New Release

Dusk by Jessica Florence

Dusk, the 3rd book in Jessica Florence’s Hero Society Series is NOW LIVE!!

 

 

Synopsis

Dusk has descended.

A time for heroes to face their fears.

Echo has lived the solitary life of a detective for too long, driven by her past to catch the criminals of Seahill and bring justice to those who’ve been wronged. Given her power to change into any creature she chooses, she’s pretty damn good at her job. But now her beloved city is in chaos. After escaping death at the hands of evil, she finds herself immersed in the world of magic and heroes.

That’s when he saved her.

Asher is an unexpected wrench in her life. He’s annoyingly charming, and despite never wanting to see him again, she needs his help. Alongside the Hero Society, they must find a familiar killer, unmask the true villain that’s been behind everything from the beginning, and try to survive the fear rising in the world.

Mankind wasn’t ready for them.

Will they continue to fight the shadows or succumb to the darkness?

 

 

Grab your copy of Dusk Today!

Amazon US – https://amzn.to/2q20ysT

Amazon Universal – mybook.to/HeroDusk

iBooks – https://apple.co/2GyewZM

Kobo – https://bit.ly/2Ji3Ccs

 

Start the Series Today for .99 Cents!

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iBooks – https://apple.co/2GvTPBV

Kobo – https://bit.ly/2yLgjYg

Nook – https://bit.ly/2xQ8EKd

 

 

About Jessica Florence

Writer of Alpha Males & Fairy Tales
Author ❤ PotterHead ❤ Movie Geek Extraordinaire.

When she’s not writing her next invigorating story. You can find her running her own business, and spending time with her husband and daughter in southwest Florida.

Follow Jessica Florence

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/JessicaFlorenceAuthor

Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/authorjessicaflorence/?hl=en

Twitter – https://twitter.com/Florence_Jess

Amazon – https://amzn.to/2H8mgD1

Website – https://www.jessicaflorenceauthor.com/

 

New Release

PS. I Hate You by Winter Renshaw

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Isaiah,

Eight months ago, you were just a soldier about to be deployed and I was just a waitress, sneaking you free pancakes and hoping you wouldn’t notice that my gaze was lingering a little too long.

But you did notice.

We spent a “week of Saturdays” together before you left, and we said goodbye on day eight, exchanging addresses at the last minute.

I saved every letter you ever sent, your words quickly becoming my religion.

But you went radio silent on me months ago, and then you had the audacity to walk into my diner yesterday and act like you’d never seen me in your life.

To think … I almost loved you and your beautifully complicated soul.

Almost.

Whatever your reason is—I hope it’s a good one.

Maritza the Waitress

PS – I hate you, and this time … I mean it.

 

 

 

