August 13, 2015

Excerpt & Giveaway! Beauty and the Bachelor, Bachelor Auction #1 by Naima Simone


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Billionaire Lucas Oliver is hell bent on revenge. And his plan begins when Sydney Blake—the stunning daughter of his enemy—is tricked into bidding on Lucas at a bachelor auction. Then he serves up a little blackmail...followed by a marriage proposal Sydney has no choice but to accept.

Sydney has been controlled by her family her whole life. When Lucas threatens to reveal her father's shady business, she is once again forced to do her duty for her family. But worse—oh so much worse—is the rush of lust that Lucas ignites in her blood.

Lucas is determined to make Sydney suffer, but it’s tough when he can’t keep from touching her–or thinking about touching her–all the time. She’s not fairing much better since she’s engaged to a darkly handsome beast intent on destroying her entire family...along with her heart.



“Okay. Go ahead and ask your question,” Sydney murmured.

A corner of Lucas’ mouth quirked. “You say that like you’re about to face a firing squad. Mine is simple. Why have I never seen you wear your hair like this?” He tugged a long spiral once more.

Her gaze dropped to her cup as she dragged her fingers through the curls, self-consciousness in every movement. Maybe not so simple after all. “You’ve known me a handful of weeks.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “Do you wear it like this often?”

“No.”

“Stop stalling. Why not?”

She heaved a sigh, tipped her chin up. “It’s not a state secret or big deal. The straightened hair is more manageable and more appropriate for many of the events I attend. Less…wild.”

“Bullshit.”

“That seems to be your favorite word,” she muttered around the rim of her coffee mug.

“One of them.”

“Well, if it’s such bullshit, why don’t you tell me the truth?” she asked softy, but he would’ve had to be Helen Keller not to see the glint in her eyes or hear the anger in her murmur.

Edging closer and reclaiming the space he’d placed between them, he regarded her until a flush reddened her cheekbones and her sensual lips parted on a hitch of air.

“I think you’re repeating what you’ve heard from your mother. Not appropriate. Wild. How about unseemly or common?” Something moved behind her unflinching gaze, and if he hadn’t quoted her mother, Charlene Blake, verbatim, then he’d struck close. He pinched a heavy lock between his fingers, rubbed the strands that resembled rough silk. “I understand certain fashions call for certain hairstyles. But the confined ponytails and buns? Those belong to Sydney Blake, the social princess, the beautification committee woman, the silent daughter of Jason Blake. But this?” He lifted the spiral, wove it around his finger. “This belongs to you. The Sydney who volunteers at the youth center. The Sydney who likes to sit on the back porch and stare at the water and distant mountains with a hot cup of coffee. The Sydney who has dreams she hides and believes no one notices. The Sydney who kisses like she invented sex and could make a man come just from having her taste in his mouth.”

The gentle, hungry lap of water against the shore. The faint clatter of the chef finishing their dinner behind the glass doors. And the rough huffs of their breaths.

“I also know why you comply with those dictates, Sydney,” he added, need like a serrated blade over his voice. “You don’t want to be seen. You’re comfortable fading into the background. But I have news for you, sweetheart. You can straighten your hair, wear the latest fashion trends that everyone else has on, sit in the farthest, darkest corner, and you would still be the center of attention. All eyes would still go to you when you enter a room.”

“Lucas…”

“Luke,” he corrected.

She frowned, thrown off guard. “What?”

“Luke. All my close friends—all being Aiden—call me Luke.”




Naima Simone’s love of romance was first stirred by Johanna Lindsey, Sandra Brown and Linda Howard many years ago. Well not that many. She is only eighteen…ish. Though her first attempt at a romance novel starring Ralph Tresvant from New Edition never saw the light of day, her love of romance, reading and writing has endured. Published since 2009, she spends her days—and nights— creating stories of unique men and women who experience the first bites of desire, the dizzying heights of passion, and the tender, healing heat of love.

She is wife to Superman, or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet proof equivalent, and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, sometimes domestically-challenged bliss in the southern United States.




Excerpt & Giveaway! Justice For Me, For Me #2 by TS McKinney & BJ Grinder



All Malachi wanted was to forget about the shit-show they’d all just endured with Victor and Nicholas and spend the rest of his life with the love of his life…Megan. That’s what he thought he wanted. What he found out was that giving up his desire to be a Dom isn’t as easy as he thought it would be and Megan isn’t about to pretend like she is sexually submissive. Not gonna happen! They love each other tremendously but just need another…addition to their party of two. Malachi needs an obedient, quiet, and trained male submissive to fulfill the Dom inside of him. Megan needs a submissive that has enough experience in the BDSM world that is still new to her.

