Monday, 31 August 2015

BOOK BOOST- Broken Promises by Melissa Huie




Title: Broken Promises
Series: The Broken Road #2
Author: Melissa Huie
Publisher: Booktrope Publishing
Genre: Romantic Suspense
 Release Date: August 27, 2015



Blurb

The Sequel to the sexy, suspenseful novel The Broken Road.

“Not a day had gone by that I didn’t dream about Shane, that one day he would come home to us. I imagined that our days would be filled with long talks and moments of reconnection, and our nights would be full of hot, sweaty sex. But things weren’t going the way I had imagined. Baby steps, Megan. He just needs to adjust. I couldn’t change the past and we would have to take things in stride. We couldn’t be the same couple we once were, not overnight.”

When Shane Turner shows up at Megan Connors’s carport one rainy night, Megan thinks she’s dreaming. The man who has held her heart since high school, and the father of her unborn child, is supposed to be dead, killed in an explosion at a safe house. But somehow Shane has survived, and Megan believes that with him home safely and their baby on the way, they will finally get their happy ending.

But it soon becomes apparent that all is not what it seems. Shane is home, but he’s brought some demons back with him, demons that Megan can’t fight alone. Shane is a haunted man, plagued by paranoia and distrust. He believes that danger threatens their lives at every turn, and it is tearing their life together apart.

In this compelling sequel to The Broken Road, Shane must deal with the present and the future, with the cartel—and himself. Megan must protect her family and, when the time comes, must make the ultimate decision.

Will Shane and Megan have their happily ever after, or will it just be another broken promise?








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Excerpt

“Good morning,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. He wrapped his muscular arms around my belly from behind me, the evidence of his arousal pressed against the small of my back. My breath caught and my heart quickened as he nuzzled the sensitive spot under my ear. Just this one simple act had my core pulsing with liquid heat. His hands roamed north, barely grazing my belly, and tenderly kneaded my swollen breasts. Moaning, I tilted my head up toward his and caught his searing lips with mine.

Abandoning the pan in front of me, I turned and threw my arms around his neck. Passion fueled my body as our lips frantically mashed together. Our tongues clashed, dueling over the right to invade the other’s mouth. Shane’s hands cupped my behind, then gripped hard as he led me over to the table. He swept aside the napkins and papers that covered it and lifted me onto the smooth surface.

Red colored my vision as my primal need took over. Shane pulled off my bathrobe at the same moment I yanked down his sweatpants. My mouth watered at the size of his erection and I eagerly stroked his throbbing, rigid shaft. His head rolled back and he groaned at my touch. There was a time for cuddling and foreplay, but this wasn’t it. His hazel eyes smoldered, and he desperately ripped the thin material of my cotton underwear right out from under me. Craving his touch, his body, his heat against mine, I leaned back on my elbows and gave him the opening he wanted.







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Author Bio


Melissa grew up in Maryland by the Chesapeake Bay, where her favorite memories took place near the water. Now she lives near Washington, D.C. with her family, dog, and a lot of fish. In between the chaos of laundry, chasing after her three children and trying not to burn dinner, Melissa continues to find her escape by feeding her addiction of reading and writing about love, suspense, and sarcasm.



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Giveaway

RELEASE BLITZ- Breaking Ryann by Alyssa Rae Taylor




Title: Breaking Ryann
Series: Bad Boy Reformed #3
Author: Alyssa Rae Taylor
 Release Date: August 31, 2015



Blurb

He promised to leave me alone, but that was a lie. I should have known he’d have this pull on me—seeping through my skin and into my bones, burning me from the outside in. It’s just like when we were kids, and I can no longer avoid him. I’ve accepted it, but what will it take to convince him that I am no longer his? Is that really what I want?

I told her I’d leave her alone. But who was I kidding? I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge. He stole my girl—my future—from me. I’m coming back with a vengeance. I’m taking back what he took from me. After all the secrets and lies, can we come back from this? Even if it breaks me, I’ll stop at nothing to protect what’s always been mine.