Maritza

“Welcome to Brentwood Pancake and Coffee. I’m Maritza and I’ll be your server,” I greet my millionth customer of the morning with the same old spiel. This one, a raven-haired, honey-eyed Adonis, waited over seventy minutes for a table by a window, though I suppose in LA time that’s the blink of an eye.
He doesn’t so much as acknowledge me.
“Just you today?” I ask, eyeing the empty chair across from him. The breakfast rush is about to end, and lucky for him, I only have one other table right now.
He doesn’t answer, but maybe he doesn’t hear me?
“Coffee?” I ask another obvious question. I mean, the diner is called Brentwood Pancake and Coffee for crying out loud. Everyone comes here for the coffee and plate-sized pancakes, and it’s considered a Class-D felony to order anything else.
Placing his mug right side up on his saucer, he pushes it toward me and I begin to pour. Waving his hand, he stops me when the cup is three-quarters of the way full. A second later, he adds two creams and one half of a sugar packet, but the way he moves is methodical, rigid. With intention.
“Ma’am, this really can’t be that interesting,” he says under his breath, his spoon clinking against the sides of the porcelain mug after he stirs.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re standing here watching me,” he says. Giving the spoon two final taps against the rim of the mug, he then rests it on the saucer before settling his intense amber gaze in my direction. “Isn’t there another table that needs you?”
His eyes are warm like honey but his stare is cold, piercing. Unrelenting.
“You’re right. There is.” I clear my throat and snap out of it. If I was lingering, it wasn’t my intention, but this I’m-sexy-and-I-know-it asshole didn’t need to call me out on it. Sue me for being a little distracted. “I’ll be back to check on you in a minute, okay?”
With that, I leave him alone with his menu and his coffee and his foul mood and his brooding gaze … and his broad shoulders … and his full lips … and I get back to work, stopping at table four to see if Mr. and Mrs. Carnavale need refills on their house blend decafs.
By the time I top them off, I draw in a cleansing breath and head back to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Douche-y, forcing a smile on my face.
“We ready to order?” I ask, pulling my pen from behind my ear and my notepad from my Kelly-green apron.
He folds his menu, offering it to me despite the fact that my hands are full, but I manage to slip it under my arm without dropping anything.
“Two pancakes,” he says. “Eggs. Scrambled. Rye toast. Butter. Not margarine.”
“I’m so sorry.” I point to a sign above the cash register that clearly reads ONE PANCAKE PER PATRON – NO EXCEPTIONS.
He squints, his expression calcifying when he reads it.
“So that’s one pancake, scrambled eggs, and buttered rye toast then,” I recite his order.
“What kind of bullshit rule is that?” He checks his watch, like he has somewhere to be.
Or like he doesn’t have the time for a rule that I entirely agree is pure bullshit.
“These pancakes are huge. I promise one will be more than enough.” I try to deescalate the situation before it gets out of hand because it’s never pretty when management has to get involved. The owners of the diner are strict as hell on this policy and their day shift manager is even more so. She’ll happily inform any and all disgruntled customers there’s a reason the “pancake” in Brentwood Pancake and Coffee is singular and not plural.
I’ve seen many a diner walk out of here and never return over this stupid policy and our Yelp review average is in the dumps, but somehow it never seems to be bad for business. The line is perpetually out the door and down the block every weekend morning without fail, and sometimes even on weekdays. These pancakes are admittedly as delicious and more than own up to their reputation, but that stupid rule is nothing more than clever marketing designed to inflate demand.
“And what if I’m still hungry?” he asks. “Can I order a second?”
Wincing, I shake my head.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He sits up a little, jaw clenching. “It’s a goddamned pancake for fuck’s sake.”
“Not just any pancake,” I say with a practiced smile. “It’s a Brentwood pancake.”
“Are you trying to be cute with me, ma’am?” he asks, directing his attention at me, though he isn’t flirting. His nostrils flare a little and I can’t help but let my mind wander the tiniest bit about how sexy he looks when he’s angry—despite the fact that I would never so much as entertain the idea of getting down and dirty with an asshole like this.
He’s hot AF but I don’t do jerks. Plain and simple.
I’d have to be drunk. Like, really drunk. And I’d have to be desperate. And even then … I don’t know. He’s got some kind of chip on his shoulder, and no amount of sexiness would be able to distract me from that.
“Let me put your order in, okay?” I ask with a smile so forced my cheeks hurt. They say good moods are contagious, but I’m starting to think this guy might be immune.
“As long as it’s the full order, ma’am,” he says, lips pressing flat as he exhales. I don’t know why he keeps calling me “ma’am” when I’m clearly younger than he is. Hell, I couldn’t legally drink until three years ago.
I am not a “ma’am.”
“The cook won’t make two,” I say with an apologetic tone before biting my bottom lip. If I play it coy and helpless maybe he’ll back down a little? It works. Sometimes.
“Then it’s for my guest,” he points to the empty seat across from him. His opposite hand is balled into a fist, and I can’t help but notice his watch is programmed in military time, “who happens to be showing up later.”
“We don’t serve guests until they’re physically here,” I say. Yet another one of the restaurant’s strict policies. Too many patrons have tried to use that loophole over the years, so they had to close it. But they didn’t just close it—they battened the hatches with hurricane-proof glass by way of a giant security monitor in the kitchen. They even make the cooks check the screen before preparing orders, just to make sure no one’s breaking the rules.
The man drags his hand through his dark hair, which I’m realizing now is a “regulation cut.”
Military.
I bet he’s military.
Has to be. The hair. The watch. The constant swearing juxtaposed with the overuse of the word “ma’am.” He reminds me of my cousin Eli who spent ten years in the U.S. army, and if he’s anything else like Eli, he’s not going to let up about this.
Exhaling, I place my palm gently on his shoulder despite the fact that we’re not supposed to put hands on the guests for any reason, but this guy is tense and his muscled shoulders are just begging for a gentle touch.
“Just … bear with me, okay?” I ask. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The man serves our country. He fights for our freedom. Despite the fact that he’s unquestionably a giant asshole, he at least deserves a second pancake.
