RELEASE BLITZ: The Lineup by Meghan Quinn

THE LINEUP by Meghan Quinn

Release Date: December 5th

Genre: Contemporary Romance

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AVAILABLE NOW!!!

FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

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Blurb:

Want to know a secret? It's about that girl over there. Don’t look, but she’s the one in the power suit—with the long, black hair and the serious expression, the one I’m about to go on a date with . . . Yeah, according to her, she “accidentally” donated an obscene amount of money to my charity — The Lineup — to win said date but I found out the truth. Miss. Button Up Blouse has a secret, passionate crush on me. I didn’t know her name until two days ago, despite the friends we have in common. Was I oblivious? Probably. Was I blind to it? Definitely. But I’m no fool, I see it now. The High Heel Harlot wants more than just a date with Jason Orson, she wants to be able to claim the best butt in baseball as hers. Here's another secret . . . she has no idea I know.

EXCERPT:

**JASON**

It isn’t in my nature to cry over burnt ham, but here I am, tearing up like a jackass, because the meal I’ve been reluctantly slaving over for the past four hours is two shades away from charred dust. I had it all planned out. The timing was right, the recipes perfected, the table decorated with impeccably folded napkins that impersonated angelic swans, and polished silver that I scrubbed for an hour until I could see my balls in the reflection. Nothing says polished silverware like a spoon that gives you a clear upside-down view of your gonads. But even with countless hours of preparing this feast, naked as the day I was born with only an apron to cover my man-loins, I still ended up with a scorched ham doused in fire extinguisher agent because somehow, the damn thing caught on fire. Imagine this, a grown-ass man—no, not just a grown-ass man, but a man at the fresh age of twenty-eight, built like a linebacker with buttocks you can bounce rocks off . . . thanks to squatting for a living—dancing around the kitchen on his twinkle toes, arms flailing with pink and white potholders attached to his hands, screaming like a banshee, as flames light up the Jenn-Air double oven where the brown sugar and pineapple ham resided. Are you seeing it? Add the imagery of said man naked, dick and balls harmoniously bouncing in panic while the apron his “girlfriend” got him that says Eat my food, Lick my dick, unravels in the fit to unleash the fire extinguisher. That was me . . . a minute ago. Frantic, screaming, and all in all losing any last shred of my man card I had left. It’s why I’m currently weeping like a nitwit into the flaps of my apron, wondering where I went wrong. If we’re going to be honest with each other—and I would like to establish honesty with you—I’ll admit, I’ve always leaned toward the sensitive side. You know, the cuddly grizzly bear. Big and intimidating but a fucking gooey butterball heart on the inside. Tell me a love story. I’ll listen the crap out of it. The Bachelor? Why yes, that’s one of my favorite shows. Do I smile when sharing a candlelit dinner with myself, followed by a nice long soak in a bubble bath while Enya—the fucking goddess of all voices—plays in the background? I sure as shit do. But if some ignorant asswipe gets in my face on the ball field, stirring up trouble, I’m the first to lay a fist across his jaw and the first to be thrown out of a game. And I’m not even sorry about it. People are arriving in an hour. I’m vulnerable as fuck with my bare ass resting against the cold white-oak floor of my girl’s apartment, while a lonely tear streams down my freshly shaven cheek. I have no main dish, and the apartment smells like burnt rabbit turd. Why am I in this hopeless predicament? Because of one person. One single person who flipped my life upside down. A bombshell in a suit, a ravenous sex-fiend in the sheets, a classy and sophisticated tight-ass in the boardroom. She’s a knockout who’s always on my mind. She’s the girl you do things for, that you never thought you’d ever do . . . Like cook a fancy-as-fuck four-course meal for her and her business associates while practicing interesting conversational starters to ensure the night flows smoothly. Back in college, I might have been referred to as the mother hen of the boys. I might have cooked at least two meals a week for the guys in the loft, and yeah, I was the ironing wizard, the one everyone turned to, to get out the most stubborn wrinkles. The title has carried on over the years, but my creativity in the kitchen has dwindled with the lack of time, my ironing is now done by my apartment keeper once a week, and the fresh flowers scattered around my place? They’re more dead now than alive. My point—I’m not the lady of the house I used to be. But I’ve been getting back into the swing of it. So when my girl asked me to perform the impossible feat of an intimate dinner for four, I should have ordered in, tossed everything in serving dishes, and called it a night. But nooooooooo, I had to attempt to be a goddamn hero and try to cook everything myself. And all for what? For one girl? No. Not just one girl. The girl who owns my balls, who has a grip so tight on them that if she asked me to bellow out my ABCs in soprano while swirling my finger around my belly button . . . I would. Who is this girl that has brought me to the brink of boo-boo smush bear insanity and caused me to weep like a schoolgirl in the corner of the apartment? There’s only one lady with more than enough ovaries to buckle the knees of the mighty Jason Orson. The one and only Dorothy “Dottie” Domico.