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Author Bio


USA Today Bestselling author Alyssa Rae Taylor lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her husband, their three daughters, two English bulldogs and a miniature pig. Her hobbies include reading, writing, watching Sam & Dean Winchester, fight off scary creatures on the WB, Sons of Anarchy and reality television. She enjoys stories that tug at her emotions and include lots of sexual tension. Her dream is to travel the world with her husband and children beside her. The first time she started writing, she couldn’t stop, which leads to the publishing of the Bad Boy Reformed Series.




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Giveaway

RELEASE BLITZ- August by Audrey Carlan




Title: August
Series: Calendar Girl #8
Author: Audrey Carlan
Publisher: Waterhouse Press
 Release Date: August 31, 2015



Blurb

Pretending. I’ve always been good at pretending.

Being someone else is easy, and that ability has served me well these last seven months.

This time, I’ve been hired to be the long lost sister of oil tycoon, and down to earth cowboy, Maxwell Cunningham. Recently, Maxwell’s father passed away and in his last Will and Testament he dropped a bomb no one saw coming.

One of the richest men in the world, left forty-nine percent of his company to a sister my client never knew he had. A woman named Mia Saunders.

Maxwell has a year to find this sister or he loses almost half of his empire to a greedy board of investors. Somehow, he found me and here I am.

Sharing in family dinners, pretending to be someone I’m not and fooling bigwigs left and right. Only I’m finding myself falling in love with a family I can never have. One that will hurt to leave.

Stetsons, soul-searching, and sisterly duty all come into a sharp tangle with twists and turns I never saw coming.
***

In the eighth book of the Calendar Girl serial, Mia is sent to Dallas, Texas. Still on her mission to save her father, she is hired to be the long lost sister of Maxwell Cunningham, one of the newly richest men in America.

Each installment in the Calendar Girl Serial will release every month throughout 2015. The stories will feature Mia’s journey as an escort to twelve clients in twelve different locations.

Warning: This book is designed for audiences 18+ due to language and graphic sexual content.







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Author Bio


Audrey Carlan is an Amazon Best Selling Author who writes erotic contemporary romances, such as the wildly popular "Falling Series." She lives in the sunny California Valley two hours away from the city, the beach, the mountains and the precious…the vineyards. She has been married to the love of her life for over 10 years and has two young children that live up to their title of “Monster Madness” on daily basis. When she’s not writing, sipping wine with her “soul sisters”, or doing yoga, she can be found with her nose stuck in book or her Kindle. A hot, smutty, romantic book to be exact!



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Sunday, 30 August 2015

Approaching Twi-Night Blitz




Literary Fiction / Sports Fiction
Date Published: February 2015

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An aging baseball player is given one final chance at professional and personal redemption in small town America as he struggles to come to grips with his past, his sense of self, and his career.

Journeyman relief pitcher Jonathan “Ditch” Klein was all set to be a replacement player during the 1994-1995 baseball strike…until the strike ended. Offered a contract in the minor leagues, playing at the same Upstate NY ballpark he once found success in high school, Ditch has one last chance to prove his worth. But to whom? A manager with an axe to grind, a father second-guessing his pitching decisions, a local sportswriter hailing him as a hometown hero, a decade older than his teammates and trying to resurrect an injury-ridden career…Ditch thinks he may have a possible back-up plan: become a sportswriter himself. The only question is whether he is a pitcher who aspires to be a writer, or the other way around…