I’m going to have to get creative.
Heading back to the kitchen, I put his order in and check on the Carnavales one more time. On my way to the galley to refill my coffee pot, I pass a table full of screaming children, one of which has just shoved his giant pancake on the floor, much to his gasping mother’s dismay.
Bending, I retrieve the sticky circle from the floor and place it back on his plate.
“Would you like the kitchen to fix another?” I ask. They’re lucky. This is the only time they’ll make an exception, and I’ll have to present the dirty pancake as proof.
The child screams and I can barely hear what the mother is trying to say. Glancing around the table, I spot five little minions under the age of eight, all of them dressed in Burberry, Gucci, and Dior. The inflated-lipped mother sports a shimmering, oversized rock on her left ring finger and the father has his nose buried in his phone.
But I’m not one to judge.
LA is lacking child-friendly restaurants of the quality variety, and it’s not like Mr. Chow or The Ivy would welcome their noisy litter with open arms. I don’t even think they have high chairs there.
“I don’t want a pancake!” The oldest of the tanned, flaxen-haired gremlins screams in his mother’s face, turning her flawless complexion a shade of crimson that almost matches her pristine Birkin bag.
“Just … just take it away,” she says, flustered, her palm sprawling her glassy, Botoxed forehead.
Nodding, I take the ‘cake back to the kitchen, only I stop when I reach the galley, grabbing a stack of cloth napkins and hiding the plate beneath it. As soon as my military patron finishes his first pancake, I’ll run this back to the kitchen and claim he accidentally dropped it on the floor.
“Order up!” one of the line guys calls from the window, and I head over to see my military man’s breakfast is hot and ready—though I may have accidentally moved it to the front of the ticket line when no one was looking because I don’t have the energy to deal with him freaking out if his breakfast is taking too long.
Grabbing his plate, I rush it out to him, delivering it with a smile and a sweet, “Can I get you anything else right now?”
His gaze drops to his food and then lifts to me.
“I know,” I say, palm up. “Just … trust me. I’ll take care of you.”
I wink, partially disgusted with myself. He has no idea how difficult it is for me to be accommodating to him when he’s treating me like this. I’d love nothing more than to pour a steaming hot pitcher of coffee into his lap, but out of respect and appreciation—and only respect and appreciation—for his service, I won’t resort to such a thing.
Plus, I work for tips. I kind of have to be accommodating. And lord knows I need this job. I may be living in my grandmother’s gorgeous guesthouse, but believe me, she charges rent.
Free rides aren’t a thing in the Claiborne family.
He peers down his straight nose, stabbing the tines of his polished fork into a chunk of fluffy scrambled egg.
He doesn’t say thank you—not surprising—and I tell him I’ll be back to check on him in a little while before making my way to the galley where another server, Rachael, is also seeking respite.
“That table with the screaming kids,” I ask, “that yours?”
She blows her blonde bangs off her forehead and rolls her eyes. “Yup.”
“Better you than me,” I tease. Rachael’s got three of her own at home. She’s good with kids and she always seems to know the right thing to say to distract them or thwart a total meltdown.
“I’ll trade you,” she says. “The family for the dimples at table four.”
“He has dimples?” I peek my head out, staring toward my military man.
“Oh, God, yes,” she says. “Deep ones. Killer smile, too. Thought maybe he was some model or actor or something, but he said he was an army corporal.”
“We can’t be talking about the same guy. He hasn’t so much as half-smiled at me and he’s already told you what he does for a living?”
“Huh.” Rachael lifts a thin red brow, like she’s wondering if we’re talking about two different people. “He asked me how I was doing earlier and smiled. Thought he was real friendly.”
“That one. Right there. Dark hair? Golden eyes? Muscles bulging out of his gray t-shirt?” I do a quick point before retracting my finger.
She takes another look. “Yeah. That’s him. You don’t forget a face like that. Or biceps like that …”
“Weird.” I fold my arms, staring his way and wondering if maybe he has a thing against girls like me. Though I’m pretty ordinary compared to most girls out here. Average height. Average weight. Brown hair. Brown eyes.
Maybe I remind him of an ex?
I’m mid-thought when out of nowhere he turns around, our eyes catching like he knew I was watching. Reaching for a hand towel in front of me, I glance down and try to act busy by wiping up a melted ice cube on the galley counter.
“Busted.” Rachael elbows me before heading out to check on the Designer family. I swat her on the arm as she passes, and then I give myself a second to regain my composure. As soon as the warmth has left my cheeks, I head out to check on him, relieved to find his pancake demolished, not a single, spongey scrap left behind. In fact, his entire meal is finished … coffee and all.
Reaching for his plate, he stops me, his hand covering mine, and then our eyes lock.
“Why were you staring at me over there?” he asks. The way he looks at me is equal parts invasive and intriguing, like he’s studying me, forming a hard and fast opinion, but also like he’s checking me out which makes zero sense because his annoyance with me practically oozes out of his perfect, tawny physique.
“I’m sorry?” I play dumb.
“I saw you. Answer the question.”
Oh, god. He’s not going to let this go. Something tells me I should’ve taken Rachael up on her offer to trade tables. This one’s been nothing but trouble since the moment I poured his coffee.
My mouth falls and I’m not sure what to say. Half of me knows I should probably utter some kind of nonsense most likely to appease him so he doesn’t complain to my manager, but the other half of me is tired of being nice to a man who has the decency to ask another waitress how her day is going and can’t even bring himself to treat his own server like a human being.
“You were talking about me with that other waitress,” he says. His hand still covers mine, preventing me from exiting this conversation.
Exhaling, I say, “She wanted to trade tables.”
His dark brow arches and he studies my face.
“And then she said you had dimples,” I expand. “She said you smiled at her earlier … I was just thinking about why you’d be so polite to her and not me.”
He releases me and I stand up straight, tugging my apron into place before smoothing my hands down the front.