About the Author:

USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.

Connect with Meghan:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/meghanquinnauthor

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7360513.Meghan_Quinn

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormeghanquinn/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorMegQuinn

Website: http://authormeghanquinn.com

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Amazon: https://amzn.to/2LitE4x

RELEASE BLITZ: Play Me by Ker Dukey & K Webster

Title: Play Me

Authors: Ker Dukey & K Webster 

Genre: Steamy Kinky Romance Novella

Release Date: December 3, 2019

From international bestselling authors, Ker Dukey and K Webster comes a fast-paced, dark, hot, instalove standalone lunchtime read from their KKinky Reads collection!

I meet many women in my line of work.

Play many roles and create elaborate scenes specific to satisfying their darkest desires.

Making fantasy a reality is what I do. 

And I do it well.

But nothing could have prepared me for her.

Timid, beautiful, broken Quinn Washington.

She came to me with a specific fantasy.

One that needed extreme caution.

Dangerous and forbidden. 

Indulging in fantasies can heal you from the darkness of reality. 

As I stripped back her layers, I found more than either of us bargained for.

She wants something only I can give.

And there’s no way in hell I’ll deny her of it. 

This is a steamy, but dark, kinky romance! A perfect combination of dark and sexy you can devour in one sitting! You'll get a happy ending that'll make you swoon!

Ker Dukey

K Webster

HOSTED BY:

BLOG TOUR: Enemies by Tijan

“Enemies to lovers is one of my most favorite romance set ups. The two are a match made in sexy, angsty heaven.” -- Jay Crownover, New York Times bestselling author

Enemies, an all-new emotional, enemies to lovers romance from New York Times bestselling author Tijan, is available now!

Gorgeous and charismatic, he became the town’s football god, while I became the town’s invisible girl.

He went to a Division 1 school for football, while my father was fired by his father.

His team won the National Championship, while my mother died the same day.

He was a first round pick for the NFL ...

… while I made the worst decision of my life.

Now I’m in Texas trying to pick up the pieces of my life.

But, Stone is here.

Stone is everywhere.

It doesn’t matter that disaster has struck my life again.

It doesn’t matter that he’s the one trying to console me.

It doesn’t matter that he’s the nation’s newest football obsession.

Because for me, he always has been and always will be my enemy.

