have been able to withstand any siege, reduced to little more than scorched rubble in the middle of a field, and the strange remains she exhumed near its outskirts. She’d made a terrible mistake in assuming that the coneheaded species represented a terminal branch in the human evolutionary tree rather than an off shoot from modern man, one facilitated by something lacking in humanity, something subhuman, the outward physical manifestation of which looked an awful lot like the alien species referred to as Grays. Only there was nothing fictional about this being. The creature shrieked and threw itself against the door one final time. It released a torrent of guttural clicks, then retreated into the station. The sound of its footsteps diminished until she couldn’t hear anything from the other side at all. Anya stepped back and looked at the door. Her hand had left a smear of blood on the steel. She glanced down at her palm, expecting to find a laceration, but the skin was intact. She took Roche’s flashlight from him and traced the railing down to where she’d slipped. There was blood on the rail, and even more on the wall above it, leading up to a hole in the exposed ductwork. Her heart sank when she gave voice to what they were all thinking. “We’re going to die in here.” ![]()
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Title: Not My Type
Author: M.E. Gordon
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 28,2017
Cover Designer: https://www.facebook.com/TheIllustratedAuthor/
Hosted by: Buoni Amici Press, LLC.
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Lexi- I live on a farm…scratch that, I lived on a farm. I was on my way to L.A. to live amongst the rich and famous, to work for the rich and famous. I did not leave a farm and a seriously complicated relationship, to dive back into another one. Yet, there I was falling for a rock star that was so my type of man, it was scary. Could I ever truly leave the farm and the man I left behind to start over? Was this new relationship just a rebound from the last?
Trent- I had one type of woman all my life. I had this image of her in my head from as young as a boy. She'd be petite, beautiful long blonde hair, quiet, someone that would stand behind me as I rose to fame with my band mates. I did not see myself with a southern, loud mouthed, Amazon, of a woman who drove me up the wall. I didn't have time to be chasing a woman, they usually came to me but here I am, doing everything in my power to win over a woman who wasn't even my type.
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I paused for a moment. Wiping the dripping water from my nose, I stared at her before I looked away and continued with my thought. “Well, maybe it would be better for you to leave now,” I said, taking a towel from the counter to dry my face and hands before I wrapped them tightly around my cuts. “You know, you should be there for John when he wakes up,” I said, turning around to face her.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, shaking her head in disgust.
She should be disgusted, running after a man who used her and treated her like shit! Drunken Trent was pissed.
“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who’s leaving. I’m simply suggesting that you do it sooner rather than drawing it out for later,” I snapped back. I wanted to kick Drunken Trent in the fucking balls for saying that.
“You don’t mean that,” she said, shaking her head once more. “You’re drunk and you’re going to feel like a fucking asshole in the morning for saying that to me.”
“Am I? You see, I don’t think I am. You knew I was an ass coming into this, and I knew you were a pain in mine. Did we really think this could work? I mean it might have, had you not still been in love with your fucking stepbrother!” I roared, the veins in my neck popping out with rage.
“Shut up! Shut—up!” she yelled covering her ears. “You know what? Fine! You want me gone, I’m gone,” she screamed, getting in my face.
She pushed my chest and, because I was so drunk and she was a fucking Amazon, I fell back onto the sink, my back hitting the mirror, sending a crack down the middle of it. “Good, get your sexy, fat ass out of here, baby, because clearly you never gave a fuck about me,” I yelled as she left the bathroom in a hurry.
I pushed myself off the counter and slipped on the tile floor, falling on my ass and hitting my head against the back of the sink. I sat up and finally Drunken Trent was taken down, leaving me to pick up the fucking mess he left behind.
“Lexi!” I yelled, holding my head as I fought off Drunken Trent one last time. I pushed myself away from the sink and stumbled towards the door frame. “Lexi, stop,” I called to her.
She was by the dresser, shoving her things in her bag and grabbing anything else that she might need from mine.
“Save it, asshole,” she spat over her shoulder.
