Perfection
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: SCENE ONE: There’s a crackling sound and then a booming male voice magnified over a speaker. “I neither need nor want your money, Ms. Lane” It’s a smooth, rich baritone. But I can’t tell if the voice belongs to someone old or young. And I don’t recognize it. “Do you know he beat me? He threatened to kill me. What was I supposed to do? He practically owned this city. Do you know how much power he had? What other choice did I have?” I shout into the mostly empty theater. “Do you know how much power I have?” he counters. Obviously a lot if he can get into this building and have electricity running in it. “I don’t deserve prison,” I say. “Murder is a serious crime.” His tone is similar to the one you’d hear in the principal’s office after being caught vandalizing a dumpster behind the school. “Please…” I feel the hysteria bubbling over as my gaze continues to dart around the cavernous theater, trying to find where he’s hiding, what perch he observes me from. “Please…” I say again… “You said you’d tell me your price. How much? Please. I’ll pay you anything.” “No, Ms. Lane. Not money. I have plenty of that. The price of my silence is your obedience.” The stillness that follows this announcement is so complete you could hear a pin drop on the black dance tarp. What the hell does that mean? “Empty out your dance bag in the center of the stage and spread out all the contents,” he says. I freeze at that. There’s a gun in my dance bag. I’m not that stupid, that I’d just go meet some mysterious blackmailer without going home to get a weapon first. I mean, come on. “I want to remind you that we aren’t in a 1940’s noir film. I have a phone on me at all times, and I will use it to report you if you hesitate again.” I take a deep breath. My hands are visibly shaking as I empty out the dance bag, arranging the contents, carefully concealing the gun in a dance sweater. “What are you hiding from me?” the voice asks again. I look around the otherwise empty theater, trying desperately to find the source of that voice. “N-nothing!” “Do you want to go to prison, Cassia?” His use of my first name startles me. It feels too familiar in spite of everything. The voice continues. “No. Lies. I want to see what you’re hiding.” I don’t know how I thought I would get away with this. Did I think he’d just show up and confront me in some straight forward face-to-face way? Did I think he’d let me see him? Did I think I’d have a clear shot, and he’d just stand politely still while I put a bullet in him? What the hell was I thinking? “Last chance to save yourself,” he says, his patience running out. I feel like I’ll hyperventilate as I unwrap the gun from the sweater and lay it out on the brightly lit stage. I flinch and look around me as if he’ll somehow swoop down, materialize on top of me, and rip me apart for daring to try to defend myself. He chuckles. “Were you planning to build a body count? Gotten a taste for it, have you?” “N-no,” I stammer. “No, Sir,” he corrects. “I expect a basic level of formality and etiquette when we’re in this space together.” Everything inside me freezes at this. When we’re in this space together.
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A Touch of Ruin
-- EXCERPT: Demetri must have felt her staring because he finally looked up from his tablet, the article he was reading reflected off his black-framed glasses. She noted the title. It was another piece about her. “Persephone. Please, come in. Close the door.” That stone in her stomach was suddenly heavier. Shutting herself in Demetri’s office was like walking right back into her mother’s greenhouse—anxiety built, and she felt fear at the thought of being punished. Her skin grew hot and uncomfortable, her throat constricted, her tongue thickened…she was going to suffocate. This is it. She thought. He is going to fire me. She found herself frustrated that he was drawing it out. Why invite her to sit? Act like it had to be a conversation? She took a deep breath and sat on the edge of her chair. “What did you do?” she asked, glancing at the pile of newspapers. “Pick one up on every block?” “Couldn’t help it,” he said, smirking. “The story was fascinating.” Persephone glared. “Did you need something?” she asked finally, hoping to change the subject—hoping that the reason he called her into his office had nothing to do with this morning’s headlines. “Persephone,” Demetri said, and she cringed at the gentle tone his voice had taken. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t good. “You have a lot of potential and you have proven you’re willing to fight for the truth, which I appreciate.” He paused and her body stayed tense, preparing for the blow he was about to deliver. “But,” she said, guessing the direction of this conversation. Demetri looked even more sympathetic. “You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to,” he said. She blinked, brows furrowing. “Ask what?” “For an exclusive. On your relationship with Hades.” The dread crawled up her stomach, and spread, sizzling in her chest and lungs and she felt the heat abruptly leave her face. “Why do you have to ask?” Her voice was tight, and she tried to stay calm, but her hands were already shaking and squeezing her coffee cup. “Per—” “You said you wouldn’t ask if you didn’t have to,” she stopped him. She was tired of him saying her name. Tired of how long it was taking him to get to the point. “So why are you asking?” “It came from the top,” he answered. “It was very clear that you either offer us your story or you don’t have a job here anymore.” “The top?” she echoed, and paused for a moment, searching for a name. After a moment, it came to her. “Kal Stavros?” Kal Stavros was a mortal. He was the CEO of Epik