That isn’t what either of them gets.

Justice Conners. He’s the opposite of everything they wanted…but is he just what they both needed?


“Take your sweats off.” 

Malachi’s demand came in the sexiest sounding voice he’d ever heard. It was deep and husky, firm and unyielding. Prickling sensations started at his scalp and worked its way down the rest of his body, leaving him humming with the same feeling he’d gotten the minute Malachi had slapped those cuffs around his wrists last night.

“Wh…what? He stuttered like a stupid school kid. Instead of sexy like Malachi, his voice sounded several octaves higher than normal.

“Take. Your. Sweats. Off.” Malachi’s eyes swept the boy from top to bottom, loving the way his exhausted muscles were quivering and coated with sweat. A man’s body was always more beautiful after pumping iron; muscles standing out and begging to be seen.

Violet eyes challenged pale blue eyes. Shyness struggled with desire. Heterosexual battled against…what the fuck am I doing?

Sweat pants came off and were tossed aside. “Okay. Sweat pants gone. What now, Malachi?”

Malachi’s breath came out in a huff. The kid’s body was…

Damn, he wanted to dominate, punish, and fuck this kid so badly. More than that, he wanted Justice to want it.

“I’m going to look at you. Stay still; arms out to your side and legs spread.”

The kid moved into position without the slightest hesitation.

Malachi walked around him, admiring every detail in the work of art formally known as annoying Justice. The boy’s eyes glittered as he watched Malachi watching him. No; nothing submissive at all in that gaze…until Malachi demanded it of him. The defiance was…fetching. He’d never found it attractive in a sub before, but it fit Justice well.

His fingers grazed his shoulders, tracing the length of firmly muscled arms until he reached a wrist. He’d noticed the boy had a tattoo around each wrist, like a bracelet of some kind. Looking closely now, he saw it was decorative letters. FOCUS; on the right wrist. LET GO; on the left wrist. He also noticed the kid tensed up like a man at his first prostrate examination the minute his fingertips touched the first wrist.

“What do these words mean?”

“Nothing of importance,” Justice answered in a clipped voice that didn’t fit the boy at all.

“It must be important for you to permanently mark yourself with it. Private, maybe?”

Justice tried to offer a nonchalant shrug. He thought he’d succeeded, but he hadn’t. Malachi just decided to let it ride for now.

“I got them when I was seventeen. Everything’s fucked up when you’re seventeen so who knows what the hell I was thinking? It was probably the answers to some pop quiz I thought I was going to have to take.”

Malachi seriously doubted it. At seventeen, a parent had to sign off on a tattoo. “Let’s say we’ll revisit that one at a later date, okay?” He kept walking around the kid, admiring, commenting, touching with soft touches that he suspected was lighting the boy on fire. “You asked me this morning about last night; about it being…weird, I believe is the word you used to describe it.” He paused when he stood directly in front of Justice. “Why would you call it weird?”

Justice’s eyes darted to the left and then the right, a carefree smirk on his face. “Eh, maybe because I got turned on by a grown man spanking my ass,” he suggested. “Or maybe it was because I let a man threaten to fuck my ass…while giving me a hand job and I had the best fucking orgasm I can ever remember having?” He shrugged. “The last time I checked, I was totally into the babes. Dudes were off limits.”

A soft chuckle tickled Justice’s ears, making him turn what he suspected was a very feminine shade of fucking pink. The chuckle wasn’t Malachi laughing; it was Malachi laughing at him. Perfect.

“Not into dudes, huh?” Malachi asked. “You could have fooled me.”

“Yea, I get that,” Justice said between gritted teeth. “No need to keep waving that flag in my face, asshole. The fuck knows it has to be your looks because it damn well can’t be your personality that had me going all ‘ass-up’.”

The kid was refreshingly honest. Rarely surprised by people, Malachi couldn’t help but be shocked by how the boy kept surprising him; one time right after another. “Does it bother you? That you might ‘be into dudes’?” He had to ask.

Another shrug. “No…I don’t know. I have a lot of gay friends. I guess I just didn’t know I might be one of them.”

“I’ve seen you chasing skirts, Justice. I’m pretty certain you aren’t gay; maybe not even bisexual. It could be that your body just enjoyed the discipline…the domination, and you responded sexually.”