“She handed me a newspaper while I waited. She didn’t have to do that,” he says, lips pressing flat. “Give me something to smile about and I’ll smile at you.”
The audacity of this man.
The heat in my ears and the clench in my jaw tells me I should walk away now if I want to preserve my esteemed position as morning server here at Brentwood Pancake and Coffee, but it’s guys like him …
I try to say something, but all the thoughts in my head are temporarily nonsensical and flavored with a hint of rage. A second later, I manage a simple yet gritted, “Would you like me to grab your check, sir?”
“No,” he says without pause. “I’m not finished with my breakfast yet.”
We both glance at his empty plates.
“More eggs?” I ask.
“No.”
I can’t believe I’m about to do this for him, but at this point, the sooner I get him out of here, the better. I mean, at this point I’m doing it for myself, let’s be real.
“One moment.” I take his empty dishes to the kitchen before sneaking into the galley and grabbing that kid’s dirty pancake. My pulse whooshes in my ears and my body is lit, but I forge ahead, returning to the pick-up window and telling one of the cooks that my customer at table twelve dropped his ‘cake on the floor.
He glances at the plate, then to the security monitor, then back to me before taking it out of my hands and exchanging it for a fresh one. It’s a verifiable assembly line back there, just a bunch of guys in hairnets and aprons standing around a twenty-foot griddle, spatulas in each hand.
“Thanks, Brad,” I say. Making my way back to my guy, I stop to check on the Carnavales, only their table is already being bussed and Rachael tells me she took care of their check because they were in a hurry.
Shit.
“Here you are.” I place the plate in front of my guy.
He glances up at me, honeyed eyes squinting for a moment. I wink, praying he doesn’t ask questions.
“Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” I ask, wishing I could add, “just don’t ask for another pancake because I’ll be damned if I risk my job for an ingrate like you ever again.”
“Coffee, ma’am. I’d like another cup of coffee.” He reaches for his glass syrup carafe, pouring sticky sweet, imported-from-Vermont goodness all over his steaming pancake, and I try not to watch as he forms an “x” and then a circle.
Striding away, I grab a fresh carafe of coffee and return to top him off, stopping at three-quarters of the way full. A second later, he glances up at me, his full lips pulling up at the sides, revealing the most perfect pair of dimples I’ve ever seen … as if the past twenty minutes have all been some kind of joke and he was only busting my chops by being the world’s biggest douche lord.
But just like that, it disappears.
His pearly, dimpled smirk is gone before I get the chance to fully appreciate how kind of a soul he appears to be when he’s not all tense and surly.
“Glad I finally gave you a reason to smile.” I’m teasing. Sort of. And I gently rub his shoulder, which is still tight as hell. “Anything else I can get you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take my check.”
Thank. God.
I can’t get it fast enough. Within a minute, I’ve punched my staff ID into the system, printed his ticket, shoved it into a check presenter, and rushed it to his table. His debit card rests on the edge when I arrive, as if I’d taken too long and he grew tired of holding it in his hand.
He’s just as anxious to leave as I am to get him out of here. Guess that marks the one and only thing that puts us on the same page.
“I’ll be right back with this,” I tell him. His card—plain navy plastic with the VISA logo in the lower corner and NAVY ARMY CREDIT UNION along the top—bears the name “Isaiah Torres.”
When I return, I hand him a neon purple gel pen from my pocket and gather his empty dishes.
“Thank you for the …” he points at the sticky plate in my hand as he signs his check. “For that.”
“Of course,” I say, avoiding eye contact because the sooner I can pretend he’s already gone, the better. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Asshole.
Glancing up, I spot our hostess, Maddie, flagging me down and mouthing that I have three new tables. Great. Thanks to this charmer, I’ve disappointed the Carnavales, risked my job, and kept several tables waiting all within the span of a half hour.
Isaiah signs his check, closes the leather binder, and slides out of his booth. When he stands, he towers over me, peering down his nose and holding my gaze captive for what feels like a single, endless second.
For a moment, I’m so blinded by his chiseled jaw and full lips, that my heart misses a couple of beats and I almost forget our little exchange.
“Ma’am, if you’ll kindly excuse me,” he says as I realize I’m blocking his path.
I step aside, and as he passes, his arm brushes against mine and the scent of fresh soap and spicy aftershave fills my lungs. Shoving the check presenter in my apron, I tend to my new tables before rushing back to start filling drinks.
Glancing toward the exit, I catch him stopping in the doorway before slowly turning to steal one last look at me for reasons I’ll never know, and it isn’t until an hour later that I finally get a chance to check his ticket. Maybe I’d been dreading it, maybe I’d purposely placed it in the back of my mind, knowing full well he was going to leave me some lousy, slap-in-the-face tip after everything I’d done for him. Or worse: nothing at all.
But I stand corrected.
“Maritza, what is it?” Rachael asks, stopping short in front of me, hands full of strategically stacked dirty dishes.
I shake my head. “That guy … he left me a hundred-dollar tip.”
Her nose wrinkles. “What? Let me see. Maybe it’s a typo?”
I show her the tab and the very clearly one and two zeroes on the tip line. The total confirms that the tip was no typo.
“I don’t understand. He was such an ass,” I say under my breath. “This is like, what, five hundred percent?”
“Maybe he grew a conscience at the last minute?” Her lips jut forward.
I roll my eyes. “Whatever it was, I just hope he never comes here again. And if he does, you get him. There isn’t enough tip money in the world that would make me want to serve that arrogant prick again. I don’t care how hot he is.”
“Gladly.” Her mouth pulls wide. “I have this thing for generous pricks with dashing good looks.”
“I know,” I say. “I met your last two exes.”
Rachael sticks her tongue out before prancing off, and I steal one last look at Isaiah’s tip. It’s not like he’s the first person ever to bestow me with such plentiful gratuity—this is a city where cash basically grows on trees—it’s just that it doesn’t make sense and I’ll probably never get a chance to ask him why.
Exhaling, I get back to work.
I’ve worked way too damn hard to un-complicate my life lately, and I’m not about to waste another thought on some complicated man I’m never going to see ever again.

