Saturday, October 1, 2016

RELEASE BLITZ: Accidental Love by A.L. Simpson

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Blurb

Emma has loved Cody all her life but he sees her only as his little sister's friend.

When she returns after four years away, nothing has changed.

Insisting on caring for Zoe who has been left in a wheelchair after an accident, Emma moves into the ranch.

How will she cope with the man of her dreams on a daily basis?

Will he realize his feelings too late?

Amazon Universal Link

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Excerpt

Chapter One

The wheels of the rented car spun as Emma turned onto the gravel driveway too fast. The car fishtailed so she hit the brakes and regained control before continuing toward the ranch house. Her foot rested heavily on the accelerator and she was still travelling too fast but was desperate to see her friend, Zoe. The speeding car narrowly missed a cowboy on horseback. Glancing into the rear vision mirror, she saw a thick cloud of dust engulf him. She was too anxious to care.

Emma screeched to a halt near the front door and leapt from the vehicle. Not caring the car door had been left wide open, she raced up the front steps, pulled open the heavy ranch door and crashed inside. “Zoe, where are you?”

Her heart broke when Zoe wheeled herself into the hallway. Seeing her best friend in a wheelchair caused tears to well in her eyes.

“Emma.” Tears streamed down Zoe’s cheeks as she held her arms out to her friend.

Emma rushed to her, dropped to her knees and gathered her into a hug. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know.” Emma dropped her head to Zoe’s chest and trembled as she cried.

Zoe ran her hand over Emma’s hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

The girls were startled by the crashing of the front door against something solid. Someone in boots stomped toward them.

Emma raised her head, brushed away tears and turned around. Her heart slammed against her chest wall, her nipples tightened and her pussy clenched. The attraction was instant.accidental-love_teaser-2accidental-love_teaser-3

About A.L. Simpson

ALSimpson I have always loved to write and have a vivid and overactive imagination. In my spare time, when I’m not writing, I love to walk, read and shop. I believe no mountain is too hard to climb, no river is too wide to span and no journey is too difficult to complete. I follow my dreams and I urge and encourage others to do the same. With a positive attitude, the impossible can become possible. f08a5-facebook2576f-goodreadsbe29c-amazon94dde-website  

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PROMOTIONAL EVENT: Stroked Long by Meghan Quinn


We're so excited about the release of STROKED LONG by Meghan Quinn! 
STROKED LONG by Meghan Quinn
Scheduled to release: September 20, 2016
Sports Romance
Cover Designed by: Indie Solutions by Murphy Rae
BLURB:
From his dirty-blond hair and breathtaking smile, to the abs from heaven and the irresistible V in his waistline, everything about Bodi Olympic-gold-medalist Banks screams hot piece of @$$.

Yet there’s more.

Dark shadows lurk behind his soulful, serious eyes.

I’m enamored. He’s captured me.

How can running an art foundation with Bodi Banks turns into a slow-burning, epic romance, even though he tries to push me away at every chance? How can I stay away from a broken, routine-driven man whose soul cries to be forgiven for a crime only he believes he committed? Or is that a lie?

 **STROKED LONG can be read as a stand alone.


GIVEAWAY:
$25 Gift Card

Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/4a501259574/?


ALSO AVAILABLE!

STROKED by Meghan Quinn
Released: July 19, 2016
Cover Designer: Murphy Rae

BLURB:
Reese King: Olympic medalist, underwear model, Greek god.

His body is chiseled from rock, sculpted by the weight room, and refined by water.

On a daily basis his skin is completely bare for everyone to see, tan and defined, only covered up by a minuscule piece of spandex. There is no denying his sex appeal.

I hate to admit it, but I’m head over heels infatuated with him.

There is one HUGE problem though. His achingly gorgeous abs, inked up arm, and cocky swagger belong to my boss, the high-profile, reality star bitch from hell and certified heinous human being, Bellini Chambers.

What I think is going to be an easy job assisting a glorified wench turns into a cluster f*ck of epic proportions.


About the Author:

Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if "It's Raining Men" starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.

Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing... enter her first novel, Caught Looking.

Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!