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2DzRCl1

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/EnemiesTijan

Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2P5s9p1

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2rjDSbk

Excerpt

“Do not think I won’t pick you up and throw you in my truck, head first and everything. I’m two seconds away.” I stopped and stared at him. Shit. He meant business. He was glaring at me with eyes that said, “Do not fucking fuck with me, you fucking twit.” Well. Then. I sighed. I’ll try reasoning instead. “You’re going to drive me to your house, and then I’ll pack whatever I need and call a cab to take me all the way back to where I’m paying rent. It’s not worth it. Just let me grab a cab now.” A savage curse bit out, and then his eyes flashed. His singular warning had been when he told me he was two seconds away. In a flash, he grabbed me, and I was airborne, right into the back of his truck. But he wasn’t done. He leapt up, grabbing the seatbelt over me, and pulled it around me, clicking it in place. He had the door shut, locked, and he was already going around the front before I could even push myself upright and then start to reach for my seatbelt. By then, he was inside, the engine on, and he shoved off into traffic. “This is stupid.” “You’re right. You’re being stupid.” Cursing, he ducked down as a car sped past us. They knew he was driving because they came up on his driver’s side, their phones up and ready to go. It was a car full of teenage girls. “Dammit.” “Where do you live?” He opened his mouth, then caught himself. His eyes narrowed in the rearview mirror. “Why?” I just smiled. “No reason.” He continued to study me in between still watching the road, and with a soft growl, he shook his head. “I’m not buying it. What? You’re going to tell those girls who are trying to get a picture of me?” “What’s the difference? I’ll know when you take me to your house. What’s stopping me from posting it on Twitter, or even posting your phone number?” A litany of curses spewed from him, and the back of his neck was getting red. I was having a heyday with this. It was more fun than I could remember having in a long time. Until he announced it, “I liked your mom.” “What?” “Your mom.” He moved into the far lane, settling back. I was thinking we had a bit of drive from here, and he settled an arm back on the passenger seat headrest. “I always liked her. She made me cookies and muffins. And I remember when she tried to teach us to bake cakes from scratch. You were horrible and your cakes tasted terrible, but we’d lie to you. Both of us.” “You did not—” But I was remembering, and even I hadn’t wanted to taste my cakes. A tug at my mouth. “She’d wear that ugly yellow apron. She hated that apron.” “What? I loved that apron. Always felt like it was sunshine. Made me feel warm, even in the winter.” I noted softly, “That’s why she wore it. For you.” His eyes lifted to the rearview mirror, holding mine a second again. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Yeah.” His voice came out raspy. “She was a good woman, and a good mom. She was a good wife. I could always tell.” I snorted. “Why? Because she wasn’t wasting away like yours?” Then, I winced. That sounded even bitchier to my own ears, more than I thought it would be. “Shit. I’m sorr—” “Because you guys laughed.” He kept on talking about my family, ignoring what I’d so blatantly pointed out about his own, his face hard. “My parents laughed when they were drunk, and only when they had a party. When there were other people there to laugh with, never the two of them, never the three of us. I was their only kid. I wouldn’t have known better except I half grew up in your home, too, and what I remember the most about growing up was that you guys laughed.” My throat burned. “Yeah, we did.” I looked out the window. A hollow feeling starting to dig in my chest. “Until she died. We didn’t laugh much after that.” “You laughed until then?” I nodded. I felt the chinks in my armor widening. I remembered how he did adore my mom. The two acted as if they were conspiring together during our baking lessons, and any time he was in the house. He congregated around her. She congregated closer to him. “You’re the son she never had.” Then, feeling bad about my shot at his mom, “Your mom cooked for us. I remember that one time she tried to teach us to make lasagna.” He cracked a grin, barking a laugh. “You sucked at that, too. I never knew lasagna noodles could come out hard like rocks until yours.” Fuck him, but I was grinning. I couldn’t help myself. Those were good times, good memories before the shit ones came. And they came soon after that lasagna disaster. He quieted. “It wasn’t the same. My mom versus yours. We had baking lessons at your house once a month, every first Sunday. My mom tried to teach us how to make Caesar salad, the only second cooking session she gave us, and that one we all got fine. It’s hard to screw up.” “Says you. You’re perfect at everything.” He didn’t reply. I didn’t expect him to. It was true. He knew it. I knew it. The entire nation knew it. Then from him, “Not at being a friend.” My stomach kicked. Hell no. No way. He wasn’t getting back in. No fucking way. “Oh. God.” I groaned, throwing a hand up to hit my forehead. “Can we not? Can we save the dramatics until I’m able to call a cab to take me back to my place? For real. Enough bonding or whatever it is we were just doing.” He growled, “You are such a goddamn bitch.” I retorted, “And you are such a goddamn prick. Drop me the fuck off!” “With fucking pleasure!” He gunned the engine, shooting forward in traffic, and weaving until we were nearing my exit. When he took it, I relaxed. The rest of the way was tense and silent, and I knew both of us couldn’t wait to be rid of the other. Then he pulled over to the curb. He didn’t make a move, his only action just unlocking the door. His head was turned halfway to me, his jaw clenching over and over again. Fine. I shoved forward, my head only swimming a little bit as I climbed out of his truck. Once I shut the door and turned around, he’d already hit the engine, tearing away from the curb. I only had the clothes on my back, on the side of the street, but I’d never been so fucking grateful to be away from him. Now, turning to the house I wasn’t sure I was still invited to live in, I saw that all the lights were off. Lovely.

About Tijan

Tijan is a New York Times Bestselling author that writes suspenseful and unpredictable novels. Her characters are strong, intense, and gut-wrenchingly real with a little bit of sass on the side. Tijan began writing later in life and once she started, she was hooked. She’s written multi-bestsellers including the Carter Reed Series, the Fallen Crest Series, and the Broken and Screwed Series among others. She is currently writing a new YA series along with so many more from north Minnesota where she lives with a man she couldn’t be without and an English Cocker she adores.

Connect with Tijan

Amazon: https://amzn.to/30oxe0f

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Tijansbooks/

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Reader Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/TijansFanPage/

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BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tijan

Website: http://www.tijansbooks.com/

RELEASE BLITZ: Take All of Me by Sienna Evans

Title: Take All of Me

Series: The Takers Series #1

Author: Sienna Evans

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: December 5, 2019

Blurb

Greyson
Never expected much out of life—Succeeded!
Poster boy for a brother; he claimed the badge, I embraced the bad.
My best friend’s sister is pure innocence, but somehow, I’m gonna claim Celeste Morgan.

Celeste
I’ve had enough of waiting for something, anything to happen with Greyson Michaels.
But he’s bound by a promise.
Though we aren’t little anymore.
And we don't need anyone’s approval.
We’re adults, free to make our own choices.
And I don’t see a single reason to not have Greyson Michaels take all of me!