No, Justice was fairly certain that wasn’t it. Sure, there was no questioning the domination scene had gotten his body, mind, heart, and soul on fire, but it was more than that. It was Malachi. Every fucking thing about Malachi, how totally opposite he was from himself, had caused him to be on edge, hypersensitive to everything the man did from the first moment he noticed his posture and the strong glint in his eyes up until he’d tossed him over his shoulder and tied him up.

It would be easy to take what he would consider the coward’s way out and blame it solely on a physical response from getting what he’d been wanting for oh so long, but he wasn’t a coward. He could be accused of a lot of things, most of them not good, but a coward he was not. He faced outward demons without hesitation. It was the inner demons that always did him in.

If he was gay; he was gay. If he was bisexual; he was bisexual. Those issues didn’t worry him that much or at least probably not as much as they should. What did worry him was how he was going to convince the cold-as-ice man to keep playing with him, like he’d mentioned last night. This lifestyle…this playtime with Malachi was safe for him; his body got to submit and his head didn’t have to get involved. This wasn’t a relationship where he would have to try to maneuver around and read how people felt, what they wanted, if they really cared…

If he understood the little bit of research he had done on the BDSM lifestyle, Malachi was a dominant that wanted him to submit to him; nothing more, nothing less. 

He struggled to come up with the right thing to say to the man that would push him into the direction he wanted to go. “It’s no doubt my body responded to what you did physically but I definitely didn’t get turned off by your touching me…sexually.” He cocked a brow at the bigger, much more confident man. “Are you afraid I’ll cry rape or sexual abuse to my daddy? Maybe after you tie me up, spank my ass, and do what-the-fuck-else ever to me, I’ll get the heebie jeebies and instead of admitting I liked it, file myself an FBI complaint?” He chuckled. “Don’t worry old man. It won’t happen. I accept the consequences for my actions.”

Malachi had remained silent as he watched the boy closely; watched all the strange emotions flicker across his face as he contemplated what might lay ahead between the two of them. It was fairly obvious the BDSM lifestyle was something he had considered prior to getting his ass hog-tied and whipped and his cock manhandled. All the signals that he had missed originally were out in the open now. The boy was virtually screaming to be initiated; to take a sample and see if he liked it.

There were other emotions dancing around in those wide blue eyes; things Malachi didn’t understand or couldn’t read. It was somewhat troubling but not enough to make him want to rethink what he and Megan had discussed. Justice seemed solid and self-assured. He had the feeling the kid tackled everything he did, from talking to learning to submit, with every ounce of energy bridled up in that lean body of his.

He would be fun. He would be exciting. He would be frisky. And, if Malachi wasn’t mistaken, he would be an excellent submissive. His body had responded marvelously last night. The sassy mouth on the kid seemed to vanish whenever an order was given to him. Justice, God bless him, looked like he’d be able to handle about anything Malachi threw his way…and follow it up with a ‘thank you, sir’.

“In your mind, Justice, what do you think is going to happen between us? I look at your face, into your pretty blue eyes, and you have all sorts of ideas dancing around in there. Tell me some of them. What do you see happening?” He needed to hear the boy say it with his own lips. For the first time in his life, Malachi wasn’t certain he trusted his own judgment regarding a potential submissive. Unsure of whether it was the fact that he’d met and fallen in love with his un-submissive Megan or maybe he was terrified that he just missed the lifestyle so damned badly that he was creating something that wasn’t really there, Malachi had to hear it straight from those perpetually swollen lips belonging to the boy.

Justice felt his teeth tugging at his bottom lip as he pondered Malachi’s question. Shit; could he even say it out loud? What if the man laughed at him? What if this was some big ‘pay-back’ for sneaking off? What if it wasn’t? “Well, I only know about the shit I’ve read on the internet, so I’m afraid you might not like my answer. I don’t want to say something wrong. I don’t want to say something that might make you decide not to want me…that way.”

Strange choice of words, Malachi thought as his eyes stayed focused on how the kid kept worrying that damned bottom lip. Because he knew it wasn’t purposely used to entice him, it made it one of the sexiest damn things Malachi had ever seen in his life. It was no wonder why the kid’s lips were always red and swollen like he’d just been thoroughly kissed or fucked in the mouth.

“Ah, the internet; the breeding ground for fools,” he said with a smirk but continued, “but it does manage to offer some educational benefit on occasion. Tell me, pup, what have you seen that made you think you might be interested in giving the whole BDSM lifestyle more than a passing glance?”

Justice felt his face burn red but his determination didn’t waiver. Focus on what you want. His fingers itched to touch the tattoo, but he wouldn’t allow it. “I…I liked the pictures of people being tied up; all sorts of ropes and locks.” His voice dropped even lower, as did his eyes, when he added, “In all sorts of positions.”