Find me on Goodreads:

Visit my website: http://authormeghanquinn.com/
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BLITZ: Chimera by Stephie Walls

Title: chimera
Author: Stephie Walls
Genre: Adult, Dark Romance
Published: May 11, 2016


CHIMERA © Stephie Walls 2016

Chapter One
When Sylvie died, it left a hole in my being that seemed prodigious. I adorn my face with the plastic appearance people anticipate from me, but internally, I weep. Continuing through the monotonous motion of my daily life, I increasingly find myself lost in what my friends—well, those who remain—refer to as a fictional world: novels, authors, artists, musicians, and the illusion of relationships on social media. The more time I spend on Facebook, the more entrenched I become in the fiction that exists on the screen. I believe these “friends” are truly concerned for me; they’re what relationships are in reality. Sadly, these seem to be the only things keeping me hanging on, but the thread threatens to break daily, frayed from top to bottom. The tightly woven fabric that was once my life has deteriorated beyond recognition.
That’s the crux of my juxtaposition. My life had value, it had meaning. It was everything I had ever imagined it could be. But without Sylvie, black clouds roll through my mind, hindering my ability to think, eliminating productivity, and stifling my creativity. My art is as dead as I am. But online…online I can be anything I want to be, whatever version of myself I decide to show to the world. I don’t have to be the pathetic artist who lost his muse. I don’t have to be the sweet, sensitive man Sylvie loved. I don’t know whom I want to reinvent myself as, but the idea of being whatever still exists in my soul doesn’t appeal to me. My craft has become recreating my persona, anything to escape the pain, the desolation, and the solitude. Surely there’s art in recreating an identity.
Most days, I find it difficult to even get out of bed. The colder it gets outside, the shorter the days are, the deeper I sink—sometimes only escaping the protection of my covers to take a piss or get something to eat or drink. Although frequently, I let those things go in favor of marinating in my misery. My laptop calls to me from my nightstand when the loneliness becomes too much to bear, the darkness too black to see through.
That recognizable blue-and-white screen brings me comfort, the newsfeed seemingly a link to real conversation, touching base with the people I’ve known for years—but it always introduces the possibility of newcomers. The “friend recommendation” is the online equivalent to a friend introducing you to someone new; at least it is in my mind. I always check out the recommendations. They’re often other painters or singers that might have known Sylvie—or people I barely recognize from high school or college. But every once in a while, some totally random person surfaces with no tie to my past.
Those are the connections I find most interesting, most appealing.
They also seem to be the safest, having no knowledge of the person I once was, or how all that remains of me is a fragmented shell. I have made several “friends” this way, people I would say I’m close to—even though we’ve never met and likely never will. Herein lies my fictional world, the one my real friends don’t understand and believe to be emotionally damaging to me. I’m not processing my grief…blah, blah, blah. If I hear that shit one more time, I may scream.
As soon as I log in, the familiar recommendations bombard me as if the universe is playing some cruel joke. There she is, my Sylvie…only her name is Sera Martin. She’s a perfect duplicate with the same striking green eyes, long chestnut-colored hair, high cheekbones, and luscious, pouty lips.
I realize I haven’t inhaled or exhaled.
I gasp and hold my breath until my lungs burn. I haven’t seen her in years. The day she died, I came home and stripped our house of any reminder—every picture, every video, every stitch of clothing, anything she loved. It all had to leave. I couldn’t bear the weight of what the world took from me. I imagined if I discarded everything, she wouldn’t haunt me, and maybe, somehow, I would manage to learn to live again if reminders of her didn’t surround me.
Yet, her loss possesses me daily.
This girl. This Sera. Could this be Mother Nature returning my Sylvie to me in a strange twist of fate? The notion there’s a doppelganger roaming the world has always been a thought I believe in. It’s possible after years of suffering, dying inside, barely hanging on, that my savior has come. Without hesitation, I click “add friend.”
Sera responds to my request with a private message.
Sera: Wow! Are you really Bastian Thames?
Me: Yes. Have we met before?
Sera: Once, but I doubt you’d remember. It was at a gallery down on the West End where your work was being featured a couple years ago. Is this the real Bastian? Not some lurker claiming to be the famous artist?
Me: Far cry from famous, but yes, one and the same. Are you certain we met that night? I remember the opening and can assure you I would have remembered you.
Sera: Yes, you were with your wife. She’s quite lovely. I’m not sure which was more beautiful, her or the nudes you had in the collection. That showing was the talk of the art community for months around here.
Me: That was the last opening I did. Seems like a lifetime ago.
Sera: Are you not painting anymore? I hate to admit that I lost track of your work when I went off to college but for years, I was a huge fan.
Me: Life happened. I haven’t painted in some time.
Sera: I can’t imagine you quit painting. Surely you just quit putting them out for the public.
Me: No. I haven’t so much as held a brush in five years.
Sera: That’s a shame. Hey look, Bastian, I have to run out but I accepted your request. I hope maybe we can talk some later. Maybe you’ll let me pick your brain about a project I’m working on?
Me: Certainly. I hope to hear from you soon.
Sera: Bye
Me: Later
My mind races with possibilities. I immediately go to her profile to see what information I can garner on her before our next conversation—assuming one comes. Jesus, she’s twenty-five, went to the Rhode Island School of Design, graduated with her Masters in Fine Arts, and holy hell, she’s a sculptor. If these pictures are of her work, then she has phenomenal talent. Scouring her profile provides only surface-level information. There’s almost nothing personal. The pictures all seem to be with other artists or at galleries or in a studio. Moving to her wall, I find tons of posts by other local artists, memes about artwork, jokes…the proverbial Facebook bullshit.
I almost quit scrolling when I see a post that grabs my attention. There’s a picture of two beautiful women, scantily clad, one bent over, the other yielding a paddle, and the words, “Someone’s been a bad girl.” Jesus Christ. There are one hundred forty-seven comments and two hundred fifty-three likes on the thread posted by a Maria Martin.
I click on Maria’s name first, assuming it will be a sister or cousin, not expecting it to be her mother. Holy shit, whose mother posts this kind of profanity on their daughter’s Facebook wall? Making my way back to the thread, I find myself enthralled by the dialogue.
It’s cheeky and playful but talk about insight. This one picture, one conversation, tells me scads about who she is personally, not about her work, but seemingly what she enjoys—intimately. Reading her responses to the comments ignites a fire in an area of my anatomy I thought had died with Sylvie. As my cock starts to twitch, that old, familiar heat seeps through my crotch.
I stop myself, realizing I’m staring at dialogue—about a woman who could be my dead wife’s twin—between people I don’t know. It’s morbid, really. Backing out of the comments and Sera’s profile, then I set the computer aside. I don’t close the laptop for fear of missing a message from her. Lying back, I stare at the all-too-familiar ceiling. I know every blemish on the drywall with aching familiarity. There have been hours of loneliness and isolation. The depth of pain is so fathomless, I often wonder how I made it to the next day without feeling the cold steel in my hand, without pulling the trigger.
I've lived all over the country but have made Greenville, South Carolina my home for the last 20 of my 37 years. I have a serious addiction to anything Coach and would live on Starbucks if I could get away with it. If you follow me on Facebook you'll also find that I'm slightly enamored with Charlie Hunnam. I'm an avid reader (literary whore to be more precise) averaging around 300 novels a year. I have a penchant for great love stories, sensual poetry and am a romantic at heart.