 

 

Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi.

And if you’d like to be the first to know when a new book is coming out, please sign up for her private mailing list here —> http://eepurl.com/bfQU2j

Author Links

 

 

 

New Release

Love, Laughter, and Lots of Dogs by Ellen Whyte 

 

“A Sweet,Funny, and Adorable Romance” – Roxie’s Reviews

 

💕💕Love, Laughter, and Lots of Dogs💕💕
A Pawsome Romance by Ellen Whyte 

A standalone novel
 50,000 words Price: $2.99

FREE TO READ ON KU

Kelly Taylor’s homemade pet treat business
is taking off. Even better, utterly yummy Lord Cory Winthrop, the man she had a
teenage crush on, asks her out for dinner.
Back on a lightning visit home, Cory
Winthrop runs into his childhood friend, Kelly. Captivated by her happy nature,
he becomes determined to win her heart.
However, finding true love is never easy.
Kelly worries she may not fit into Cory’s spectacularly glamorous lifestyle. To
complicate matters, Cory’s banking career is at a crossroads, and his evil ex
is about to come rocketing back into his life.
Will Cory and Kelly be able to overcome
their difficulties and live happily ever after?
A warm, light-hearted small town romance
with a curvy girl and a very hunky billionaire banker. Featuring Hamish, the
adorable rescue puppy.
#Wintrop #Romance

What The Reviewers Are Saying

What an adorable cute even funny at times romance story” – Paula D on Goodreads.

What a totally delightful read!” Miri on Goodreads.

“…who wouldn’t love them…I absolutely did” – Cécile Smits

Buy Links

About The Author

I’m Scottish-Dutch, I live in West Malaysia, and I like to keep busy. I’m dividing my time between several jobs I love because that’s what makes me happy.
I’m a newspaper columnist, a magazine feature writer, and a counselling psychologist. Novel writing is a hobby – or rather, a passion. I write sweet romance as Ellen but I also have a dark side as AJ Adams.  Come and say hello to me on Facebook, no friend request needed.
Stalking Links

 

New Release

BACK TO THE START by Aly Martinez

Today we are celebrating the release of BACK TO THE START by Aly Martinez. Back to the Start is a collection of 5 of Aly’s previously released novels. You can get it for just 99 cents for a very limited time!

BACK TO THE START by Aly Martinez

Purchase the ebook on Amazon for .99 cents (Kindle Unlimited)

Synopsis:

BACK TO THE START is a collection of previously released novels by USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez. Each of the five full-length novels is a perfect starting point to dive into one of her sexy, emotional, and twisty worlds.

FIGHTING SILENCE: Sports Romance, Friends to lovers.
RETRIEVAL: Romantic Suspense, Second chance.
THE FALL UP: Contemporary Romance, Celebrity opposites attract.
CHANGING COURSE: Contemporary Romance, Broken hero.
SINGE: Romantic Suspense, Alpha bodyguard.

 

Sign up for Aly’s Newsletter to receive exclusive details!

 

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AUTHOR INFORMATION:

Originally from Savannah, Georgia, USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez now lives in South Carolina with her four young children.

Never one to take herself too seriously, she enjoys cheap wine, mystery leggings, and baked feta. It should be known, however, that she hates pizza and ice cream, almost as much as writing her bio in the third person.

She passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a super-sized tumbler of wine by her side.

 

AUTHOR LINKS:

Sign up for Aly’s Newsletter

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | Instagram | Amazon

 

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New Release · Review

Blue Line: Venom #6 by V.L. Locey

Blue Line Cover_ebook.jpg

 

 

Buy Links:

Amazon – https://tinyurl.com/yapyuj5t

Amazon UK – https://tinyurl.com/y7armzkf

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/788414

B&N – https://tinyurl.com/y8ca69bv

Kobo – https://tinyurl.com/ycxtu7ub

 

Blurb:

If there’s one thing that Helen Parat knows, it’s how to defend. Whether it’s her goalie or her bruised heart, the Venom’s top D-man isn’t about to let anyone get too close. While it’s an admirable thing on the ice, it’s left her alone for far too long in her personal life. Better lonely than taunted, the stately beauty decided years ago. That philosophy has served Helen well – until Bobby Fovea entered her defensive zone.

The energetic and handsome Wildcats captain is winning Helen over, one honest and loving smile at a time. Just when she thinks she’s blocked him out, Bobby finds a new way to work his way into her heart. As Helen and the Venom make their push for the championship, it’s going to take every ounce of dedication, grit, and passion she has to seize not only the cup but the happiness she’s denied herself for far too long.

 

Review by Victoria:

It all comes down to this book, ladies and gents. If you, like me, have followed this incredible season for the Venom women’s hockey, we’re in the playoffs final series. The team has been through so much and we’re not quite done yet.