Communications—which owned New Athens News. Persephone didn’t know much about him except that he was a tabloid favorite. Mostly, because he was beautiful—his name literally meant crowned the most beautiful. “Why would the CEO request an exclusive?” “It’s not every day the girlfriend of the God of the Dead works for you,” Demetri said. “Everything you touch will turn to gold.” “Then let me write something else,” she said. “I have a voicemail and an inbox full of leads.” It was true. The messages had started pouring in the moment she published her first article on Hades. She’d slowly been sorting through them, organizing them into folders based on the god they criticized. She could write about any Olympian, even her mother. “You can write something else,” Demetri said. “But I’m afraid we’ll still need that exclusive.” “You can’t be serious,” was all she could think to say, but Demetri’s expression told her otherwise. She tried again. “This is my personal life.” Her boss’s eyes dropped to the stack of papers on his desk. “And it became public.” “I thought you said you would understand if I wanted to cease writing about Hades?” She noted that Demetri’s shoulders fell, and it made her feel better that he was at least a little defeated by this, too. “My hands are tied, Persephone,” he answered. There was a stretch of silence, and then she asked, “That’s it? I have no say in this?” “You have your choices. I need the article by next Friday.”
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Title: Silver
Series: Love After 40 Series Book 1
Author: AE Gamrat
Genre: Second Chance/Contemporary/Over 40 Romance
Release Date: April 25, 2020
Twenty years ago, I shared a magical, tragic kiss with my secret crush. Silver was every girl's dream--and I was a socially awkward rich girl. We lived on different sides of town and ran in totally different crowds. When we bumped into each other that fateful night, no words were spoken--our souls knew who we were to one another. But life rolled on and off to college we both went. Never to see each other again.
Until now.
When Silver steps back into my life unexpectedly, my world stops. His looks have only intensified over the years, and when he says my name "Gin," for the first time again... I melt.
Is my dream coming to life for the second time?
Growing up writing was second nature that soon become a distant memory. Turning 30 (not saying when) that memory was going to be brought back to life. Lover of all books I try to grab my audience in and never let go. Hoping to get all these thoughts and ideas down for everyone to enjoy, even if it's a moment or a life time.
This is the new chapter of my life story. Hope everyone enjoys!
Today we are celebrating the release of a romantic comedy title from Kelly Siskind by participating in the blog tour! Don't Go Stealing My Heart just went live, and you won't want to miss this romance! CLICK HERE to grab your copy now, and make sure to follow Kelly for details about all of her books.
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Don't Go Stealing My Heart by Kelly SiskindA Standalone Romantic Comedy Add it to Goodreads Book Blurb:She wants to steal his Van Gogh. He wants to steal her heart. Some people would call Clementine Abernathy a criminal. She considers herself a modern day Robin Hood, who steals from the rich and gives to the poor. Not exactly on the up-and-up, but she knows what it's like to lose everything. Her latest heist involves swiping a priceless Van Gogh from its owner, who's supposed to be an egotistical trust-fund brat. Turns out Jack David is a sexy, kind-hearted man...and Clementine is in trouble. Falling for her mark would make her the World's Dumbest Conwoman, but Jack is charmingly persistent, always singing sweet songs in her ear. And that earth-shattering kiss? She never stood a chance. Now she's imagining a fresh start with this dashing man, but that means telling Jack about her past. And other nefarious sorts are after the same painting. Too soon, Clementine learns what it means to risk it all for love.
God, she wanted to kiss him, and do so much more. To experience sex with someone who knew pieces of her puzzle, who didn’t pity her but lifted her up. If he got his skilled hands on her, she feared and thrilled at what could happen.
“You said you couldn’t ask me on a date,” she said, voice shaky. A pitiful attempt to force their distance. She’d kissed marks on a job before. She’d play up her prude innocence and nothing more would happen. Rich men, she’d learned, found a hard-to-get woman enticing. A change from gold-diggers hunting for prey. After locating her targeted loot, she’d then feign illness and thank her dates, never to return their calls. A week or month or two later, she’d sneak in and secure her score. No residual guilt. No longing for what could have been. Kissing Jack David would wreck her. She knew it. She wasn’t sure she could avoid it, or even worse, fight it. “I did say I couldn’t date you, didn’t I?” Jack mused, unaware of her turmoil. Or maybe he was aware. It was impossible to hide her trembling limbs. “But kissing isn’t dating, is it?” “You’re suddenly forward.” As hard as Shy Jack was to resist, Bold Jack was proving more challenging. “Thing is,” he said, back to drawing sexy circles on his beer bottle, not meeting her eyes. “I’m painfully awkward around beautiful women, which is why I’ve been curt with you at times and generally artless. But when I get comfortable with someone, when trust takes over the nerves”—he looked at her then, right into her eyes—“when that happens, the confidence I feel on stage bleeds into my life.” He continued staring at her, unabashed, no wobble or skittishness in sight. Shivers erupted along her arms. This is who I am, his piercing blue eyes said.
