Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts

May 20, 2016

Book Trailer, Teasers & Giveaway! European Tour, Rocking the Pop Star #1 by L.V. Lewis



Broken. Guilt-ridden. Ready to start over. 

Brody Kent walked away from the pinnacle of rock superstardom and never looked back. Financially, he never has to work again, but takes jobs as a personal assistant to keep his mind—and other things—busy. The women he works for always want something, and he's more than willing to help. But when he's sent to work for a pop princess, Brody will do anything to make her happy—even if it means admitting the ugly truth about his past. Smothered. Talented. Ready to start her life. 

Successful pop star, Skylar Samuelson is about to embark upon the turning point of her career—a summer tour in Europe. Her manager mother has promised to pull back and allow her full reign of the overseas tour. When Brody Kent becomes her new assistant, Skylar can't deny the attraction. He's perfect. Everything she’s ever wanted. But Brody's hiding something and the truth may break her. If someone else doesn't break her first... 

Lies. Betrayal. And the truth that could ruin them all.







Growing up, L.V. Lewis wanted to be an internationally known rock star, but unfortunately, lived in the wrong part of the country to pursue that career (and neither American Idol nor The Voice were available then). An early love for the written word gave her the plan B she sought. Now she pens romance novels that let her live vicariously through rock stars and other fascinating archetypes. 



March 22, 2016

Excerpt, Playlist & Giveaway! Colors, The Dragon Knights #2 by Gabbie S. Duran


Alyssa lives her days hiding from the nightmares of her childhood, fearful of only one thing: being found. She no longer feels pain, for her soul has been numbed by the cruelties she endured.

Chris is empty on the inside, even though he portrays a facade of happiness to the outside world. He attempts to fill the void with women, sex, and music. In his lonely existence, nothing really matters . . . until he meets Alyssa.

When two dark souls collide, can the colors repair their broken souls, or will they surrender to the darkness of their broken pasts? 






“What are you doing?”

Ignoring her, I grab the first brush with paint my hands can get a hold of. As if predicting what I had intended to do, she reaches for it, yanking it from my hand. Annoyance fills me when she ruins my plan, so my mind is just as suddenly making a rash decision. Lifting a tube up ready to aim, she just as suddenly retreats, threatening, “Don’t you dare,” as she holds her arms out in an attempt to protect her.

It does nothing to deter my plans of retaliation. I swiftly flick the tube in her direction and squeeze at the same time. The content lands on her chest, earning an echoing gasp as it makes contact.

“There, now we’re even,” I say, slamming the tube back down on the table then begin my steps to retreat from the room. I’ve barely taken two steps when the feel of a wet substance runs down my back.

Whirling to face her, she gloats with an arched brow, holding a can.

“Now you have an array of colors to take with you,” she smirks.

“What the hell did you pour on me?”

“Dirty water,” she proclaims before spinning to place the can on the table then tries to march past me. She believes she’s won. However I’m notorious for not allowing myself to be defeated. My arm wraps around her waist and lifts her off the ground, making her yelp in surprise.

“Oh no you don’t,” I tell her, stomping my way over to where the table of paints are at while she protests with shouts to put her down. She’s furious while I’m wickedly laughing at her reaction.

“What color would look good on you?” I ask, gently placing her on the floor to grab two brushes with paint. Lifting one hand, she side steps away as she exclaims, 

“Don’t you dare, Chris!” She steps right in to the other already aimed at her face.

Her stupefied reaction makes me laugh, giving her the perfect opportunity to yank one of the brushes from my hand to mimic my earlier motion, smearing paint across my cheek.

“Purple is not your color.” Lowering the brush to dip it into a dab of green paint, I’m already following her movement to dip my own brush back into the red and we both hastily return to poking at each other with the brushes.

Our laughter booms in the room as we chase one another with our brushes. My resentment of how this all started has completely evaporated and is now replaced with cheerful competition as I try to cover Alyssa with as much paint as possible. Unfortunately for her, it’s much more difficult since she has been protectively guarding her paints.

In one swift move, I reach in and manage to grab a tube off the table then open it, ready to squirt it at her. Alyssa holds her hands up in surrender as she declares, “Please, don’t. That tube is a very rare color and hard to find.”

Snorting at what I believe is a ploy, I say, “I’m not buying that shit. You’ll probably use it on me.”

“I swear, I won’t,” she pleads, holding her hands out for me to surrender it.

First to catch my eyes is how labored her breathing has become as she cautiously closes the distance between us and gently takes the tube from my hands, all while explaining, “It’s called glaucous and this particular tube must have been expensive. That’s why I haven’t opened it.”

She walks back to the table, placing it against the far end of the wall. She takes another tube and returns, holding it out for me to take. “You could use this one if you’d like. I don’t care about that color at all and rarely ever use it.”

Taking in the tube she’s given me, it’s the color black.