During these high stakes games, defenseman Helen can’t afford to be off her game. She’s played amazing this season even with a certain Wildcat itching to take her out. Helen is not your typical famine player, she lives and breaths hockey first and last. Everything comes down to the ice and she’s learned to accept she isn’t most men’s ideal woman. But then Bobby Fovea just won’t leave her alone. He’s like a puppy with a bone, only that bone is Helen.
Bobby isn’t like other men either. Where one might see the big build, athletic body of Helen as masculine, and unattractive, Bobby sees the amazing athlete she is and the beauty behind the defensive exterior. But can he win her heart over before he goes back Manitoba and the Venom season is over?
I could not put this book down. I also didn’t want this series to end at all! I’ve followed these women since book one, and I’ve felt apart of their story from page one. VL has written this beautiful, empowering tale of hockey with self discovery, learning, growing, life and love.  Once again with Helen, VL captures a tough subject body image and explores it beautifully. Helen is all of us when the beautiful man cant possibly be interested in us.
These women will grab your heart and refuse to let go. It’s been a long time I’ve cried from a story being so perfect, and the Venom bring tears to my eyes even now. This is not a story you can miss. 5 stars!

 

Excerpt:

“Okay, so next week when we have a day off between games, we’ll meet up here and go to the Mennonite store to get fabric. I’m so excited!” Alicia bounced around her spacious kitchen as we cleaned up the patterns, coffee mugs, and a sticky honeypot Wren had been sticking her fingers into.

“I got a pink lily dress.” Wren informed us then took off in pursuit of a kitten that had wandered into the house from the goat barn.

“She insisted on pink.” Alicia told me when I joined her at the sink to dry the mugs she was washing by hand.

“She’ll look precious. And what about you? What’s your bridal gown like?”

She sighed a bit, as if in a dream, and then shook her head, her soft golden hair framing her face.

“We try not to boast about material things but, oh, Helen, it’s going to be so beautiful!”

I smiled at her. “He’s a lucky man.”

“We’re both lucky. The goddess has blessed us both in so many ways. And she’ll bless you too.” With that, she reached over to pluck the damp dishcloth from my hand. The others had filed out to explore the farm. “Why don’t you go outside and talk to Bobby for a bit.”

I crinkled my nose.

“He’s got a good soul, Helen. Even Dale and Sage have commented on that. Sincerity glows within him. What harm can come from being nice to him?”

A chicken began to cackle outside, which made the geese start honking. She had no idea. Alicia had probably never been laughed at by a drunken frat boy when he took off her shirt.

 

 

“Right, nothing. I’m off to talk to Bobby.” I left her standing at the sink with soapy hands and a wistful expression. Might as well just get this over with and talk to the man. When things went south then they’d all stop nudging me, and I could go back to my perfectly nice life.

The back of the farm faced the pastures. Along one fence were some beehives. I spotted my teammates over at the farm pond, seated along the bank, soaking their feet in the water by the looks. That looked like fun. But no. I had to go make small talk with Bobby. Pfft.

Following the fence, I came to the barn. There were no goats to be seen. One large gate had been removed from a massive post driven into the fertile ground. I slipped into the opening, stepped over the gate lying on the ground, and peeked into the barn. Nothing in there but mangers filled with hay and dust motes floating in slim streams of the summer sun.

“Hey!”

I spun around and there he stood. Smiling, as always, with his bare shoulders exposed to the sun. They were lightly freckled. Slick with sweat. I forbid my eyes to drop to his bare chest. Eye to eye contact only.

“Hi. I uh…” I waved a hand at the gate by my feet. “Came inside. Is that okay?”

“Sure, yeah. We’re around back working on a small pen that they use for the kids when they’re little.” He motioned me to the eastern side of the barn. I gave him an awkward smile then went around the old clapboard barn. Sage was sitting under a tree with his legs in a lotus, sipping cold tea. He lifted a hand in greeting and I did the same. A gusty wind whipped past, tugging on Sage’s long gray hair.

I had no idea what to say to the man. I kept my eyes on the ground. Bobby stepped around me, leaned his shoulder on the side of the barn and started talking. I slipped my hands into my pockets and bobbed my head as he chatted about fence staples, apple trees in the orchard, and how beautiful my eyes were. Wait. What?

“What?” I asked when the compliment sank in.

He cocked his head a bit to the left, his big shoulder dropped a little, and he gently reached out to touch the side of my face with his hand. His finger was rough, calloused, and gentle. That thick shank of soft red hair fell over his brow.

“You have beautiful eyes. So green, like the mountains. And skin white like homemade vanilla ice cream.”

“I’ll be thirty-four in August.”

“You want a party?”

“I – you – what? No. I’m not asking for a party. I’m telling you that because you stroking my face is stupid.” A bee flew by and landed on the side of the barn. Bobby was too busy trying to make up silly things to compare my eyes and skin to to take notice of a bug.

“You say that a lot. About me liking you or thinking that you’re pretty. Why do you think that?” He never moved closer, if anything he swayed back some. Perhaps he was worried that I’d bolt which was preposterous. Helen Parat was solid like a wall. Built like one too…

“Why do I think it’s stupid for you to have these romantic notions?”