EXCERPT

From his perch on the mound, Ditch shaded his eyes and watched the foul ball gently curve over the grandstand toward the parking lot. As he held his glove out for the new ball, he could hear his father's voice from a high school game: "Straighten that out, Johnny, just straighten it out!" And he could remember himself at the plate, thinking, "I can't, Dad. I can't hit it."
He gripped the dull white leather in his pitching hand, tucked the glove under his left arm and slowly circled the mound. Ditch's hands worked the leather, trying to deftly massage life into the ball. His fingernails found the seams and began to pull them up from the leather; Ditch had always wondered as a kid why pitchers on TV wasted so much time walking the infield grass, if "raised seams" actually did anything to curves like his father claimed, if pitchers who stared out at the crowd were actually looking for someone. He stopped on the first base side of the mound and glanced at the runners on first and second, not really to check on them, just let them know he knew they were there. The runners strayed a step or two from their bags, sauntering back and forth with hands on hips, kicking the bags a couple times impatiently. They knew Ditch wouldn't throw, he knew they wouldn't run, not on Holforth's arm.
Ditch tugged at his cap and deliberately ignored the anxious hometown crowd on "Opening Day Two." Absently he wondered if his family was in the stands somewhere, his father holding little Jennifer up on his shoulders, pointing, "There's John, there he is." He climbed back up to the pitching rubber, haphazardly pulling his short sleeves up and shrugging them down again. The murmurs changed to a soft buzz of rushing air in his ears as he dug in with his right foot and stared in at Holforth behind the plate. He squinted on purpose at the flashing fingers, set for the third pitch, and threw.
The batter fouled it off again, this time straight into the visiting team dugout, nearly hitting the coaches at the top of the steps. Ditch received the next new ball and began his ritual anew. The batter fidgeted, stepping out of the box with one foot and nervously swinging his bat a few times and changing his grip as if he were uncomfortable using wood instead of aluminum. Ditch looked at the wispy clouds overhead, the one-two count in the back of his mind, and decided to waste a pitch.

Holforth almost failed to block the errant pitch, but he managed to smother the forty-foot curve, hurriedly flipping his mask off and alertly checking the runners back to their bags. The catcher turned to ask for time, and Ditch turned his back on the plate. Holforth was bound to be angry. He knew Holforth hated it when his calls weren't taken seriously. He tugged his cap and kicked at his trench.
The catcher pulled the ball out of his mitt and placed it in Ditch's. Holforth darted a look at the vacant right field foul line bullpen, then back at Ditch. "You can let go now," Ditch said. "I've got it."
Holforth withdrew his hand from the glove. "Inside and high," he stated. "This guy's never used a wooden bat before." He turned back to the plate and pulled his face mask on over his hard hat. Neither have you, Ditch thought, already pacing at the back of the mound, massaging the ball. He found the soft spot, brown from the last pitch. The Majors spoiled their pitchers, he thought. They want a new ball, they get one. Even now, he knew, a batboy was rounding up the foul balls in the dugouts and along the foul line, ready to hand them over to the plate ump between half-innings. He randomly glanced at the rust-green electronic scoreboard with the Pepsi label slapped on it in left-center field. A two-run lead he was supposed to protect, for the last two innings. Collins had made that clear; Ditch was on his own. He felt the urge to spit, then changed his mind, then did it anyway. What the hell, he thought, pushing his sleeves up again.
He stepped up again and caught the signs. High and inside. At the hands. He checked the runners, reared, and threw at the batter's head. The kid ducked as the ball flew at the backstop. He could hear Holforth's muffled curse as the catcher futilely flung his glove hand back and followed it with his body. Ditch loped to the plate to cover, but the runners stopped at third and second as Holforth got the ball back in play. Someone in the crowd behind third base booed, but his neighbors quickly hushed him. Ditch cleared the dirt around the plate with the tip of his shoe and tugged again at the hat. He headed back to his incantations. The infielders hesitantly moved back to their positions, pounding their gloves and muttering nearly inaudible words of encouragement. A hit would tie the game. Ditch let his sleeves fall down as he mounted.