I currently work full-time in the Greenville area and fill my "extra" time with writing contemporary romance novels with a hint of erotica. I couldn't do it without the support of my family and friends who push me to keep going when I don't have the confidence or patience.

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RELEASE BLITZ: The Sacred Truth by JL Long

Title: The Sacred Truth
Series: Tactical Men #2
Author: JL Long
Genre: Adult, Contemporary Romance
Published: September 29, 2016
The only failures in life are the mistakes you don’t learn from.

It was only supposed to be casual. Then I fell for her. Falling head first in love, only to have fear rip it out from underneath me. I severed us with my destructive words.

Correcting all the mistakes I’ve made is what I have to do, I just don’t know how. She does. She always knows what to do.

However, fate has a way of deciding things like this for us, doesn’t it?

This is part of the Tactical Men Series. It can be read as a standalone though we meet Nolan and Jenna in A Dance Worth Dancing.

**Warning- Intended for readers 18+. This book contains situations not suitable for all readers.

Now ONLY .99 ¢

JL grew up in a small town in Illinois. Not to be mistaken for Chicago. She currently resides in Kentucky with her husband, three children and their two fur-babies. She has lived an adventurous life…doing just that, living. JL is a hopeless romantic, who loves seeing love unwind before her eyes. When she can’t see that for herself with other people in real life, she writes it or reads it. Writing has been a part of her life since she was a little girl, along with being an avid reader. She will continue to write until the pen will not allow it anymore.
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