Excerpt & Giveaway! All that Jazz (A Butler Cove Novel) by Natasha Boyd

There’s something totally inconvenient about falling for your best friend’s brother. Especially when he’s turned into a pompous, arrogant, albeit annoyingly sexy a-hole that you’d like to punch or kiss to death at any given moment.

The summer she turned eighteen, Jazz Frazer accidentally lost her heart to Joey Butler, after a favor that blurred the lines from friends to lovers.

For three years they’ve pretended there’s nothing between them anymore. Jazz is finally ready to move on with the rest of her life. She’s looking forward to the end of college and fulfilling her dream of travelling the world. She’s determined that experiences and relationships will be fun, casual and easy. After all, she learned the hard way that men just don’t stick around anyway. But when her best friend gets herself into a relationship with a celebrity, Jazz has to do the one thing she never thought she’d do, call Joey and ask for help.

Repeatedly thrown together, Jazz tries everything she can to protect her heart and not fall back in love with Joey. But when Joey finally admits that Jazz is the one he’s always wanted, all bets are off.

Contemporary, friends to lovers, second chance romance. 17+ for strong language and sexual situations.

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The Summer I turned 18

Joey shook his head. “This is a really fucking bad idea,” he muttered before leaning down and taking my mouth with his. 

My heart raced. 

He moved in front of me. His hand slid into my hair behind my head and his lower body connected with mine, pressing me against the railing. 

Oh, God. 

My arms skated up his biceps to his hard shoulders until they grasped at his neck. 

I was terrified he’d suddenly raise his head and stop kissing me. The feel of him against me, against my body, the heat of his mouth, the skin of his neck under my fingers was like what I imagined a hit of ecstasy felt like. It was sudden and overwhelming and euphoric. I let out a low moan of need, my mouth opening under his. God, yes. 

His hands tightened on me. He lifted his mouth fractionally as if the sound shocked him. His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed. We each took a breath against each other’s mouths. 

I licked my bottom lip. Please let him not stop, I want more. I leaned up and nipped at his mouth.

He let out a shallow breath that caught. “A really, really bad idea,” he murmured before his mouth was on mine again. His tongue licked into me. His hands couldn’t seem to find where to hold me as they moved from my hair, to my back, to my face. He held my face, angling my mouth to suit him. Jesus. My body strained against his without me even meaning to. I felt his erection thick and heavy between us. Holy shit. Yes. I pressed closer. Damn, he tasted good. I kissed him back with everything I had like I could imprint the taste and feel of him on me forever. 

His mouth pulled from mine, his wet lips and hot breath skating to my ear and down my neck. I held his head, my fingers slipping into his silky hair. 

“But really, really … really good,” I whispered, gasping as his teeth and tongue worked down my neck. The sound of his ragged breathing almost did me in as much as the feel of it against my skin.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his tone tortured as if he had no will against what he was doing.

An aching and relentless need had taken root low in my belly. The urge to open my legs and wrap them around him, seeking relief was almost becoming tunnel-like. I could barely think. How had a simple kiss moved from hot to … this … in less than two minutes? This was no kiss for anyone’s benefit. This was no favor. This was pure, raw, unadulterated want. This was what I wanted sex to feel like. This was not even close to how it felt when Chase kissed me. Chase was definitely the wrong choice. Joey. I wanted this with Joey. I wanted him to be my first. The sudden image of him naked on me, my legs wrapped around him as he kissed me like this, went off like a lust-bomb in my stomach and I whimpered—a strange tortured sound. 

Fisting my hands in his hair, I pulled his face back to mine. His hips rocked against me, and his tongue sank into my mouth. We kissed, and we kissed. It was like we couldn’t stop. He became my air, and I thought I’d rather die kissing him than ever breathe again.

Natasha Boyd is an internationally bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary romantic southern fiction. She holds a Bachelor of Science in Psychology, and has a background in marketing and public relations. Eversea, her debut novel, was a finalist for Contemporary Romance in the 2013 Winter Rose Contest, won the 2014 Digital Book Award for Adult Fiction and is a LIBRARY JOURNAL self-e selection 2015. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, Georgia Romance Writers and Island Writer's Network in coastal South Carolina where she has been a featured speaker on book marketing. She lives with her husband, two sons and the cast of characters in her head. 