I like you. I trust you. I want to kiss you.
Everything she felt in spades. “I think classifying the kiss as dating or messing around depends on the kissing,” she said, breathless. “Excellent point.” He hummed, still focused on her. She struggled to fill her lungs. He smirked knowingly. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that I kiss your cheek. Would that be considered acceptable? A non-date kiss?” The mentioned spot tingled with anticipation. “I believe that would be allowed.” “And the crescent-moon scar on your shoulder?” A shaky “yes” was all she managed. “And the three freckles on your nose, and the birthmark just below your right collarbone, and the one on the back of your neck, that lines up with your spine?” He said all of this with his eyes locked on hers, confident in his seduction. He’d been studying her body without doing so overtly. No different than the way she’d snuck glances of his strapping physique while they’d been running or when emphasized in his tailored suits. Both of them had been lusting from the sidelines.
-------------------------AUTHOR INFORMATION:
A small-town girl at heart, Kelly moved from the city to enjoy the charm of northern Ontario. When she’s not out hiking with her husband or home devouring books, you can find her, notepad in hand, scribbling down one of the many plot bunnies bouncing around in her head. Her novels have been published internationally. FIND KELLY SISKIND:
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Instagram | Goodreads Today we have the blog tour for Lea Nolan’s Want Me Always! Check it out and be sure to order today!
Title: Want Me AlwaysAuthor: Lea NolanGenre: Contemporary RomanceAbout Want Me Always:Her mind says no… Wren Donovan’s done with love. Betrayed and humiliated by her ex-fiancé, she retreats to her family’s beach house on Heron Harbor Island to lick her wounds and gorge herself on ice cream, spray cheese, and a box of glazed donuts. Wren vows to devote herself to her law career and swears off men forever, but she isn’t prepared for what being reunited with her oldest friend makes her feel… His heart says yes, please… Smith Connors can’t believe his eyes when Wren walks into his restaurant. He’s loved her since they were kids, when summertime found them inseparable best friends. As a boy, he’d never felt good enough for Wren. But now he’s a rising-star chef with a thriving business who knows what he wants—which means he’s not letting beautiful, brilliant Wren get away again. Smith determines to show Wren how good they could be together, and soon neither of them can resist the heat growing between them. He’d do anything to earn her faith—and her heart, if only she could learn to trust again.
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Advance praise for Want Me Always:"A heartfelt story that will make you laugh and swoon! The perfect feel-good read!" --Laura Kaye, NYT Bestselling Author "A seaside reunion story that will have you believing that love heals heartbreak and truly transcends time." ~ Christi Barth, USA Today bestselling author
He was trying to tease her. And dammit, it was working.
It wasn't fair. Wren had admitted her attraction and Smith was using it against her. It was time to turn the tables.
They put the finishing touches on the last wall, then turned to face each other.
"You've got a little paint." Smith pointed to a small white dot on her T-shirt that she already knew was there.
"Well, you've got a lot of paint." Wren swiped her still wet brush across his broad chest.
His eyelids stretched wide. "Did you really just do that?"
She nodded. "Uh huh. And guess what? I'm going to do it again." Wren swung the brush in the opposite direction, drawing a giant white X across his black T-shirt.
Smith's jaw dropped as he stared at his chest. "This is one of my favorite shirts."
Oops. That might have been a mistake. Nervous laughter bubbled up her throat. "Sorry?"
He lifted his head to meet her gaze. "Oh, it's on now." With a devilish glint in his eyes, he bent and scooped a handful of paint from the tray, then hurled it at her. It splattered her T-shirt and leggings.
"Aaah!" Wren squealed, then ran across the tarp and ducked behind the covered furniture in the center of the room.
"You think you can hide from me?" Smith laughed as he stalked toward her.
"Um...maybe?" she giggled, crouched behind the dresser.
He loomed over her, his hand filled with another pool of white paint. "Uh uh. You started this war, you've got to fight in it."