Not much in the world prettier than a pretty blushing for you, Malachi thought to himself. Justice had blushing down to an art. “So you think you would like being tied up? Is that why you got so calm in the vehicle on the way home last night? When I opened the back hatch, you looked very…peaceful. Was that because of the restraints?”

“I think so.”

A deep breath and another nibble of the bottom lip, followed by a swipe of a pink tongue across both lips, finished the boy’s thoughts.

“Excellent.” Malachi paused, wondering if he boy would have the courage to raise those pretty eyes and face him. No, it appeared he was still incredibly interested in the floor. “I like restraints. I like them very much, as a matter of fact.”

“Ummmm.” Well, fuck, that was an intelligent response.

“Do you want to try it, Justice? Do you want me to introduce you into my world; teach you some things? Let you try it and see if it is what you think it might be? See if your body will enjoy it as much as we both think it will?”

Blue eyes jumped up to meet his. Finally.

“Yes,” he answered softly. Then, more firmly, he said, “Yes, I do.”


TS McKinney lives in East Tennessee with her high school sweetheart/husband and all the countless dogs she picks up from deserted country roads. Her professional career has been in business but her heart has always belonged to the fantasy world found in books. Creating wicked worlds where one can meet the perfect hero – and then do anything to him that you want – has been a hobby that has brought her plenty of hours of fun and naughty entertainment.

When not working, reading, or writing, she loves to spend time with her family and forcing them (because they don’t really have another choice) to allow her to redecorate their houses…and listen to her naughty…sometimes sadistic stories.


BJ Grinder lives in Smalltown, Tennessee where the residents know everything and everyone (not always a good thing). She enjoys writing, zombies, and garage sales. She has an unhealthy relationship with her Kindle, which demands most of her time – at least what her 4 children don’t take up!




August 12, 2015

Excerpt & Giveaway! Twelfth Night, Love's Labours #2 by Racheline Maltese & Erin McRae



Michael and John, a May/December couple, navigated the repercussions of their gay-for-you love affair in the hothouse of a summerstock theater production.

Back in New York City at the conclusion of their show’s run, John is overwhelmed by his obsession with Michael and the difficulties of learning to date again after the death of his young son and his recent divorce. John gradually comes out to his colleagues, his football rec league friends, and even his ex-wife.

But when he invites his parents over for Christmas to meet the person he’s been seeing, the holiday—featuring Michael’s family’s amateur production of Twelfth Night—quickly turns into a French farce of potentially catastrophic proportions, forcing John finally to take the lead in claiming his evolving identity as he takes the next step in his relationship with Michael.


John doesn’t expect Michael to be as weirdly taken with the ocean as he is with the wild woods. It doesn’t seem like his element the way the trees are. But he is mesmerized by the beach almost instantly upon their arrival, insisting they walk along the hard wet sand of the tide line. It doesn’t matter how many times John says their muscles will ache unhappily tomorrow from miles walked at the edge of the frigid fall water; Michael either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t care enough to respond.

John is fascinated as Michael keeps a close eye on shells and rocks. One is shaped like a small egg, and he’s disappointed when it’s not. Still he makes John hold it for him, running ahead to a rock jetty to comb through the midden of mussel shells left by persistent and angry seagulls.

John tries not to be horrified, but the sight of Michael’s fingers picking through the dead bivalves and seaweed stinking in the sun is a bit much.

“What’s this?” Michael asks, eventually, holding out a shell, colored and swirled, to him.

It’s in perfect condition, and John is about to be impressed with the find until he realizes there’s still a creature using the shell as its home.

“That’s an animal in there.” He doesn’t actually know what kind. But it’s gelatinous and of the sea and not really a thing they should be messing with. They’ve seen dozens of jellyfish washed up on the beach already today.

“Does it go in the ocean or not in the ocean?”

“Ocean,” John says. He’s not 100 percent sure, but he suspects, like the jellyfish, the sun and the birds will eventually cook and peck it to nothing if it’s not saved by the sea.

Michael throws the shell back and returns to the tide line as they walk, gaze carefully on the ground and picking at every shell he sees that looks like whatever creature he just rescued. Most of them have their animals in them, and John suspects the coming hurricane that’s going to ruin their trip is churning them up.

As Michael throws each one back into the water, John is charmed that he’s trying to save creatures that have no spine, names he doesn’t know, and forms he’s never seen before.