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All about me in Five Questions
Question 1 – What makes you, you? What makes me, me? Well I was born and raised in Central Maryland. I live now with my wonderful husband and four energetic children. My day to day consist of getting kids ready for school, answering e-mails, writing, editing, making breakfast lunch and dinner. I have always loved writing. My grandmother gave me my first journal when I was in the third grade. I wrote in it almost every day, and I still try to write in it as often as I can. Before I started my first novel and became a stay at home mom, I worked in daycare, I loved it! Never a dull moment when you have 15 kids running around! Question 2- When you don’t have your ‘Mom hat’ or ‘Author hat’ on, what are your interests? I love going to the movies, whether it be with my husband or friends. I get pretty jazzed about good movies. I love them all romantic, suspense, action. I don’t do scary though, unless I’m at home snuggled on the cough next to my hubby with a blanket over my head. Go figure I love reading! I really like romantic novels but I also dabble in Young Adult, I love me some Potter and Everdeen, hell I’ll admit it, I even liked Twilight, before the movie. Question 3 – Describe your writing set up? When I write, I have to have music on. I have a play list for each of my stories. Without music I just can’t write. I also like writing in the dark, with only a small lamp and computer screen to light my way. For each of the novels that I write, I have a journal that I jot down future ideas in the story line, character descriptions and words I want to incorporate. I’d be lost without my journals; I carry them around with me everywhere. You never know when an idea is going to pop up in your head! I like to have a large glass of ice water and sometimes a cup of coffee, if it’s one of those days. I’m sure all you Moms out there know what I’m talking about! Question 4 – Boxers or Briefs for your hunky heroes? Boxer-briefs! Best of both worlds? … I think so! Oh and they’re always black! Question 5 – Who inspires you to write? Who inspires me to write? Honestly, I write for the women like me who want to be able to picture themselves as the heroine. All too often the leading lady is someone who’s unattainable for most. The tall, thin, long legged, beauty, the petite, slender girl next door who happens to also be drop dead gorgeous. Those women are usually frail and sometimes, not much is going on upstairs. I try to write about, real, strong women who tell it like it is. For instance, we all know that most of us wear spanks, when we go out to a club. Suck it in, stand up straight and don’t sit down, unless you’re behind a table. These are the things that constantly go through your head. I want my readers to be able to put themselves in my heroines place. What would you do if a really hot guy was dancing with you? Pray your rolls aren’t showing? Chin up to hide any chance of showing a double one? Arch your back to show off ‘assets’ you think are better than others? Maybe even move his hands just so he won’t feel that extra cushion?
Although I have written a few stories with a typical heroine and don’t get me wrong, I love them and they are ‘real’ in their own way, just not physically. Those stories were easy to write because they didn’t have body issues or insecurities, they didn’t have to worry about ‘sucking it in’ or ‘muffin tops’. Now, I wouldn’t call my heroines plus size, I call them real, real girls/women who love themselves but are still aware that they aren’t that Victoria Secret model. I find it challenging and exciting to write about curvy women and all the little things that come along with it. It’s not easy and sometimes I think that it’d be easier to follow suit and write about idealistic women, but in a way, we all are and we all need that one heroine to look up to and I hope that my leading ladies, curvy or otherwise fulfill that need for someone
![]() ![]() ![]() About the Book Title: The Goblin King: Part 1 Author: A.E. Blair Genre: LGBT Romance / dark fantasy Jasper Woodworth expects the summer of 1963 to be filled with thunderstorms and the comfort of his childhood home. He’s prepared for the attention of his doting mother, for dazzling parties, for whispered rumors of Briarford’s townspeople. Everything changes upon meeting his mother’s new tenant: the mysterious and ethereal Harlan Winters. Harlan is entitled. He speaks in riddles, and he uses half-truths like bait on a fishing wire. What's worse? He won't explain himself, or his intentions, or his hypnotic interested in Jasper. Overwhelmed by suspicion and a strange attraction, Jasper’s dreams take a turn for the unusual. He dreams of hands roaming his body. He dreams of Harlan’s warm, golden skin and those unearthly opalescent eyes. Enabled by Harlan, Jasper finds himself tumbling down a steep cliff, rolling in his obsession and lust as they twist into something new, something he doesn’t understand. The only way to gather the answers he seeks is to confront Harlan directly, but how does one trap a supernatural entity? Author Bio A. E. Blair is currently setting her keyboard alight with typing speeds in Orlando, Florida, but she's been writing ever since she could hold a crayon upright on construction paper. Inspired by 80s fantasy movies and anime, she's often dreamed of spiriting herself away to another world - and becoming supernatural royalty certainly wouldn't hurt. While A. E. is no stranger to writing, having gotten her start with fanfiction, The Goblin King: Part I is her first novel, and is expected to span six