Wren stood, wearing her best sweet-and-innocent smile, the one she used when facing a particularly harsh judge in court.
"Truce?" she asked, her right hand tucked behind her back.
His lids narrowed. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't dump this on your head?"
"Because it would be really hard to wash out."
Smith exhaled. "That's fair." He slapped the paint on the tarp, then wiped his hand on the only dry spot left on his T-shirt.
Shaking her head, Wren clucked her tongue. "It isn't smart to disarm yourself before your opponent does." Rising on tiptoes, she pulled out the paintbrush she'd kept hidden behind her back and wiped it across his forehead.
Surprise flashed in his eyes. "You fight dirty."
She shrugged. "I am a lawyer."
"I'll show you dirty." In one smooth movement, Smith hoisted her up in his arms, and deposited her on the dresser top. Spreading her knees wide, he wedged himself between her legs and leaned in so far, she was nearly lying flat, propped on her elbows. A mischievous smile played on his lips. "That wasn't very nice."
"But it was funny."
Smith's eyes sparkled. "True, but you still deserve to be punished. What should your punishment be?" His hard length pressed against her. It was hot and hard and made her insides coil with need.
Wren swallowed. "It's never a good idea to ask the accused to set their own punishment. They always go too light. I'll leave it to you to decide."
Kiss me. Hard and rough. Then rip off my clothes and do whatever you want.
"Hmm, what do you deserve?" His gaze bore into her.
Her breath raged as electric energy sparked between them.
Smith's own fierce desire was written on his face. So what was he waiting for? All he had to do was dip his mouth to hers, then do all the things he'd promised last night.
Finally, his lips curled at the ends. "I've got it. But you're not going to like it."
Wren smirked. "Try me."
About the Author:
Lea Nolan is a USA Today bestselling author who writes smart, witty contemporary stories filled with head-swooning, heart-throbbing, sweep-you-off your feet romance. She also pens books for young adults featuring bright heroines, crazy-hot heroes, diabolical plot twists, plus a dose of magic, a draft of romance, and a sprinkle of history. Born and raised on Long Island, New York she loves the water far too much to live inland. With her heroically supportive husband and three brilliant children, she resides in Maryland where she cracks crabs and bakes ugly birthday cakes.
Connect with Lea Nolan:
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Enter Lea’s Giveaway:Who Will Save Your Soul: And Other Dangerous Bedtime Stories
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: “What are you doing here?” I sputter. He lifts a crystal tumbler, one finger of some no-doubt expense liquor at the bottom. “Having a drink. You said the kitchen was off limits, but I was thirsty. Hope this is okay.” His twinkling dark eyes tell me he knows it’s not okay. Challenge lights the air between us, electric and hot. Part of me wants to pick up the phone on the side table and call mother. The second she knows he’s stomped all over her oriental rugs with his muddy work boots, he’s fired. That would be a cheap win, though. Too easy. Too banal. Besides, I like the thought of him stomping all over her oriental rugs with his muddy work boots. “Of course,” I say, sarcasm sharpening my words. “We always offer gardeners top shelf vodka.” He merely lifts a dark eyebrow. How is it possible for eyebrows to look low class? His do. They’re a mess, broad and unruly. I want to run my tongue over them, smooth them out. “Do you always show up half-dressed for them, too?” he asks in a musing tone. “Because that’s a real perk. They should put that in their classified ad.” My cheeks burn hot as I realize how little I’m wearing. The bath towel covers from the slope of my breasts to the tops of my thighs. It’s held together by so little—only the tuck of terry cloth. If it came undone right now I’d be naked in front of him. “Tell me your name,” I demand, lifting my chin. “So you can tell your mother about me?” “Maybe I will.” “And if I tell her that you came downstairs in only a towel? That you tried to have sex with me? That you were the one who drank half the bottle of scotch?” My mouth drops open. “That’s a lie.” “Does that surprise you? That other people lie, too?” He must see the shock on my face; his smile is smile and smug. “Yes, I know about you. Poor little Emily Coulter, can’t tell the truth to save her life.” A knot around my throat, pulled taut by thick dirt-stained fingers. “How would you know that?” That’s my family’s dirty little secret, but not the worst one. Not by far. “I know lots of things.” “And anyway, why are you back already? It’s only been three days. The hedges don’t need to be trimmed every damn day.” His smile comes slow. “You don’t trust me?” “Not as far as I could throw you.” There’s something strange about him, something a little dangerous. Unfortunately that only makes me like him more.