Eventually Michael decides they can leave and reaches for John’s hand. John flinches away. It’s not the strangeness of the town this beach is attached to, half religious meeting town, half gay beach paradise. There’s even a club down the block from their inn that advertises “Less Lights, More Fun!” It’s that he can only think about whatever bacteria Michael is now coated in from all the dead mussels.

God, but he’s going to look like an idiot explaining that.

When he tries, stumbling through a mini monologue about seaweed and sea creatures and sand, Michael just listens with his head tipped to the side.

Finally John’s speech drags to a halt under Michael’s incredibly unimpressed gaze. He sighs and starts again.

“Okay. I swear the handholding thing has nothing to do with anything except your gross dead bivalve hands. But I think I may be freaking out.”

Michael blinks at him. “Did this start when we checked in and you had to deal with people who know we’re here to fuck?”

It’s sharp, but John knows he probably deserves it. 

“You know I don’t mind being out in public with you,” he says cautiously. He wants to be honest with Michael, but he also doesn’t want to provoke anger by being less willing to be out than Michael deems sufficient.

Thankfully Michael considers John for a moment and then grins. “Somewhere in the romantic beach getaway, I got that.”

John lets out a relieved sigh and wraps an arm around Michael’s waist. He wants to prove his willingness to be fully in this relationship without shame, but life is also just better when they’re touching. Michael leans into his side, and they start walking down the sand again.

“But it’s something I can’t help being aware of,” John says quietly as they walk. “What we are and what people see when they look at me. Which apparently means I’ve found my internalized homophobia, and I am completely aware of how gross that is. I’m going to work on that, but there it is.”

“You still want to, like, go out to dinner tonight and make out on the boardwalk, though, right?”

“Oh my God, you have no idea. I want to tell everybody about you.”

Michael smirks. “So why don’t you?”

“Coming out at my age is kind of more complicated than it is at twelve. Or however old you were when you did.”

“I was fourteen, thank you.”

“So how did you come out to your parents?” John asks after they walk for a few minutes in silence.

Michael cracks up.

“I’m serious!”

Michael buries his face in John’s arm and apparently can’t stop laughing. “You do understand how ridiculous this is, right?”

“I understand that I’m forty-two and have to come out to everyone in my entire life that I give a remote shit about, because you are addictive and fascinating and wonderful and also are sadly holding me to some pretty legitimate ethical standards. So help a guy out, okay?”

“I was making out with my first high school boyfriend in the living room, and my mom walked in.”

John is entirely not surprised. “So hey, when you meet my family, let’s not go with that plan, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, drawing the word out in a way that makes it clear it’s his turn to be defensive and weird.

John smirks, pleased to be off the hook for the moment. “You haven’t told them about us either,” he says smugly.

Michael mumbles something against John’s arm.

“What was that?”

“You’re really old,” Michael says. “And they’re going to freak.”



Racheline Maltese is a queer writer living a big life from a small space. She flies planes, sails boats, and rides horses, but as a native New Yorker, has no idea how to drive a car. 
A performer and storyteller focused on themes of celebrity, gender, desire and mourning, Racheline has a journalism degree from The George Washington University; studied acting and directing at the Atlantic Theater Company Acting School (New York City) and the National Institute of Dramatic Art (Sydney, Australia); and is a proud SAG-AFTRA member. 
She lives in Brooklyn with her partner and their two cats.



Erin McRae is a queer writer and blogger based in Washington, D.C. She owns several pieces of paper from distinguished universities, including a Master’s degree in International Affairs from American University, which qualify her to have lengthy and passionate discussions about the microeconomics of Tunisia. She also engages in lengthy and passionate discussions about military history. She likes trenches.
Erin is a cofounder of Avian 30, a literary collective dedicated to narratives with magical and sexual realism. She delights in applying her knowledge of international relations theory to her fiction and screen-based projects, because conflict drives narrative. 
She lives in Washington, D.C. with her partner and their two cats.

Excerpt & Giveaway! Claimed by Desire, Wild Hunters #2 by Skye Jones



Dylan Roberts returns to the Wales of his birth a changed man after the violent death of his mate. Having turned his back on being a bounty hunter and sworn off love for life, all he wants now is revenge. 

When he meets Aeron Lombardo, his new farmhand, Dylan resents the intense attraction that blossoms between them. But Aeron won’t stop pushing and soon things take a hot and sexy turn. 

As passions rise, danger rears its ugly head. Now Dylan and Aeron must choose whether to separate or commit to one another totally. Will Dylan take the final step and claim his new mate?


“Turn around.” Dylan’s low voice echoed in the bathroom.