“Yeah.”

A rivulet of sweat ran down the side of his face, through the bristles of his new beard, and down the side of his thick neck. Then the stupid thing slithered down his pectoral, leading my gaze down to a dark pink nipple surrounded by a few dark red hairs. Where would that sweat droplet go next? Downward over his hard stomach? Maybe. Hopefully. I was happy to wait here by the barn with the bee and see where it went. I had time. All day. And his stomach was quite nice with all those rippled muscles and a treasure trail of dusky red hair that—

“Helen, are you checking me out?” I heard the humor in his voice. My eyes leaped from that sinful trail to his twinkling brown eyes.

“I like coffee with muffins.” Oh, Helen, what kind of moronic statement was that? Dear God, woman. “I mean…your sister thinks that – I need coffee. Not muffins. Unless you want muffins then we could do muffins but they’re empty calories.”

“So, you were checking me out.” Well wasn’t he suddenly filled with masculine self-satisfaction? “I like coffee with muffins too.”

When I said nothing due to my brain literally drowning in estrogen, he flashed a smile filled with white teeth. His gaze locked with mine, a sultry hum of sexual attraction riding the wind like the sweet scent of bread baking in Grandma’s kitchen. He placed a hand on the side of the barn and locked his elbow.

“Blueberry are good.” I finally manage to reply.

“Yeah, they are good.” If he kissed me now I would…kiss him back. Slap him. Kiss him back. Slap him. No, kissing is nicer than slapping. Maybe a dirty look? No, dummy, no dirty looks. Just kiss him. But…kiss him back. Sigh. Fine. Kiss him back wins. I would. I’d regret it afterward but not during.

 

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, Dr. Who, Torchwood, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.

 

Author Links:

Website: http://vlloceyauthor.com/

Newsletter – http://tinyurl.com/ksul5rs

Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/pages/VL-Locey/124405447678452

Reader’s Group https://www.facebook.com/groups/1439154279700674/

Twitter- https://twitter.com/vllocey

Pinterest-http://www.pinterest.com/vllocey/

Goodreads- http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5807700.V_L_Locey

My blog- http://thoughtsfromayodelinggoatherder.blogspot.com/

 

 

Other Books by V.L. Locey

Gone Writing Publishing M/F Backlist Books and Upcoming Releases

 

Pink Pucks & Power Plays (To Love a Wildcat #1)

A Most Unlikely Countess (To Love a Wildcat #2)

O Captain! My Captain! (To Love a Wildcat #3)

Reality Check (To Love a Wildcat #4)

Language of Love (To Love a Wildcat #5)

Final Shifts (To Love a Wildcat #6)

Clean Sweep (Venom #1)

Twirly Girl (Venom #2)

Tape to Tape (Venom #3)

Angle Play (Venom #4)

Flow (Venom #5)

Roster Addition (A To Love a Wildcat novella)

Gone Writing Publishing LGBT Releases

Playmaker (An F/F Venom series novella)

Improper Fraction

 

Independent LGBTQ Releases

 

On Broadway (Part of the 2016-2017 Changing on the Fly M/M charity hockey anthology)

Holly & Hockey Boots (An M/M holiday hockey romance novella)

Point Shot Trilogy Boxed Set

Snap Shot—Cayuga Cougars #1

Changing Lines—Harrisburg Railers #1—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Open Net—Cayuga Cougars #2

First Season—Harrisburg Railers #2—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Rookie Moves (Part of the 2107/2018 Changing on the Fly M/M charity hockey anthology)

Deep Edge—Harrisburg Railers #3—Coauthored with RJ Scott

Coach’s Challenge -Cayuga Cougars #3

Poke Check – Harrisburg Railers #4 – Coauthored with RJ Scott

Blueline – Venom #6

 

New Release · Review

Lake + Manning by Jessica Hawkins

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Lake + Manning, book 4 in the Something in the Way series

Release Date: February 13th, 2018

 

Manning and I have what happily-ever-after is made of . . .

A home he built us on the unshakeable foundation we fought for.
A life of laughter carved out of heartache and betrayal.
A love story to stand the test of time.

But between a trust that can’t be broken, joy that can’t be bridled, and passion that would scorch the sun, the empty spaces are becoming more and more difficult to ignore . . .

Fears that keep Manning up at night as he slips from our bed.
Our complicated relationship with a man he respects and one I don’t know how to forgive.
And a sprawling, beautiful home with one small room I’m afraid I’ll never be able to fill.

Manning and I have what happily-ever-after is made of . . .

But I’ll beg the heavens for just one thing more.

Lake + Manning is book four in the Something in the Way series, a love saga. 