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Meet the Author:
Charlene Sands is a USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary and western romance. She's been honored with the National Readers Choice Award, twice recipient of the Booksellers Best Award and RT Magazine's Best Harlequin Desire of 2014! Charlene knows a little something about romance. After daydreaming about the cute boy with the long blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes two lockers down from her in high school, to her amazement he asked her out on a date. And he's been continually amazing her for the past forty years. Charlene's perfect day includes reading, drinking mocha Cappuccinos over ice, walking the Pacific beaches with her hubby or playing with her four adorable granddaughters. She loves hearing from her readers. You can reach her at www.charlenesands.com or at www.facebook.com/charlenesandsbooks or Twitter.
About the Book:
Wedding gown blues--meeting Coop again after twelve long years…
“No, Muffy! No. Come back! Muffy, Muffy.” The little tyrant didn’t hesitate, not even for a second. By the time Taylor made it to the door, the pup was zipping down the street. Taylor had no choice. She didn’t have a second to spare as Julie’s words echoed in her ears. When she takes off, she’s too excited to know where the heck she is. Taylor couldn’t lose Muffy or heaven forbid, have something happen to her. She lifted the hem of her dress, and flew down the steps, racing as fast as her legs and French taffeta would let her. Luckily the dog was in sight, but she didn’t know for how long, Muffy was lengthening her lead. “Stop Muffy! Stop!” The dog raced in the opposite direction of town, to where the street became a country road. Her heart pounded, her breath came in short quick spurts. She was losing ground. The dog was getting away. She picked up her pace, fighting dirt clods and hopping over potholes in the road. Just then, a shiny red pick-up truck came up behind her. She untangled the veil from her face as the truck slowed and she glanced into the cab, hoping for a miracle. And found a handsome, Stetson-wearing man, checking her out from the very top of her lace veil to the hand-stitched hem of her skirt, and everywhere in between. He did a double take, then his lips lifted in a definite smirk. If she wasn’t entirely certain who the blue-eyed guy was, the logo on the side door gave it away. Cooper Construction. Shoot. Her heart did a little flip and her throat locked up good and tight. Ryan “Coop” Cooper was so not her miracle. Yet he looked better than her own crazy daydreams. “Hey Taylor,” he drawled slow and easy like. “What poor guy are you running away from this time?”
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Title: Liarholic
Author: Kingsley Ash
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 20, 2020
Blurb
It hurts to look at you.
One, two, three, four, five . . . the lyrics to the hell inside your OCD head.
Not alive, not dead. In chains.
Youâre broken, Amy. I did this. Canât undo that.
Six years ago, I played a cruel joke on you in front of the whole school. The girl who made a happiness machine to put her happy inside my head. And I just ripped your heart out.
Now, Iâm back to fix what I broke. Iâm a psychologist, Amy. I can give you back the happiness I stole . . .
Itâs all a lie. Iâm not a doctor.
So what. She doesnât get a choice.
So what if I buy the Victorian estate she lives in, blackmail her into fake therapy sessions.
So what if I get her addicted to my body like a painkiller, make her wish me dead.
Iâm not the hero. Iâm the monster. The orphan boy gone bad. Cursed, everything broken.
So what, when I discover a dark secret that makes her every inch off-limits, I donât keep my hands off her.
Her bones are made from emeralds, sheâs that precious.
I wonât stop chasing her until sheâs mine.
But Amy is a pretty little liar, too. Her lie is the deadliest of them all.
Only one of us is telling the truth.
So bloody what. Nobodyâs gonna believe her over me.
Itâs her word . . .
. . . against MINE.
Youâre in a bad place, Amy. Where the monsters go. But itâs only in the bad places . . . I can get to you.
Disclaimer: No cheating â this alpha-hole keeps it in his pants.
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Excerpt
I look at her. It's better than I expected. I thought it would be good, but the way Amy falls apart is maybe the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It starts in her shoulders, where she seems to go weak, and at last, when her hand closes over the kidâs, when she takes the flowers, the weakness goes to her eyes.
Oh, all her tricks are gone now. She's afraid and real and sad and crying into a pile of flowers that are already dying.
Amy looks at Max, and then at me. She can't decide what to say or do. That kind of feeling makes me want to destroy things. But Amy doesn't want to destroy anything. She wants to save Max, protect him from the big bad monster. That is what tears at her. Amyâs wondering where the danger is and I smell fear rolling off her in waves â such intense fear that she will do or say the wrong thing. She can't guess what Iâm up to. She's wondering if I plan to give her a demonstration of what kind of monster I really could be. Remind her I have a fuck for a heart.