He did as instructed, skin goose bumping in the chill air. Thick fingers touched either side of his torso and gently pressed down into his lower back. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head.

“Turn back around.”

He faced the front and watched as Dylan moved large hands over his torso, gentle but firm. He pressed a little more on the right hand side. “What about here? Hurt at all?”

“No.” He exhaled a shaky breath. No matter how much he told his dick not to take interest in the proceedings, he became more and more aroused at every touch.

Then Dylan did something so strange it snapped him out of his fog of desire. The man leaned in towards Aeron and sniffed him.

“Jesus.” Aeron took a step back, butting up against the sink behind him. “Did you just smell me?”


Skye Jones is an erotic romance author who likes to write about that moment when lust and love meet and head on.




Excerpt, Author Interview & Giveaway! Definitely, Maybe, Yours by Lissa Reed



Seattle-based baker Craig Oliver leads a life that is happily routine: baking cupcakes for an enormous family reunion, managing Sucre Coeur for its frequently absent owner, and closing out his day with a pint at the local pub. He has a kind heart, a knack for pastry, and a weakness for damaged people. 

Habitual playboy Alex Scheff is looking to drown his sorrows, but instead discovers that he may have a weakness for Englishmen who carry cookies in their pockets. Can a seemingly incompatible pair find the recipe for love in a relationship they claim is casual?


With a wink, Craig pulls a ten-dollar bill out of his left coat pocket and a carefully bagged almond and raspberry-lemon croissant, Katie's all-time favorite baked good, out of the right. He passes them across the bar as if he's James Bond—a very cheeky and cheery sort of 007. “You know I'll always look out for you. Keep the change.”

Katie squeals and flops across the bar to squeeze him breathless, and her ponytail slaps him in the nose. She bounces off with her treat in hand and Craig shakes his head and pulls long black and red hairs from his face, as he does every time this happens. Katie really is his favorite bartender at The Order of the Garter, hell, his favorite bartender in Seattle and maybe even the world. Much too good to be working at a grotty little pub, fending off unsavory advances and spilled drinks four nights a week; that's why Craig will bring her any bakery treat she wants, anytime she wants it, until she finally wises up and gets the hell out of this place.

Time for another sip of this excellent, excellent stout: Craig reaches forward. It's a good Thursday.

Of course, that's when it takes quite the sharp turn, leaving every Seattle-pub-Thursday Craig's ever known in the dust.

“Well, aren't you a hit with the ladies,” comes a surly drawl from his left, startling Craig just as he's got his fingers around his glass. “Was that a croissant in your pocket, or were you actually happy to see her?”

“Both,” Craig replies, shifting around to lean on his elbow and survey the formerly silent pile of misery hunched over two stools down, the limp guy at the end of the bar Craig had spotted on his way in. He is not unconscious after all, much to Craig's surprise; judging by the row of empty shot glasses upside down in front of him and the distinct aroma of tequila emanating a good four-foot radius from his person, he should be. Craig winces and turns away as the fumes burn his nose.

“Baked goods. That's a new one. Never saw anyone use baking to hit on the ladies before.” Mr. Misery sways his head upright, pushes a wild flop of brown hair out of his eyes and swings around until he locates Craig. He blinks. “Does it work?”

Surprised by the color of the eyes meeting his—an unusual shade, gray, not blue-gray or blue, but the gray of a sky covered in early storm clouds—Craig answers without thinking. “I wouldn't know. I don't hit on girls. Katie's my friend, not my type.”


Today I’m very lucky to be interviewing Lissa Reed, author of Definitely, Maybe, Yours.

Hi Lissa, thank you for agreeing to this interview. Tell us a little about yourself, your background, and your current book.

I’m pleased to be here, thank you! I am of course a writer, but also a reader, a knitter, a cat owner, a cook…oh, and I work with banking software during the day to be able to afford everything else! I live in Texas, but I am from Louisiana, and I am a reformed Navy Brat. It took me a few years to realize I did not have to move every two to four years anymore…

Definitely, Maybe, Yours is the story of two men with big hearts—one of whom, Alex, keeps his very guarded, and the other of whom, Craig, who would give his to Alex in a heartbeat if he wasn’t afraid it would scare Alex off. It is also a story of friends and family and many delicious baked goods, so I would not read it if you’re hungry, I think.

1) Is there a character in your books that you can’t stand? (Antagonist for example) And what makes them someone you don’t like?

There is a character named Jeff in Definitely that I detest whole-heartedly. I can’t say much due to spoilers, but he deserves every inch of my disdain, he’s selfish and mocking and awful for a large part of his role in the book, and I can’t stand people like that.