Natasha grew up in South Africa, Belgium and England. She now lives and writes full-time in the USA. 

Her work is available in English, Italian, Turkish, German, and Indonesian.

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Excerpt & Giveaway! Reasonable Doubt, Volume One by Whitney G.

My cock has an appetite. A huge and very particular appetite: Blonde, curvy, and preferably not a fucking liar…(Although, that’s a story for another day.) As a high profile lawyer, I don’t have time to waste on relationships, so I fulfill my needs by anonymously chatting and sleeping with women I meet online. My rules are simple: One dinner. One night. No repeats. This is only casual sex. Nothing more. Nothing less. At least it was , until “Alyssa”… She was supposed to be a 27 year old lawyer, a book hoarder, and completely unattractive. She was supposed to be someone I shared law advice with late at night, someone I could trust with details of my weekly escapades. But then she came into my firm for an interview–a college-intern interview, and everything fucking changed… 

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Andrew

New York City is nothing more than a shit-filled wasteland, a dump where failures are forced to drop all their broken dreams and leave them far behind. The flashing lights that shined brightly years ago have lost their luster, and that fresh feeling that once permeated the air—that hopefulness, is long gone. 

Every person I once considered a friend is now an enemy, and the word “trust” has been ripped from my vocabulary. My name and reputation are tarnished thanks to the press, and after reading the headline that The New York Times ran this morning, I’ve decided that tonight will be the last night I ever spend here.

I can’t deal with the cold sweats and nightmares that jerk me out of my sleep anymore, and as hard as I try to pretend like my heart hasn’t been obliterated, I doubt that the agonizing ache in my chest will ever go away. 

To properly say goodbye, I’ve ordered the best entrées from all my favorite restaurants, watched Death of a Salesman on Broadway, and smoked a Cuban cigar on the Brooklyn Bridge. I’ve also booked the penthouse suite at the Waldorf Astoria, where I’m now leaning back on the bed and threading my fingers through a woman’s hair—groaning as she slides her mouth over my cock. 

Teasingly darting her tongue around my tip, she whispers, “Do you like this?” as she looks up at me. 

I don’t answer. I push her head down and exhale as she presses her lips against my balls, as she covers my cock with her hands and moves them up and down. 

Over the past two hours, I’ve fucked her against the wall, forced her to bend over a chair, and pinned her legs to the mattress while I devoured her pussy. 

It’s been quite fulfilling—fun, but I know this feeling will only last for so long; it never stays. In less than a week, I’ll have to find someone else. 

As she takes me deeper and deeper into her mouth, I tightly tug her hair—tensing as she bobs her head up and down. Pleasure begins to course its way through me, and the muscles in my legs stiffen—forcing me to let go and warn her to pull away. 

She ignores me. 

She grips my knees and sucks faster, letting my cock touch the back of her throat. I give her one last chance to move away, but since her lips remain wrapped around me, she leaves me no choice but to cum in her mouth.

And then she swallows. 

Every. Last. Drop.

Impressive…

Finally pulling away, she licks her lips and leans back against the floor.

“That was my first time swallowing,” she says. “I did that just for you.”

“You shouldn’t have.” I stand and zip my pants. “You should’ve saved it for someone else.”

“Right. Well, um…Do you want to order some dinner? Maybe we could eat it over HBO and go at it again afterwards?”

I raise my eyebrow, confused. 

This is always the most annoying part, the part when the woman who previously agreed to “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” wants to establish some type of imaginary connection. For whatever reason, she feels like there needs to be some type of closure conversation, some bland reassurance that’ll confirm that what just happened was ‘more than sex,’ and we’ll become friends. 

But it was just sex, and I’m not in need of any friends. Not now, not ever. 

“No, thank you.” I walk over to the mirror on the other side of the room. “I have someplace to be.”

“At three in the morning? I mean, if you just want to skip the HBO and go for another round instead, I can…”

I tune out her irritating voice and begin to button my shirt. I’ve never spent the night with a woman I met online, and she isn’t going to be the first. 