But with the level of drama surrounding us, our story won’t ever be easy…

ADD TO GOODREADS

Purchase Links

99c for a limited time!

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt

Greyson

Seatbelt secure, I stepped hard on the peddle. The car lunged forward and the Kona Blue Mustang reached 60 miles per hour within seconds, and I continued to push the limits. I pressed the clutch to the floor and maneuvered the shifter. Instantly, the low rumble of the exhaust turned to a powerful roar. Bold lights and a vast skyline were blocked by high-rises, becoming blurred lines beyond the windshield. The closer I moved to my destination, the further I drifted from a world of darkness. With corruption looming behind me, I welcomed the light dangling in front of me.

Her light...

My flight got in late to JFK, so now I had to deal with a shitload of traffic heading into Midtown Tunnel. But then a black Yukon Denali drew down on my bumper and flashed its lights about ten times. I let the idiot have fun until we got out of there. From every angle, traffic held steady, but I couldn’t let other drivers keep me from getting to her. At 9:30 on a Friday night, I didn’t have time for this shit.

I caught a break and swerved out of the lane; the Denali followed, lights blinking like before. This was the shit, the childish shit that transferred from childhood to adulthood. And unfortunately, I knew the asshole: my brother, Detective Brendan Michaels.

Not now! Not today! I caressed the wheel, squeezing tighter than before. This was nonsense, but I wasn’t up for the bullshit tonight. So I flashed him off and kept going. Now wasn’t the time for complex family issues. Plotting out my route, I slowly began ramping up the speed.

A red SUV sat in the left lane, in front of me, while a shuttle limo tried to box me in on the right. Dropping my speed enough to force the asshole to pass, I shifted down and cut behind him, skipping over to the second lane in time to trap the idiot trailing me. This was the type of shit that always occurred whenever I made it to the city because he had connections to track me down once I entered his state and mostly importantly, enjoyed riding his younger brother. But I needed the next 2 or 3 hours, just for me and the girl that haunted my dreams.

Holding the wheel steady while keeping the pace, I said, “Call CeCe!” Saying her name nearly took my breath away. If nothing else, life thought me that first love spoiled a man for everyone else.

Thumbing the wheel and waiting to hear her shriek my name, I didn’t breathe. Honestly, I’ve faced off with some of the worse scum to walk this earth, yet she had the ability to crush me. The guys I went up against could only hurt the outer me; CeCe, on the other hand, could shred me from the inside out.

“Greyyy!” Her voice snapped me out of the daydream. “Greyyy!”

“Hey girl,” I muttered, scared like hell of sounding too anxious or desperate. I even sat up in the seat, gripping tighter on the wheel with both hands.

“Don’t tell me you’re not coming, Greyson! The last time you were in town, you promised every month. How long has it been?”

“Ce—“

“No, no you better not disappointment me!”

“I wouldn’t ever do that, CeCe.”

“Don’t patronize me, Greyson!”

“My flight was late, and I’m in traffic. Have you left home yet?” With each word, I tried like hell to slow the heartbeats.

“I’m already on my way,” she sang into the line and it took me back to when we were little kids. I could imagine her lips—the way they’d poke out, pointing at me. And when she’d tilt up her head to gaze into my eyes, looking me full on, pupils diving past the barriers most girls would be too afraid to challenge.

“I can pick you up. Need more time? Where—”

“No… No… And hell no! You’re meeting me, as planned. I need a friendly face. It’s been a long week, Grey. You owe me tonight ...” While she went on and on about my disappearing acts, I shot to the exit. Flooring the pedal, then quickly easing into a smooth stop at East 35th Street.

“Celeste, I don’t know what the hell you just said.”

She laughed and I could picture her shaking her head, swooping her long, blonde hair from shoulder to shoulder in a flirty way. I know this girl; shit, I’ve known this girl since her arguments were nothing more than whiny sentences. I’ve known her since those big, blue eyes were even bigger; when her nosey, little ass would come all the way over to my parent’s house, up the street, just to find out what I was doing so she could have something incriminating over my head at any given time. I’ve always known her likes and dislikes, even more than she’d admit to herself even.

That’s the girl I fell for.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but it did. I fell in love with my best friend’s sister, and I don’t know how to turn off the feelings because something inside of me wanted to go against a childish promise and make her mine. Ours might’ve been a perfect love, if we were different people—if she wasn’t his sister and I wasn’t the man I’d grown into.

Author Bio

Sienna Evans is a mother of two young men, lover of an incredible alpha male and writer of amazing stories with deeply passionate characters. She loves toy dogs with attitudes because she has a belief that good things come in small packages. Don't miss out on the Sienna Evans experience.

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