2) Are there misconceptions people have about your genre?

Aren’t there always? Even I have been known to have doubts about romance even while I was writing it! I think the biggest misconception though is that romance is written by and for lonely, unimaginative women and that’s not the case at all. I mean quite apart from the fact that there are men involved too, there’s the fact that I’ve met the most amazing, funny, and intelligent women in the romance world, and, well. There is a reason it’s the biggest genre of books, isn’t there? 

3) Is there message in your novel that you hope readers grasp?

That you are worth loving, no matter what someone may have said to make you think otherwise.

4) How has your writing evolved since your first book? (If this is your first book, how do you hope it evolves?)

I want to write books that stay with people for a long time, that make you want to re-read them. I don’t know if I am there with this one, it would be nice but if I am not, I’ll just try harder. I have many books on my bookshelves that are old friends and I would like to be part of someone else’s library in that regard.

5) One food you don’t care if you never eat it again.

Cilantro. I can only eat it in salsa, otherwise it tastes like soap and I can live without it quite happily. It would be nice if I could like it, but alas. 


Lissa Reed is a writer of fiction, blogs and bawdy Renaissance song parodies. She traces her first interest in becoming a writer to the fourth grade, when her teacher gave her the gift of her first composition book. A former newspaper editor, Reed shifted her focus to romance and literary fiction early in her writing career. She lives in the Dallas-Fort Worth area and is currently working on her new novel, Certainly, Possibly, You—the sequel to Definitely, Maybe, Yours.




August 11, 2015

Book Blitz & Giveaway! Lumière (The Illumination Paradox #1) by Jacqueline Garlick


Even in a land of eternal twilight, secrets can’t stay hidden forever.

Seventeen-year-old Eyelet Elsworth is no stranger to living in the dark. She’s hidden her secret affliction all of her life—a life that would be in danger if superstitious townspeople ever guessed the truth. After her mother is accused and executed for a crime that she didn’t commit, the now-orphaned Eyelet has no choice but to track down the machine—her last hope for a cure. But Eyelet’s late father’s most prized invention, the Illuminator, has been missing since the day of the mysterious flash—a day that saw the sun wiped out over Brethren forever.

Alone and on the run, she finds the Illuminator—only to witness a young man hauling it away. Determined to follow the thief and recover the machine, she ventures into the deepest, darkest, most dangerous part of her twisted world.






I'm Jacqueline Garlick, author of young adult and new adult fiction. I love strong heroines, despise whiny sidekicks, and adore a good story about a triumphant underdog. (Don't you?) 
I love to read, write, paint (walls and paper). I have a love/hate relationship with chocolate, grammar, and technology and would rather hang out with a dog, than a cat. I prefer creating things to cleaning things, and believe laughter is a one-stop-shop solution to all that ails you. You will always find a purple wall (or two) in my house (currently in my writing room), and there may or may not be a hidden passageway that leads to a mystery room. (Okay, so you won't find a hidden passageway, but a girl can dream, can't she?) Oh, and tea. There will always be tea. 

My writing style has been described as edgy and rule-breaking, and by some--a touch Tim Burton-esque. Because of this, I am often referred to as the Quentin Tarantino of YA among writing friends. 

In my former life, I was a teacher (both grade school and college-don't ask), but more recently I've been a graduate of Ellen Hopkin's Nevada Mentor Program and a student of James Scott Bell, Christopher Vogler and Don Maass. An excerpt from Lumière earned me the 2012 Don Maass Break Out Novel Intensive Scholarship. 

Lumière--A Romantic Steampunk Fantasy--my debut novel, is the recipient of an indieBRAG Medallion!!! B.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree October 15, 2014) I am so proud! (LUMIERE by Jacqueline E. Garlick is a B.R.A.G.Medallion Honoree. This tells a reader that this book is well worth their time and money!) Book II of the ILLUMINATION PARADOX SERIES, is out January 26th, now on pre-order.

Also, check out my young adult contemporary romantic/mystery serial, IF ONLY, where reluctant telepathic sleuth Kyla Cooper must embrace her powers and risks all to solve the mystery of what happened to her boyfriend Denver Munro, becoming his voice of truth, before he has no voice at all...

I love hearing from READERS! Please contact me, either at my website:www.jacquelinegarlick.com, or catch up with me on twitter @garlick books, or on facebook: http://bit.ly/jegarlickfb

I'm open to reviews and interview, requests for skype visits, guest blogs, pod casts and book club meetings! I LOVE TO HEAR FROM READERS!