As I adjust my tie, I look down and spot a tattered pink wallet on the dresser. Picking it up, I flip it open and run my fingers across the name that’s printed onto her license: Sarah Tate. 

Even though I’ve only known this woman for a week, she’s always answered to “Samantha.” She’s also told me—repeatedly, that she works as a nurse at Grace Hospital. Judging by the Wal-Mart employee card that’s hiding behind her license, I’m assuming that part isn’t true either. 

I look over my shoulder, where she’s now sprawled across the bed’s silk sheets. Her creamy colored skin is unmarred and smooth; her bow shaped lips are slightly swollen and puffy. 

Her green eyes meet mine and she slowly sits up, spreading her legs further apart, whispering, “You know you want to stay. Stay…”

My cock starts to harden—it’s definitely up for another round, but seeing her real name has ruined any chance of that for me. I can’t stand to be around anyone who’s lied to me, even if she does have double D tits and a mouth from heaven. 

I toss the wallet into her lap. “You told me your name was Samantha.”

“Okay. And?”

“Your name is Sarah.”

“So what?” She shrugs, beckoning me with her hand. “I never give my real name to men I meet on the internet.”

“You just fuck them in five star hotel suites?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my real name?”

“I don’t.” I glance at my watch. “Are you spending the night in this room or do I need to give you cab money to get home?”

“What?”

“Was my question unclear?”

“Wow…Just, wow…” She shakes her head. “How much longer do you think you’ll be able to keep doing this?”

“Keep doing what?”

“Chatting someone up for a week, fucking her, and moving on to the next. How much longer?”

“Until my dick stops working.” I put on my jacket. “Do you need cab fare or are you staying? Check out is at noon.”

“Do you know that men like you—relationship avoiders, are the type that typically fall the hardest?”

“Did they teach you that at Wal-Mart?”

“Just because someone from your past hurt you doesn’t mean that every woman after her will.” She purses her lips. “That’s probably why you are the way you are. Maybe if you tried to actually date someone you’d be a lot happier. You should take her out for dinner and actually listen, see her to her door without expecting an invitation inside, and maybe bypass the whole ‘let’s go fuck’ in the hotel suite thing at the end.”

Where are my keys? I need to go. Now.

“I can see it now…” She can’t seem to shut up. “You’re going to want more than sex one day, and the person you want it from is going to be someone you least expect. Someone who will force you to give in.”

I pull my keys from underneath her crumpled dress and sigh. “Do you need cab money?”

“I have my own car, dick-face.” She rolls her eyes. “Are you really this incapable of having a regular conversation? Would it kill you to talk to me for a few minutes after sex?”

“We have nothing more to discuss.” I put my room key on the nightstand and walk toward the door. “It was very nice meeting you, Samantha, Sarah. Whatever the hell your name is. Have a great night.”

“Screw you!”

“Three times was more than enough. No, thank you.”

“Things are going to catch up to you one day, asshole!” She yells as I step into the hallway. “Karma is one hell of a bitch!”

“I know.” I toss back. “I fucked her two weeks ago…”

A self diagnosed candy addict, travel junkie, and hypochondriac, Whitney Gracia Williams LOVES to write about characters that make you laugh, cry, and want to (in the case of Claire Gracen) reach through your Kindle and slap them.

She is the New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of Reasonable Doubt,the Mid Life Love Series, the Jilted Bride Series, the My Last Resolution Series, Wasted Love, and Captain of My Soul.

When she’s not locked inside her room, feverishly typing away on her laptop.

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Coming Soon! Rock Your Heart Out,Sinful Serenade #3 by Crystal Kaswell

Rock Your Heart Out

Crystal Kaswell

(Sinful Serenade #3)

Publication date: March 10th 2016

Genres: New Adult, Romance

There’s a naked rockstar in my hotel room.

And he’s pierced. 