Holforth was standing right in front of him. Ditch betrayed no surprise. "You're making me look bad, man," the catcher said tersely. He rubbed the sweat dripping down his chin onto a sleeve. "We can't do that again, so I want you to throw the pitch."
He shook his head and dug at the trench. Holforth called it "the pitch," as if it were a secret weapon of some kind; he wanted the awkward slider he made Ditch work on in the bullpen, the one he could throw with the bent finger underneath. He hated it. He hated using a trick pitch.
"I'm telling you, do it," Holforth repeated. "Cut the crap and get this guy." He turned abruptly and trotted back to the plate. Ditch placed his right foot behind the rubber and looked up. The other ump had moved to behind third base. Only two umpires in this league, Ditch remembered with a chagrin. He looked in at the plate and jerked his head back to third as he faked a throw. The runner froze, then looked embarrassed, realizing that the third baseman wasn't anywhere near the bag for a pick-off throw. Ditch smiled to himself and tugged at his cap with his ball hand. The third baseman edged towards the bag, pulling the runner closer. Ditch paid the two no mind.
He looked back in. Holforth signaled for the pitch. Ditch shook his head. Holforth signed for it again. Again, Ditch shook it off. Exasperated, Holforth audibly slapped his thigh. He angrily flipped down a single finger. Ditch laughed out loud. The batter called time. Ditch stepped off and put his head down. He could hear the plate ump say, "Let's go gentlemen." Gentlemen, he thought. Yeah. He watched the batter take a few more swings, adjust his helmet without adjusting it at all, and then step back in. The crowd noise briefly interrupted then seemed to recede.
He looked in and he saw Holforth stand up and adjust his cup before squatting again. Ditch turned his head to peer at the runners momentarily, then turned back and got the expected signal. He didn't respond. The signal came again, insistent. He lowered his head, and stood, hands ready at his belt. He could sense Holforth settling back, the ump crouching behind with a hand on Holforth's shoulder. The bent third underneath and two forefingers on the seams, he withdrew his hand from the glove. His wrist snapped out and down, and the ball spun towards the batter's waist. It seemed to rise and curve left, directly into the batter's wheelhouse, but suddenly it dropped to the right at knee-level. The batter swung.
Ditch looked over his shoulder as the second baseman scooped up the ball and lazily tossed it to first for the third out. He was out of it. He tugged his cap, maybe to acknowledge the smattering of applause, and walked to the dugout. He was vaguely aware of the fielders passing him, some smacking him on the back, some not, as Holforth appeared at his left elbow. "Told you," was all he said, then found his place on the bench. He passed his manager on the steps. Collins pretended to be absorbed in pitching charts. Whatever, Ditch thought. He found his jacket and shoved his right arm into the sleeve. The end of eight. Maybe he would get through this after all.

One of the starting pitchers approached from the left side of his peripheral vision: the tallish Hansen, the deposed starter of the day. Hansen looked tired, but not beat. He held a cup of water, and nodded towards the bench. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked. Ditch shrugged, watching a Wildcat batter, the first baseman Reynalds, take a hefty cut at an eye-level pitch. After Reynalds would come a second-string outfielder, Williams or something, batting as designated hitter in the pitcher's place. He was glad he didn't have to bat, the only good thing about the minors.
The kid sat down with a contented sigh and took a sip from his Gatorade cup. "Hey, you want any water?" he asked.
Ditch shook his head. "Nah."
 "Lemme get you one." The teenager was up and at the cooler before he could say anything else. He opened his mouth and shut it after a moment. Why not, he thought. Doesn't really matter. Reynalds swung mightily at a pathetic curve and topped it back to the pitcher. Just one more run, he thought, no, make that two, or three. He moved forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he pulled his cap off and worked the rim.

Hansen walked over and handed him a paper cup with rosin-stained fingers. The chalk clung to the green cup as Ditch mumbled a thanks and took a small sip. Hansen sat down again with a thump and said nothing for a moment. The DH was at the plate, wildly swinging at anything near the strike zone. Ditch sighed, thinking that maybe he should be allowed to bat for himself.
Hansen finally spoke. "Thanks for getting me out of that jam."
Ditch was silent. What jam? Oh, yeah, he remembered, he had inherited the first runner. He turned to Hansen. "Sure thing. I didn't help myself with that walk, but...yeah, sure."
"Hey, you're saving my game for me, right?" Hansen paused to finish his water and toss the cup aside. "I owe you one."
"You don't owe me anything," Ditch mumbled. "It's my job."
Hansen was quiet. The DH finally connected — luck, Ditch thought — and hit a worm-burner past the shortstop for a hit. Now one of the outfielders was up, somebody, he didn't know his name. All he hoped for now was that the batters took a few pitches and gave him a little more time to sit. The next batter swung at the first pitch and popped it straight up to the catcher. Ditch hung his head and spit at his feet as the third baseman Corrales took his turn batting.
Hansen coughed into a fist and shifted on the bench. The batter was taking his time. Ditch hoped so. Corrales was their "star player," according to friend Grant. In the on deck circle, Holforth was taking his practice swings with his chest protector and shin-guards on. Ditch sat back and pulled his glove on, half-heartedly to head back to the mound. "Hey, Ditch," Hansen began. Ditch didn't take his eyes off the field. "Uh...some of the guys were thinking of, you know, hanging out after the game," Hansen continued. He shoved his hands into his pitching jacket and banged his cleated feet against the concrete floor of the dugout. He had knocked the dirt from his cleats the previous inning, Ditch noted. Hansen cleared his throat. "You know, like go out to a movie or something. You wanna, I mean, if you want to come with..."