Excerpt & Giveaway! Souls Unfractured, Hades Hangmen #3 by Tillie Cole



"For fractured souls are like magnets.

Drawn to collide into an impossible bliss…"

Labeled a ‘Cursed’ woman of Eve from birth, Maddie has endured nothing but pain and repression at the hands of The Order’s most abusive elder, Moses. Now living with her sister in The Hangmen’s secluded compound, finally, Maddie, is free. Free from the suffocating faith she no longer believes in. Free from endless years of physical and mental torment.

Just… free…

At age twenty-one, the timid and shy Maddie is content to live within the confines of her new home—safe from the outside world, safe from harm and, strangely, protected by the Hangmen’s most volatile member; the heavily pierced and tattooed, Flame. 

Flame. 

The man who ceaselessly watches over her with his midnight dark and searing eyes. The man who protects her with a breath-taking intensity. And the man who stirs something deep within her numbed heart. 

But when circumstances conspire for Flame to need HER help, Maddie bravely risks it all for the broken man who has captivated her fragile soul. 

The Hangmen’s most infamous member, Flame, is ruled by one thing—anger. Plagued by haunting demons from his past, an all-consuming rage, and isolated by an abhorrent hatred of being touched, Flame's days are filled with suffocating darkness, pierced only by a single ray of light—Maddie. The shy, beautiful woman he cannot purge from his thoughts. The woman he has an overwhelming need to possess… 

... the only person who has ever been able to touch him. 

Flame’s mission in life is to protect Maddie, to keep her safe. Until a trigger from his troubled past sends him spiraling into madness, trapping him in the deepest recesses of his disturbed mind. 

His Hangmen brothers fear that Flame is beyond saving. 

His only hope of salvation: Maddie and her healing light.


Gathering my floor-length dress in my hands, I walked into the body of the church, rushing forward until the bright sun from the open entrance lit up the dark wooden floor. 

“I won’t say it again. I need you to leave or I’ll call the police.” Pastor James was talking when I arrived at the large doors. The man from the choir immediately saw me and tapped her on her arm. 

Pastor James turned round and paled. “Maddie, darlin’, stay in the church and call your sister, or even better, Mr. Nash.”

Her face betrayed her fear but her protests quickly turned to white noise in my ears as I reached the exit and saw, waiting below, at the edge of the busy road was him… Flame. He was pacing back and forth. As always, I counted his steps. Eleven to the right, eleven to the left.

As I drank in how he looked, I feared my legs would collapse. That confusing sensation of my stomach swooping hit me as my eyes focused on his leather-clad legs and the Hangmen cut partly covering his bare torso. 

His strangely cut dark hair was in its usual state of disarray. His skin was pale and he had lost weight. I frowned. His muscles were twitching more than usual. His hands clenched into fists more than normal. His lips were muttering something inaudible from this distance, yet… he was still Flame. He was still the man who protected me. He was still the silent shadow that kept me safe.

The man I had missed with the most incredible fervor.

His friends, Viking and AK, stood off to the side. Viking, the enormous red haired brother, looked distressed as he talked to the dark-haired AK, and when he ran his hand through his hair, he turned and his attention locked on me.

Viking’s large chest deflated in what looked like relief and he said something to AK. AK looked toward me and threw a small tired wave.

But I did not have the time to spare for them. All I could concentrate on right now was Flame. 

I winced as I caught sight of white gauze on the side of his neck. The gunshot graze. The bullet that should have hit me if he had not thrown himself in its path...

... to protect me.

Flame’s pace increased. I could see his hands shaking as his fists became impossibly tight. Then, with a corded neck, he began to scream. His croaked and rough voice made it to “MADD—” before his eyes whipped to the top of the stairs. 

Where they collided with mine.

Flame’s bellowed call caught in his throat and his body came to an abrupt stop. He staggered on uneasy feet as though he was too tired to be standing. But that midnight stare remained. His hands stopped shaking, his wide bare chest pumped at a heady speed, yet a strange kind of calm seemed to flow over him.

I wanted to speak to him. 

I wanted take his hand in mine and thank him. Thank him beyond words for saving my life. 

But I could not. I did not have the courage.



Tillie Cole is a Northern girl through and through. She originates from a place called Teesside on that little but awesomely sunny (okay I exaggerate) Isle called Great Britain. She was brought up surrounded by her English rose mother — a farmer’s daughter, her crazy Scottish father, a savagely sarcastic sister and a multitude of rescue animals and horses.