Gazing down her entire body, she is covered in an array of colors. To add black would be to dim the beauty shining from her.

Shaking my head, I tell her, “You look too pretty to be covered in black.” Her cheeks are completely covered in paint, but there is no denying they are blazing crimson underneath the color.

Feeling as if I’ve exposed enough of myself to her today, I swiftly change the subject. “Please tell me this stuff will come off in the shower,” I say, staring down at the colors already caking on my skin.

She giggles, using her fingers to wipe paint away from my face. “Most of it should, but even if it doesn’t, you needed a little color in your life, remember?”

“That’s what I have you for,” I tell her, completely at a loss as to how rapidly those words came out. Nonetheless, they hold nothing but truth behind them.

She shocks me when she leans forward, kissing me on my lips with the same bashful smile still on her features. I can no longer hold back the restraint I have held with her . . . My heart and mind are screaming in unison not to anymore, and since it’s the first time they’ve ever agreed when it came to a girl . . . this time, I’m going to listen.











March 16, 2016

Excerpt & Giveaway! Stuck on Rewind by Dianne Hartsock


Ashton has been in love with his best friend for years, watching him grow from a pretty high school boy to the gorgeous erotic dancer at the club where they both work. The problem is that Lance enjoys the attention of a variety of men while Ashton wants him for his very own.


After a day spent denying his attraction for Lance, standing by while their friend Trey openly flirts with him, Ashton decides it’s time to make his move or risk losing his man forever. Once Lance knows how he feels, he’ll realize they should be together. Or is it already too late?




“Fuck!” Ashton shouted in a mixture of anger and ecstasy as Lance swallowed again, then let Ashton’s softening cock slip from between his perfect lips. Ashton leaned on his elbows, his chest heaving while he caught his breath. With a last kiss on his thigh, Lance climbed off the bed, sleek-limbed and graceful, and walked to the dresser with a sassy sway of his hips.

Ashton stared after him and groaned, not sure if he wanted to pull his friend’s ass back into his arms or punch him in the face. It would be incredible to wake up with Lance every morning and make love to him. But he sternly reminded himself that they were only friends and Lance needed to stop climbing into his bed at night uninvited.

“You do remember you have a bed of your own?” he asked, more sharply than he’d intended.

Lance gave him a smirk over his shoulder, making a show of licking the last of Ashton’s spunk off his swollen lips. “You told me to wake you at seven.”

“I didn’t mean… Oh hell.” Ashton fell back on the pillows and threw an arm over his eyes. He swore in exasperation when the mattress dipped and Lance’s familiar scent surrounded him. “Damn it—”

Soft fingers touched his mouth. “Don’t be mad, baby. I didn’t mean anything.”

Ashton peered at him through the dark curls that had flopped into his eyes. The guy looked positively forlorn, and Ashton sat up, giving him a one-armed hug. “I’m not mad. But you don’t need to keep doing that, either. You’re my friend!” He kissed Lance’s cheek, the velvet skin warm with a blush. “You make a terrific roommate, and I like the company.”

“And I like you.” Lance walked his fingers up Ashton’s leg.

Ashton laughed and shooed the hand away, but couldn’t help staring at the enticing evidence of his friend’s arousal between his legs.

“Can I take care of that for you?”

“Not at all.” Lance stood up, waving off Ashton’s offer. “I’ll deal with it in the shower. You have to save your attentions for Mister Man.”

“Who are you talking about…? Wait!” Ashton rolled off the bed and trotted after Lance as he crossed the apartment.

Lance giggled, slipping behind the bathroom door but holding it cracked open an inch. He smiled at Ashton with his pouty, kissable lips. “You know, the boss. Mister Kent.”

“I’m not saving myself for—”

Ashton blinked at the closed door. Why in the world would Lance think he was interested in his boss? Sure, the man was handsome as sin, but he was also an egomaniac and tyrant. Why only yesterday, he’d…

Hot blood scorched Ashton’s neck and face, his arm tingling where Morgan Kent had gripped it, towering over him. The man had bent to his ear, swamping Ashton’s senses with subtle cologne and a hint of sweat as he’d whispered, “If you can’t type a simple letter without mistakes, I’ll find a secretary who can.” He’d tightened his hand almost painfully on Ashton’s arm. “Or maybe I should just bend you over this desk and smack your ass for each mistake?”

Ashton’s dick jumped at the memory. He told it sternly to behave. “We’re not falling for that bastard. We’ll stick with the sweet boys at the club and call it good.”



Dianne grew up in one of the older homes in the middle of Los Angeles, a place of hardwood floors and secret closets and back staircases. A house where ghosts lurk in the basement and the faces in the paintings watch you walk up the front stairs. Rooms where you keep the closet doors closed tight at night. It’s where her love of the mysterious and wonderful came from. 

Dianne now lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play. She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house with a fire crackling on the hearth and a cup of hot coffee warming her hands, which kindles her imagination.

Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.