 

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Buy Links:
iBooks ➜ http://bit.ly/landmibooks
Amazon ➜ http://smarturl.it/landmonamazon
Nook ➜ http://bit.ly/landmnook
Google Play ➜ http://bit.ly/landmplay
Kobo ➜ http://bit.ly/landmkobo
Goodreads ➜ http://bit.ly/lmgoodreads
Paperback ➜ http://smarturl.it/landmpb

 

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Review by Paula:

Stop whatever your doing unless you have read books 1-3 then continue on, otherwise go read those first before you turn the page. I loved how book 3 ended with Lake and Manning’s story but true fans like myself wanted more and that’s exactly what the author did. I loved every page the happiness, love , strength and stress and then so much love. You end up smiling through tears while reading Lake and Manning’s ending story. We even got to see where other characters ended up and I giggled out loud while reading. It began with one look and it ends with finally the stars where they belong. 5 stars

 

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New Release · Review

Brooklynaire by Sarina Bowen

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I spent seven years without knowing Nate’s kiss would light me up inside. And now I’ll never be able to forget it…
“Brooklynaire is a fresh new twist on the billionaire storyline! An absolutely dreamy hero.” ~Lauren Blakely, #1 New York Times bestseller.


 Amazon: http://geni.us/AmazonBkln
 AmazonUK: http://geni.us/AmznUKBklyn
 iBooks: http://geni.us/iBooksBkln
 Kobo: http://geni.us/koboBkln
 Nook: http://geni.us/NookBkln

 

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I grab a towel off a waiting stack of them and toss it onto the edge. “You can sit and put your feet in.”

She’s wearing a short little knit dress that’s been making me crazy all evening, so it would be easy enough for her to strip off those stockings, sit on the towel, and drop both feet in.

And that’s what she does. She eases one stocking down over a smooth knee and tugs it off.

I don’t want to stand there staring like a middle-school boy. Okay, I do want to. But I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. So I go over to the sound system instead, and I set my phone on the speaker and cue up a really old playlist. One she’ll recognize.

When I turn around again, she’s seated on the towel, both legs hanging down into the churning water. “Ah. Wow.” She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling. “Nice place you got here.”

“Isn’t it?” I toe off my shoes and kick them to the side.

The first song comes on, and it’s a Macklemore tune that we used to play far too often in our first office. Rebecca laughs immediately. “You didn’t! I haven’t heard this playlist in forever. But I’ll bet I still know every transition. Lady Gaga is next.”

“She sure is.”

Rebecca kicks her feet, making a splash. “I have a little confession to make.”

“What’s that?” I loosen my tie and slide the knot out.

“Well…” She grins up at me. “I used to have a crush on you. Back in the early days.”

My hands freeze on the tie silk. “Get out of town. You did not.”

“No, I really did.” Her cheeks are pink. “That first year especially. But you were taken, and you were my boss. Those two things made it pretty easy to tamp down, when you’re a practical girl like me.”

I walk over and drop down beside her, my back to the water, though, because I’m still wearing trousers and socks. “So how does that work, exactly?”

“What?” She gives me a sidelong glance, but then looks away again and won’t meet my eyes.

“How do you stop wanting someone? I’m a practical person, but I don’t see how that makes it any easier. Nothing seems to mute the raging attraction I have for you.”

Her chin turns quickly toward me, and I seize the opportunity to kiss her. And it only takes one kiss—one slide of my lips over hers, and I’m on fire again.

We’re facing opposite directions, so it’s awkward as hell. But I don’t even care. I take greedy sip after greedy sip of her mouth, until she pulls back to stare at me. Her color is high and her eyes are bright and happy. “This is like Twister.”

“It’s better,” I correct. Lady Gaga comes on, just as Becca said she would. “Are we getting into this pool or what?”

Becca kicks a foot in the water. “I’m tempted. But I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“Oh, snap.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Are you really getting in?”

“We don’t have to.” I’m never going to pressure her.

Her fingers trail across the surface of the bubbling water. “But this is an adventure, right?”

“Right.” I stand up and remove my socks. She’s watching me. And I can’t read her expression. “What?”

“Just wondering what else you’re going to take off.” She smiles.

“Come here.” The order rolls off my tongue.

But Rebecca doesn’t blink. She gets up and turns toward me, curiosity in her eyes.

“You tell me. What am I taking off?”

She puts two hands tentatively on my chest, and I make myself be patient. Everything I ever wanted is on the other side of this moment. I just need us to break through this awkwardness—the “will we or won’t we” tension.

Her fingers find the top button of my shirt. “I’m not getting in the water unless you are.”

That’s a compromise I can live with. I find my lower shirt buttons and work upwards, until we meet in the middle. She pushes the two halves of my shirt apart and runs a hand down my bare chest.

My inner caveman stands up and cheers.

 

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Review by Christine:

Brooklynaire by Sarina Bowen is the sexy, geeky, and oh so romantic follow-up to her Brooklyn Bruisers hockey series. We followed the story of Nate, team owner, and Rebecca, team assistant/Nate’s old assistant, throughout the previous books always knowing something was happening but couldn’t really put a pin on it all. Well the fix is in and I adored these two from start to finish! Nate is the perfect guy and not just because he’s rich but because he thinks with his heart when it comes to his friends. Rebecca’s situation made me feel for her and I understood the things that held her back and why she was nervous. It’s hard not to fall for this couple and I dare you to try! 5 “Friends-to-Lovers” stars for Brooklynaire by Sarina Bowen!

*** Reviewed for Sweet & Spicy Reads – ARC provided for an honest review ***

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