Willow Denton needs to get out of town fast. Her only option is joining her brother’s band on tour. Ten weeks with misbehaved men doesn’t sound so bad. Until she walks in on the drummer naked and sporting a spanking new piercing. There’s no way the player rock star will ever think of her as more than his BFF’s little sister. Better to focus on her photography. As soon as she stops thinking about him in her bed, against the wall, in the backseat of his car…

Sinful Serenade drummer Tom Steele is a wrecking ball. Bossy. Pushy. Hot as the molten center of the Earth. He’s not afraid to use his body or his fame to get what he wants– a different girl every night of the week (and three on Sunday). The man may be a whore but he can control himself. He’s going to keep an eye on Willow, be her friend. That’s it.

Their sizzling sexual chemistry makes this whole platonic things hard.

But there’s no way he’ll cross the line with the girl he’s supposed to protect.

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Crystal Kaswell writes steamy new adult and erotic romance books. She loves when flawed characters fall head over heels for each other. Especially if they fall into bed first. She loves police procedurals, tea, and The Hunger Games series. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband.

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Release Day Blitz & Giveaway! #Junkie, GearShark #1 by Cambria Hebert

Drew Forrester is a total adrenaline junkie.

His high of choice?

Cars.

The faster, the better.

He’s been making waves in Maryland’s underground racing circuit since he crossed the state line, and after speaking with him, we know he’s not hitting the brakes anytime soon.

So what exactly does it take to burn rubber and make a name for yourself in a world where the only rule is there are no rules?

You gotta be hungry…

You gotta have balls…

And you can never back down.

What’ve we learned here at GearShark?

Drew is all of the above.

We also know he’s got some secrets buried under his hood.

Secrets we think are loaded with octane and just might set the world of cars on fire.

Check out the full feature article inside…

—

*this is a spin-off of the Hashtag series but it can be read on its own.

**This book contains an M/M romance relationship.

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Cambria Hebert is an award winning, bestselling novelist of more than twenty books. She went to college for a bachelor’s degree, couldn’t pick a major, and ended up with a degree in cosmetology. So rest assured her characters will always have good hair. 

Besides writing, Cambria loves a caramel latte, staying up late, sleeping in, and watching movies. She considers math human torture and has an irrational fear of chickens (yes, chickens). You can often find her running on the treadmill (she’d rather be eating a donut), painting her toenails (because she bites her fingernails), or walking her chorkie (the real boss of the house). 

Cambria has written within the young adult and new adult genres, penning many paranormal and contemporary titles. Her favorite genre to read and write is romantic suspense. A few of her most recognized titles are: The Hashtag Series, Text, Torch, and Tattoo.

Cambria Hebert owns and operates Cambria Hebert Books, LLC.

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Excerpt & Giveaway! Magnate, Acquisition #2 by Celia Aaron

Lucius Vinemont has spirited me away to a world of sugar cane and sun. There is nothing he cannot give me on his lavish Cuban plantation. Each gift seduces me, each touch seals my fate. There is no more talk of depraved competitions or his older brother – the one who’d stolen me, claimed me, and made me feel things I never should have. Even as Lucius works to make me forget Sinclair, my thoughts stray back to him, to the dark blue eyes that haunt my sweetest dreams and bitterest nightmares. Just like every dream, this one must end. Christmas will soon be here, and with it, the second trial of the Acquisition.

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“Off.” He growled and gripped one side, yanking the shirt apart, buttons bouncing off the hardwood floors as he pulled the shirt roughly down my arms and tossed it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His body was hot, alive, and hard at my back. I couldn’t stay here. Not with him. Not in this bed like we were lovers, like we were two people who could seek solace from each other. We weren’t. We never could be those people. “Stop!”

He caged me, my struggles nothing to him even in his weakened state. “You aren’t leaving this bed. Get used to it. Don’t fucking try anything.”

I stopped fighting. There was no point. I would just have to wait until he fell asleep.

“You’re mine, Stella.” He tightened his grip with each word. “I don’t care where you run, who you choose, what you say, or what you fucking do. You, all of you, belongs to me.”

“I’m not a thing you can own,” I hissed.

He laughed, the sound low and full of heat. “You can hop countries like a skipping stone for all I care. I’ll find you, and you’ll wind up right where you are now.”

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Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.