parts. In her spare time, A. E. likes to dabble in screenwriting, playwriting, and acting. Links Mailing list: http://tinyletter.com/aeblair Twitter: http://twitter.com/zombiejosette Buy the book on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0762CFCVT Book Excerpt The courtyard is vast, far larger than the garden in my back yard. Several yards away in every direction, a tall brick wall stretches, adorned at the top ornaments of white plaster. The sun sits high in the sky, casting down bright white rays onto the scene before me. Birds chirp in the distance. Not the hoarse cawing of seagulls nor the shrill squawks of crows. Sparrows, maybe. Something high-pitched but pleasant. Almost a song. The wind carries the melody around me, and I close my eyes, my head tilting back. Around me, I hear the rustling of leaves, and I can see their lush greens and vivid colors winding around every structure, towering above me. Sweat drips down the back of my neck, sticks my hair to the skin. To my left, there’s a fountain. It’s familiar – almost. Not quite. I follow the cracks in the plaster around the statue’s body, confident, as though they’re roads and I know where they lead. The cracks end at the statue’s headless neck, the plaster sheer, as though it had always been this way. As though it had never been broken. Water flows from the neck, clear, and my eyes follow it back down the statue’s body. It slips against the statue, turns white, then clear, then the sun hits it and colors explode from the water, every part of the spectrum, a cauldron of iridescent rainbow by the time it pools at the bottom, at the statue’s feet. The clang of metal. Two cymbals crashing. My head jerks to the source of the sound, and who should be there to greet me but Mr. Winters? His eyes are dark this time. I peer into them, expecting to see that strange, shimmering paleness, the same which curses the fountain’s water. He watches me, his eyes glued to me, and I take a step back. I try to. I try to lift my leg, but it’s rooted to the cobblestone beneath me. Mr. Winters watches me, and I watch him. To his credit, he can take what he gives. In his hands, a strange instrument rests. A wide circle, hollow, with a smaller, circular metal piece in the center. He beats it against the palm of his hand, his eyes unblinking. His shirt, white linin, lies open against his chest. Beneath the hot sun, his skin shimmers, tan becoming pure gold. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t conjure the sound. My vocal cords don’t come into contact; there’s nothing but the air moving through my windpipe. My hand claps to my throat and I pin my eyes back on Mr. Winters, my mouth hanging open. Mr. Winter’s mouth spreads into a smirk. “Drink,” he says, and he follows it with a beat of his instrument. I frown. I glare. I stand my ground. Mr. Winters nods to the fountain, keeping perfect time with his music. “Drink,” he says again, and I cast my gaze back to the fountain. The water bubbles from the statue’s neck, and I watch it as it flows down its body. The pearly substance at the bottom becomes enchanting, mesmerizing, hypnotizing. Without thinking, I reach down, and I let my fingers play in the iridescent water. I confess myself quite the bachelor, so I can’t attest to personal experience, but those who shy away from marriage, from love unconditional… I’m afraid they’re shying away from eternity,” he says, and between his pretentious proclamations at the dinner table and vague threats, I never knew Harlan Winters to be a poet. I have to recover. I bite, “You won’t live forever, then,” and I throw it like a weapon toward him. If he wants to be a bachelor, perhaps he has to pay the price. “Jasper!” Maman scolds. Harlan only laughs. He looks away, but my eyes stay on him. “No, I suppose he’s right,” he considers, his head nodding from side to side as he considers it. A lock of silver hair falls into his eyes. “I’d be foolish to include myself in that.” I want to be satisfied, but his words carry a melancholy that isn’t lost on me, that settles heavy over my shoulders. Harlan turns to me and smiles. “Will you live forever, Jasper?” I spit steel into my voice as I answer, “That’s impossible.” The intensity of my defense is apparent, an elephant forcing its way through the walls, leaving nothing but rubble and carnage behind, but somehow, I can’t stop the fury. I’ve come for dinner, at his request. Do I truly deserve this conversation? And so early in the meal? Harlan takes it in stride. He says, “I hope you aren’t destroying your chances.” I take a breath to calm myself, and I reach for the bottle of wine. I take my time pouring myself a glass. “I haven’t the slightest idea what forever feels like,” I tell him, focusing on the way the wine flows from the bottle like a waterfall. “I can’t miss something when I don’t know what it is.” “Look up,” is Harlan’s response. My glass full, I set the bottle back upright, and I cast my gaze toward the ceiling. I frown. There’s nothing there but wooden rafters. Harlan laughs. “Not like that,” he says. “Not quite.” He crosses his arms across the table, settling in, mischief and folly on his face. I find myself leaning in, my neck craning toward him as he says, “I speak of the stars. When you see them, pinpricks of light against that vast darkness, never-ending – that’s the closest thing to eternity that humans can imagine.” He lifts his glass and takes a drink of wine, his smile secretive, knowing. Jocelyn studies her menu, and I sit, transfixed by the man across the table. I want to pull more from him, more words, an explanation, but he stays quiet.
HAPPY BOOK BIRTHDAY !!