Hansen let a breath out slowly and stopped kicking. Ditch finally looked over at him. Jesus, he thought, the kid was actually nervous just talking to him. "Yeah, okay, sure," he said. Hansen looked at him, then lowered his head and resumed banging his shoes. "Maybe we could hit a bar or something first, you guys don't mind.
The sharp crack of the bat cut off Hansen's reply. They both looked up to see the ball soaring straight up, a routine infield fly. The opposing team's shortstop didn't have to move as he gloved it.
"Well," Ditch said, dropping his jacket behind him, "back to work." He heard Hansen's voice say "...one, two, three..." as he bounded out of the dugout. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Hansen get to his feet and show signs of pacing. Ditch reached the mound and, stooping to pick up the ball, immediately dug at the seams with dirty fingernails. He mopped off a sudden downpour of forehead sweat and looked back to the dugout. Hansen was sitting again, his face buried in a hand towel.
Ditch waited until the first batter of the ninth slowly stepped in and paused to dramatically spit and flutter his bat menacingly. The crowd murmur rose and fell in waves as he readied for the signs. He wanted this game, he realized suddenly. A fine time to get sentimental, but he wanted to win.
Well, then, he thought, rearing back for the pitch. Here goes nothing.



About the Author


Originally from Troy, New York, M. Thomas Apple spent part of his childhood in the hamlet of Berne, in the Helderberg escarpment, and his teenage years in the village of Warrensburg, in the Adirondack Mountains. He studied languages and literature as an undergraduate student at Bard College, creative writing in the University of Notre Dame Creative Writing MFA Program, and language education in a Temple University interdisciplinary doctoral program. He now teaches global issues and English as a second language at Ritsumeikan University in Kyoto, Japan. Approaching Twi-Night is his first novel. A non-fiction book of essays about parenting and childcare (Taking Leave: An American on Paternity Leave in Japan, Perceptia Press), is scheduled for publication in late 2015, followed by a collection of short fiction and poetry (Notes from the Nineties) in early 2016. The lead editor of the bestselling Language Learning Motivation in Japan (Multilingual Matters, 2013), he is currently co-editing a non-fiction educational research book, writing a science fiction novel, and outlining a baseball story set in the Japanese corporate leagues.


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RELEASE BLITZ: Rule by CD Reiss


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Antonio and Theresa live or die together in this epic, full-length conclusion
to the Songs of Corruption series!

NOW AVAILABLE!




Rule Book Trailer:


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Blurb

Book Three in The Corruption Series. You must read SPIN and RUIN before reading RULE!

Theresa and Antonio.

They've been through hell. Antonio has a price on his head for turning his back on a marriage deal, and Theresa has no intention of turning her back on him. They're devoted and strong, ready for anything....

A Love Tested To The Limit

And then, someone from Antonio's past reappears. Someone who can give him everything he ever wanted, and who can shake them to their very core.

#livetogether
#dietogether

In this stunning conclusion to the USA Today Bestselling series, Antonio and Theresa will have their passion, their devotion and their very will to live tested.

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Series Reading Order

SPIN (Book One)

Ruin (Book Two)

Rule (Book Three)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CD Reiss
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CD Reiss is a USA Today and Amazon bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up, she’s at the well, hauling buckets.

Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere, but it did embed TV story structure in her head well enough for her to take a big risk on a TV series structured erotic series called Songs of Submission. It’s about a kinky billionaire hung up on his ex-wife, an ingenue singer with a wisecracking mouth; art, music and sin in the city of Los Angeles.

Critics have dubbed the books “poetic,” “literary,” and “hauntingly atmospheric,” which is flattering enough for her to put it in a bio, but embarrassing enough for her not to tell her husband, or he might think she’s some sort of braggart who’s too good to give the toilets a once-over every couple of weeks or chop a cord of wood.

If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.


Stalk Her: Facebook | Twitter | Website | Goodreads | Pinterest | Instagram



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