The flowers fall out of Amyâs delicate hands and onto the floor. She says to the kid, âThank you, Max. You mind if you leave me and Shepherd alone? Weâve got some important adult matters to discuss. Boring stuff. Why donât you go back to your mum? Iâm sure sheâs missing you.â
âOkay, Mamy.â Max trots out of Amyâs room, saying, âSmell you laters,â with a skip in his step.
âYou wouldnât use a kid? Surely?â Amy whispers, her words hot as lava.
âYeah I would.â
âPlease donât drag Max into this.â
And for the first time, she looks at me. Looks into my eyes with pure hatred. It's what I wanted, and now I can't remember why I wanted it so bad.
âYou downright refuse my help with your OCD, Amy. Donât you get it? This shit is ruining your life.â
Her pale lips quiver. âWhy canât you leave me alone? Why is it so hard for you to just let me be?â
âIâm not leaving you alone again.â
The response is automatic. Easy. Because god fucking forbid she withers and dies.
Can you save someone whoâs already dying?
âYou donât think I see?â I say. âYouâre a zombie, Amy. Still fucking beautiful, but half alive. Youâve given me no choice. If you donât let me inside that pretty little head of yours, Iâll kick Max and his mum out onto the streets.â
Sometimes the stars donât align so you have to make them. Thatâs what Iâm doing with Amy. Iâm playing God. Fuck Fate. Fuck us destined for a never. Iâm making it happen.
Her mouth smacks open. I can see into the dark reaches of her. âYou canât.â
âYeah I can. Daisy, right? Sheâs poor. Comes from some derelict housing estate on the east side. I hear itâs bad for her at home. Her uncle or something . . . They canât afford to pay for treatment â you know that? Theyâre behind on their payments. Iâve been letting her stay scot-free.â
âI didnât know you were doing that for Daisy . . . â Her voice is quiet like a mouse.
âYou donât know a lot about me.â
I canât help the pride that creeps in my voice. All that destruction, all that chaos Iâm making for her. Itâs like a lion lying a bird at her feet.
I always get what I want. The lies give me that power. Thatâs what got me addicted to them.
âSo, whatâs it gonna be? Start therapy with me? Or you wanna go downstairs and help Daisy pack her bags?â
Iâm a snake in a suit with dead eyes and a poison tongue, and Amy gives me a death stare. Her face is glazed for a split-second, like a China doll. Then she frowns. Her lips purse together. Her eyes are unblinking.
âMy friends are the one real thing in my life and youâre wrecking it,â she says.
Wrecking things is what I do best.
In this moment, if her eyes were a weapon, the piercing look in them could cause serious annihilation. Itâs like sheâs a lioness and I just went into her territory, poked her, and sheâs ready to attack.
âThis is emotional blackmail. Youâre using my friend and little Max to get what you want. I never thought you could sink this low.â
It just about kills me laughing the way she looks at me. Pure fucking contempt on a cracker. If looks could kill, Amy would be more deadly than me. Her hate â that's good all by itself, makes me run hot.
I lean closer, breathe her in. All vanilla and flower and bubble-gum. I give her a reassuring smile. Such a narrow margin between reassuring and predatory.
âThat's what you want, isn't it?â she says. âYou want me to hate you, because you think hate is stronger than love,â she says right in my face.
âBaby, they're not opposites.â I smile wickedly. âI think hate and lust are very close.â
It makes her eyes hot with hate. She's not afraid of what Iâll do or say next. She's thinking about killing me, maybe.
âNo, they are not opposites, but you're wrong. Hate isn't stronger,â she snarls, spit in the corners of her mouth, and I don't want her to stop. I want her to hate me a whole lot harder if that's what this is.
Got your attention, now.
âYou want me to hate you, but hate is weak. Donât you understand? I feel nothing. I donât even hate you, anymore.â
âYou will,â I say. âSoon enough, youâll want me dead.â
But it blows my mind that she doesn't already.
I straighten the gold seahorse around her neck. âStart making an effort to heal â or Daisy and her little kid get booted out. Hell, Iâll raise the prices so high nobody will be able to afford living here. Even those stuck-up rich girls. The roof over their heads rests on your shoulders. Sink or swim â your choice, Amy.â
Iâm pulling her apart like candy floss. Iâve ruined her. Iâve burned down her dreams, hopes. Turned her wishes to ashes. And Iâll keep ruining her, keep destroying her. Maybe a deep part of me wants her to stop me.
âFine,â she mutters.
She doesnât hesitate. Doesnât even calculate. That's how bad she wants to save Daisy and Max from the big evil monster.
âJust like that? No fight?â
âI canât cut off my heart. Iâm not you.â She looks down at her bare dainty feet. âI just want peace.â
Something you could kill your way to . . . thatâs how I see peace, Amy.