A new contemporary romance novel from Olivia Boothe
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WICKED DANCE
Olivia Boothe
Series: Chronicles of a Dancing Heart Book 1
Genre:†Contemporary Romance Publisher: The Wild Rose Press Publication Date: October 27, 2017
She never imagined her heart could ever dance again
She never imagined her heart could ever dance againÖ
Former dance student Sara Hart had aspired to grace the stage on Broadway, but a reckless decision forced her to renounce that dream. Years later, while struggling with an ungratifying job and an even more unsatisfying love life, she literally stumbles upon a dangerously sexy stranger who sends her heartóand her bodyóinto hyperdrive. His touch makes her feel alive again and sparks a desire to rebuild her dance career. But Sara is still haunted by the demons of her past. One dark lie could cost her everything.
Heíd stopped believing in love Ö
Real estate mogul Tom Wright caters to the rich and famous. He lives the life of the perfect bachelorópartying hard and dating the most beautiful women in Manhattan. But he has one golden ruleñno commitments. Ever. Then he meets sexy Sara Hart, and something about her makes him want to throw the damn rule book out the window. Every time sheís near, the blood in his veins pulses with a raging fire he canít contain. But Tomís shadowed history is resurfacing, unearthing ghosts heíd rather remain buried.
Will this wicked dance be their last?
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[Praise]
- [Name], Goodreads Reviewer
Purchase Links
Available now for $5.99 only. Grab your copy today.
An Excerpt from the Book
Take an inside look at Wicked Dance. Read this sizzling excerpt from the book.
"This night is so beautiful, Tom."
"Yes, it is, but it doesnít compare to you." He nuzzled my ear as he spoke, his breath raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
Come on. Does he really have to say things like that? He must know it sounds so cheesy.
"You must say that to all the girls," I teased.
"All the time," he said, taking a tiny nip of my lobe.
Shivers ran down my spine, making me tremble. Looking at me with his playful eyes, he took off his blazer and draped it over my shoulders. I smiled. Shamefully and against my better judgment, Iíd fallen for his cheesiness.
"This is the second time youíve given me one of your jackets," I said.
"I guess I like the way you look in my things."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
His strong fingers grabbed me by the lapels of his blazer, bringing me closer. I gazed up only to find myself bound by his olive eyes. My arms were trapped under his jacket, rendering me motionless. Heíd snared me. "What would you do if I kissed you?" he asked in a whisper.
"Why donít you find out?" I replied with sweet command.
He pulled up on the blazer, drawing me into him. This time, I didnít blink and no iron wall came crashing down to shield me from his kiss. I closed my eyes as his lips touch mine. Our mouths parted, our tongues feeling each other for the first time. With tenderness, they tangled in each other, exploring their sensitive areas, sending electric currents down my back.
The kiss sparked flames at all my nerve endings. His tongue invaded me deeper. The hotwire from my mouth to my groin flowed feverishly, igniting sensations I hadnít felt in a while. I sank deeper into his kiss, responding to his hunger. Our tongues swirled in harmony, hot and wet. He savored every bite he took of my mouth as I feasted on his succulent lips.
His hold on me loosened, but not for long. He reached under my hair, cupping my jaw and caressing my chin with his thumbs. My senses flooded with a myriad of feelings and tastes. My own hunger grew in beat with his heavy breaths. I knew it and he knew itówe couldnít continue the kiss. Fighting with all the will in my body, and slightly panting from his devilish assailment, I broke from his hot breath. His eyes were drunk with lust, making my knees weak. I feared if we were completely alone, I would be consumed by his passion.
His lips curled, and in a husky voice, he said, "Perhaps, we should go."
Giveaway
WIN $25 GIFT CARD AND MORE
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Prizes up for grabs:
$25 Amazon Gift Card 2 Copies of Wicked Dance eBook
Contest runs from October 20 - November 25, 2017.
Book Tour Schedule
Follow the book tour from November 6 - 25, 2017.
Visit each tour stop daily and discover more features, excerpts, reviews, interviews, fun facts and other extras on the tour.
To check the latest tour schedule, visit the Wicked Dance Book Page at Book Unleashed.
About†Olivia Boothe![]()
Author of deep and sexy contemporary romance, Olivia Boothe enjoys crafting novels about complex characters and compelling storylines. Her romances encompass a blend of heartfelt emotion and steamy passion.
Coffee addict and red wine lover, when sheís not busy conjuring up a new story, Olivia likes to binge read across genres. Youíll typically find her with one book on her e-reader, a second on her phone, and a print book in her oversized handbag.
Olivia resides in Northern New Jersey with her husband, their three boys, and a miniature dachshund.
Official website:†https://oliviaboothe.com/
About†The Wild Rose Press![]()
The Wild Rose Press has been publishing electronic and print titles of fiction for more than nine years. Our titles span the sub-genre spectrum from sweet to sensually erotic romance in all lengths to mainstream and womens fiction. To check out the latest and upcoming releases and more, visit https://catalog.thewildrosepress.com.
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