Sign up for my newsletter at aaronerotica.com to get information on new releases. (I would never spam you or sell your info, just send you book news and goodies sometimes). 

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Excerpt & Giveaway! Kahayatle, Apocalypsis #1 by Elle Casey

NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR, ELLE CASEY, brings readers Book 1 of 4 in the YA Dystopian APOCALYPSIS Series, suitable for older teens and adults.

KAHAYATLE. My name’s Bryn Mathis. I’m seventeen years old, and I live in a neighborhood outside of Orlando, Florida. I live alone because my dad died almost a year ago, along with all the other adults in the world. I’m almost out of food and the gangs of kids that roam around my town are getting more vicious by the day. It’s time for me to leave and find another place to live … a place where I can find food and shelter … a place where they won’t be able to find me. Alone, it might have been possible, but now I’ve got company. I’m worried that I don’t have what it takes to get from here to my final destination, and I have no idea what might be waiting for me when I get there.

Content Warning: Mild violence and some foul language. Meant for older Young Adult readers (age 15+). This book is in the Dark Science Fiction / Horror / Post-Apocalyptic genres, featuring teen characters only.

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I had eaten all the rations that were left in my house, except for five cans of baked beans and two bags of noodles. It’s all I’d been eating for a week, and if I had to have another bite of starch I was going to puke. I didn’t like the idea of going through my neighbors’ houses to find food, but the choice was being made for me now. I was desperate. 

Morning would be the best time for me to make my move. I’d heard the sounds of other people - teens like me - moving around in the daytime; but usually it was in the afternoon or at night. Groups of them had gotten together, looking for stuff in the houses that didn’t have kids in them. None of the houses had adults in them anymore. 

I needed to move without being seen. Leaving my house unprotected would be a very bad idea. I knew that these gangs were soon going to stop showing respect to the houses with kids in them like me. It was only a matter of time before the resources left in these neighborhoods dwindled down to an amount so small, it would no longer be enough to support the number of growling stomachs that roamed the streets; not without the hungry breaking into the occupied places too. 

I hadn’t heard them hit the house behind me yet, maybe because there was someone living there. I’d never met that neighbor, though, and had never seen any sign of a kid there. There were two other houses on my street that used to have kids my age in them, but they had left - I assume to join one of the roving gangs. I guess they figured they had better chances of surviving in a group. 

I didn’t feel that way at all. Before the world had gone into the crapper, I’d been pretty much a loner anyway. I liked my music and my books and didn’t bother with after-school clubs or hanging out at the local cafe. Besides, my dad had me in martial arts training every weekday and most weekends, practically my whole life; it didn’t leave much time for socializing. I’d only moved to this town six months before my dad was suddenly gone. He’d hoped to outrun the apocalypse, but it eventually caught up with him like it did anyone who wasn’t going through puberty.

The guys I trained with at various dojos over the years - I was always the only girl - were as serious as my dad about their skills. They lived for the feel of total control and absolute domination, in any situation. I appreciated the power, but it was never really my thing. I did it to make my dad happy. I’d advanced through the ranks, but didn’t get as far as he’d wanted me to. Now he wasn’t here to help me move forward, and I wished like hell I’d tried harder. For him and for me.

I decided to go to the house behind me to search for food. Maybe there was a kid there, maybe there wasn’t. It was worth checking out, at least. I could get there by climbing my backyard fence, and no one who might be out on the street would be able to see me. Up until now, no one had bothered to try and come into my house. I’d put a note on my door that said to stay the hell away and that I had a gun - which was the truth. But in doing that, I’d essentially become a sitting duck. Eventually, they would come for the things they hoped were in my house - food and fresh water. It was going to be time to leave soon. But until that day came, I needed something else to eat. My hunger was gnawing a hole in my stomach.

Two more hours and I’d go over the fence. My hand went nervously to the ring on a chain that hung at my neck - my dad’s old wedding ring that he’d given me just before he went away for good.

Elle Casey is a prolific, NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling American writer who lives in Southern France with her husband, three kids, and several furry friends. She writes in several genres and publishes an average of one full-length novel per month.

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