Whole lot of silence after that.
Finally she says, âYouâre vile.â
âTell me something I donât already know.â
Her eyes are jewel green, hazed in mist. âI thought you were beautiful when I first saw you at the childrenâs home.â
She never flatters me, not since I hurt her. And a slow, sickening feeling comes on me.
âIs that so?â
âWhen I was fourteen, I used to love you.â She says it all in a cold, steady voice, and it stabs like sharp icicles in my heart.
I pin her against the wall behind her, and snarl, âUsed to love me?â
The air around us is heavy, rage brews in my gut.
âYes. Imagine that. Little fourteen-year-old me â in love and thinking about you.â
Itâs the closest sheâs come to showing me any real feelings. But she uses it in the past fucking tense.
âWhat do you think that does to me, Amy, hearing you used to love me?â
âWhat do you think it does to my heart?â
The problem is, that as good as it feels, as much as I want to lean back and get off on her submission, I can't. Because she looks at me from under her eyelashes. Looks at me with my damned soul in her eyes. She never looks at me when I â no, I never let her look at me when I go over the edge of ecstasy. And now she won't stop looking at me. It knocks me for six.
I clench my teeth, damp down the anger. Pride â thatâs my cardinal vice. Not wrath. Pride. The one sin from which all others stem. Yeah, I can be the greedy man and the mean man, the envious and the enraged man, the licentious and the vicious man, but it all spirals down to pride. To the mortal sin of playing God. Of being a complete arse to the only girl I fucking love.
I keep my face neutral and fix my raw eyes at the butchered flowers on the floor.
The ache fades and the pleasure comes back so intense I want to eat her alive. For the first time I have to give chase, like a wolf after prey. I take her to her bed, and her tears are hot and delicious in my mouth.
This âthingâ between us, the chemistry, itâs fucking toxic. I know my body is some kind of painkiller, a poisonous addiction, a fix she needs when it hurts too bad. Itâs like a knife to my chest but Iâll let her use me. Take whatever I can get. Give whatever she needs. Iâll feed her addiction.
I make her hurt, knowing Iâm the one she needs to make the pain go away.
When I'm inside her, she's crying so hard, her sobbing clutches at me so tightly, it feels like a supernova when I come.
I live my life in the Artic. Like a vampire, thereâs no place for sunshine in my world.
Sunshine is a fucking killer to dead souls like me. All the same, Iâm like a wasp to the biggest flame.
I donât care if Amy hates me, forever. All I want is for her eyes to stay alive when Iâm there. If she loved me again, would the darkness in my soul be converted? Or would the scar her soul has left in me, fade?
Author Bio
Kingsley Ash is a British contemporary romance author who loves writing sadistic book boyfriends because, hey, life is pain, right? Sheâs on a mission to rip girls' hearts out with alpha-holes, then fix them whole. Maybe.
Kingsley loves Pina Colada. Rain makes her go off. Sheâs a fitness freak. A pudding-holic. And a Brainiac. She lives in London and enjoys playing â winning â golf with her sexy lawyer fiancé.
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Title: Full Court Press
Author: J. Akridge Genre: Sports Romance
Release Date: April 24, 2020
Blurb
Single mother Kelsi Fran hates basketball. To her, itâs a painful reminder of her past relationship mistakes. But after losing a bet to her sister, she finds herself at an Atlanta Hawks game, hating life. There, she meets basketball star Landon Prince and treats herself to one steamy night with him.
Landon sees Kelsi as the kind of girl he could fall for, but it takes a bit of convincing for her to give them a chance. When she finally relents, Landon fully believes he can protect her from the trappings of his fame. He was wrong. One reporter was all it took to catch a picture of them in a compromising position, that could cost Kelsi her teaching job.
But when Kelsiâs ex sees the picture, he formulates a plan to exploit the situation in a vicious custody battle. Can Landon and Kelsi work together to pick up the pieces of her shattered life and begin a full court press to their happily ever after? Or will the price of his fame tear them apart?
J. Akridge is a romance author that loves all the feelings she gets after reading a good love story. She enjoys watching reruns of Criminal Minds because, duh Derek Morgan, and all things leopard. Whenever she isnât reading or writing, sheâs cheering her kids on at competitive cheer competitions and t-ball games. She would love to hear your thoughts and any questions, so feel free to reach out.
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The Treble With Men, an all-new secret identity romantic standalone from Piper Sheldon, is now available in Kindle Unlimited!
As far as Green Valley is concerned, Kim Dae disappeared into the Wraiths a decade ago. They were sort of right. Kim has spent her life since Jethro fighting her curious nature and trying to blend into the background. Unfortunately for her, a mysterious Maestro comes to town and takes quick notice of her for reasons unknown to anybody. The masked conductor, known simply as Devlin, was already a source of much gossip thanks to his reputation for getting fired. Now, his sudden interest in the quiet fourth chair cellist has added fuel to the rumor fire. The new conductor of the symphony needs to learn to control his temper and finish his latest musical masterpiece and only the reluctant star of his symphony can help him do that. If Devlin can’t convince Kim to help to finish his latest composition he’ll lose everything. Can Devlin and Kim compose without losing composure? ‘The Treble with Men’ is a full-length contemporary romance, can be read as a standalone, and is book #2 in the Scorned Women’s Society series, Green Valley World, Penny Reid Book Universe. Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
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Excerpt“Let’s play through. I want to hear if you’re qualified,” Devlin said. “Yes, Maestro.” Around me, the symphony moved into the ready position. Devlin didn’t pick up his baton. “You’ll need to move,” he said coolly, as his gaze flicked to the empty first chair. Amazingly, my legs supported me despite how badly my knees tingled. The neck of my cello was tightly gripped in my fist like it was the only thing keeping me from spinning off the earth. “We will start from the Andante movement,” he called out as I got situated. Next to me Barry gave me a brief nod of encouragement. I managed a small smile back. Playing alone at night was a heck of a lot different than feeling an entire symphony watch you. I wiped my palms on my dress pants before straightening my spine. My nerves were shredded. I did this for a living and yet I couldn’t get my bow to stop wobbling where it hovered just above the strings. My heart sputtered and cranked to a manic tempo. Carla should be here. What if something happened to her? The world began to tune out around me. Tears pricked behind my eyes. How ridiculous was that? I played with these people every day, but if I tried to speak or breathe or move, I’d start to cry. “Hey.” Devlin’s voice was so soft I hardly noticed it at first. His biker boots appeared in front of my blurring vision. “Christine?” I lifted my chin to find him standing in front of me with a furrowed brow. “Is she okay?” The question just slipped out, but I needed to know. He dropped into a crouch to better hear me, causing me to pick up soft hints of cologne, fabric softener, and motorcycle exhaust. “What?” I asked again a little louder but likely only Barry would be able to hear, if that. His face was impassive like he was processing what I said. “Who? Carla?” I nodded stiffly. “Family emergency. She’ll be back on Monday,” he spoke softly. “Oh.” A weight lifted from my shoulders. My chest rose as I took a deep breath in. I released it slowly. Surely the entire room was waiting to see what my deal was. “I appreciate you stepping in for her.” He lifted his chin to get me to look into his eyes. “I’m sure she would appreciate it too.” I doubted that, but at least I wasn’t taking the performance from her. I was helping the orchestra out. I could absolutely do this. My thoughts had me worrying my bottom lip. His focus lowered to my lips then quickly to where my hand gripped the shoulder of my cello. He cleared his throat. “Are you ready?” I swallowed down my irrational fears. Carla was fine. It was just one show. I could do this. I got into position in answer to his question. Those dark eyes flitted around my face as though checking to see if I really was ready. “All you need to do is watch me.” When he spoke his mask hardly moved; nobody would know he’d spoken at all. My gaze was locked on his as it smoldered with intensity. “It’s you and me.” As though I could look anywhere else. When he gave me his focus, the rest of the room faded away. The rest of the world. “Ready?” he asked. I forced my shoulders down. He got back onto the podium and I lifted my bow to wait for my solo entrance as he counted the rest of the orchestra in. The notes on the page transformed into a foreign language. The music quieted, signifying my entrance. I drew my bow along the string, but my tense arm caused a noticeable wobble. A wave of heat burned up my neck, a flush likely giving me away. Just when I thought I might lose total control, I remembered his directions. I looked to him. His arm conducted the rest of the orchestra smoothly as they played their soft accompaniment, but his head was turned to me. He was willing me to look at him. His eyes narrowed when mine finally met his. He nodded his chin subtly. I didn’t need to read the music. I knew this solo in my sleep. Instead, I kept my focus on him. I played. Everything else blurred into the background. The music came then. It flowed through me. It was just us and the beautiful music.
About Piper Sheldon
Piper Sheldon writes Contemporary Romance and Magical Realism books that hope to be New York Times bestsellers when they grow up. For now, she works as a technical writer during the day and writes about love the rest of the time. Of course she also makes room for her husband, toddler, and two needy dogs at home in the Desert Southwest. Find Piper Sheldon online
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