Coming Soon

The Sinister Silhouette by Alex Grayson

Title: The Sinister Silhouette
Author: Alex Grayson
Genre: Romance Suspense
Release Date: May 25, 2018
Cover Design: Cover Me Darling
Image Credit: JW Photography
Model: Amanda Renee

 


“Luca….”

She whispers my name at night, filling my dreams with her haunting beauty. Her tormented amber eyes

beg me for something I don’t understand, and her agonizing pain becomes my own.

For years, she’s come to me, calling my name.

For years, I’ve never known who she was.

Until now….

.


“LUCA….”
The willowy feminine voice comes from behind me. I slowly turn my head first, then the rest of my body and look for the source.
Blackness. Pure and absolute. That’s all I see. Except for the tiny twinkling lights. There’s a shit ton of them. It reminds me of the times I would spend the summers with my aunt and uncle out in the country. As a kid, I would always sneak out at night and lie on the roof when the sky was clear and the moon wasn’t visible. It was my favorite time of the month, because everything was so dark, except for the stars. I’d lie out there for hours and just watch them twinkle, every so often catching one that soared across the black sky.
These aren’t stars, it isn’t a moonless sky, and I don’t fucking like this. These tiny sparks of light float right in front of me, all around me, almost like glowing specks of dust.
“Lucccaaaa….”
Warm air whispers across my ear, and I spin, expecting to find someone behind me, and still see nothing but those damn flecks of light. Squinting, I try to look past them and the darkness to see something. Any fucking thing.
Frustration grows in my stomach when nothing appears.
“Who in the hell are you?” I yell, anger deepening my voice into a growl.
My ears strain as I listen closely. All I hear is my own breathing and the slight pounding in my ears from my heartbeat. The beat only gets louder with my mounting aggravation.
“Luca.”
This time, the voice sounds rushed. It’s still whispered softly, but not the slow calling of the other two times. It’s urgent. There’s an echo too. It comes from behind me, but the echo drifts around me from every direction.
I tip my head back and snarl to the… ceiling? The sky? I have no fucking clue. “What in the hell do you want from me?”
Not expecting an answer, because I didn’t get one to my previous question, I’m surprised when the voice comes again. It’s close. So close, it almost seems like the words aren’t spoken out loud, but are just somehow in my head.
“I need you.”
My brows slash down into a frown. There’s pain in the softly spoken words, and for some reason I don’t like the emotion coming from the voice. Something sharp pierces my chest, like a dull blade slowly being sunk into my sternum, taking my breath away. I rub the spot, not understanding why the pain is there, but knowing it’s caused by the agony in the woman’s voice.
“Where are you?” My tone is gruff from the stinging ache.
“Here,” she whispers.
I whip around and still see nothing but the twinkling lights. I reach out, hoping that even if I can’t see anything, I can feel something. It’s so dark I can’t even see my hand in front of me, only the tiny lights floating by in a rush at my hurried movement.
One catches my eye off in the distance about fifteen feet from me, and I hone in on it. It’s slightly bigger than the rest. I take a step forward, then stop when it begins to grow. It doesn’t get brighter; the luminosity stays the same. It’s just the size that changes. Actually, it looks like the light is dimming the bigger it gets. Like it’s no longer a light, but a fog-like substance.
It stretches longways, getting greater and greater. I start moving toward it, but no matter how many steps I take, the same distance stays between it and me.
Something starts to form in the white haze. I squint, not really sure what it is, because it’s almost transparent now. It’s still growing, but the bigger it gets, the more it loses its solidness.
A face.
I can barely make it out through the white haze, but it’s a woman. Her features become clearer, but the more the face forms, the more it fades as well.
I take a couple of steps forward, then jerk to a halt when I remember it does me no good.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
What in the hell is this shit?
“Lucaaaa….”
The voice whispers again, and I know it’s from the translucent vision, but the lips don’t move.
The face becomes a face and shoulders, then face, shoulders, arms, and torso. Her hair flows around her, moving slowly, like it’s floating in water.
She looks at me, and the stark pain in her eyes almost has me staggering back with the force of it.
I really don’t fucking like that look. And I really don’t fucking know why. I’ve never seen the woman before. She doesn’t even look vaguely familiar. Why in the hell would her pain be my pain?
“Who are you?” I demand.
Again, her lips don’t move, but I still hear the voice inside my head. “Come to me, Luca. I need you.”
Before I have the chance to react to her words, something happens. I tense as swarms of the nearby glowing dust infuse the white mist of the woman. Her crystalline appearance starts to solidify. Her face and the upper half of her body become more visible. Her hair, which up until that point was colorless, is a deep, rich brown. It’s long, flowing to the middle of her back. Her eyes are light brown, but not an ordinary brown. They’re an unusual golden amber. I’m not sure if it’s because of her noncorporeal appearance or if that’s their natural color, but they seem to glow.
More specks of dust penetrate the woman’s form, and the more that rushes in, the brighter she gets.
She lifts her arm, as if reaching out to me, and before it registers what I’m doing, I reach out to her.
When I take a step closer, the light surrounding her shimmers brighter. This time I’m able to shorten the gap between us. I take another step, and it seems to glisten even more. I’m tall, so when I take my next step, there’s only a few feet separating us. But the brightness is now almost too much to bear. I have to squint from the sheer brilliance of it.
There’s only inches between the tips of her fingers and mine now. The pain resting in my chest intensifies the closer I get, but it’s as if there’s a force that’s pushing me toward her. Like if I don’t, the pain would be a thousand times worse. I don’t know why, but something inside me says I must go to her.
I hold my breath as the tip of my middle finger touches the glowing tip of hers. Several things happen at once. A low growl resonates deep in the back of my throat, my fingers curl into a fist and my arm drops to my side, and the fierce pain I was experiencing in my chest turns so excruciating I’d swear my heart is spilling out onto the floor at my feet.
The trifecta of feelings happens because the instant my fingertips touch the woman, her form disintegrates. The thousands of pieces of dust that make up her form fall away into space, leaving me once again in complete blackness.
I tip my head back and an angry, pain-filled roar leaves my lips at the loss of something so important.

 

 

 

Alex Grayson is the bestselling author of heart pounding, emotionally gripping contemporary romance including the Jaded Series, the Consumed Series, and two standalone novels. Her passion for books was reignited by a gift from her sister-in-law. After spending several years as a devoted reader and blogger, Alex decided to write and independently publish her first novel in 2014 (an endeavor that took a little longer than expected). The rest, as they say, is history.

Originally a southern girl, Alex now lives in Ohio with her husband, two children, two cats and dog. She loves the color blue, homemade lasagna, casually browsing real estate, and interacting with her readers. Visit her website, www.alexgraysonbooks.com, or find her on social media!

 

HOSTED BY:

 

Kandiland by T.L. Smith

Title: Kandiland
Author: T.L. Smith
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: June 19, 2018
Cover Designer: RBA Designs
Cover Photographer: Perrywinkle Photography 

 

He was forbidden, my boss and incapable of loving me.
 
People talked about him, whispered about him in passing.
 
He was the king of his town.
 
And I was a visitor.
 
I was by no means a smart girl. Never loved with my head, always with my heart.
 
That fact alone almost killed me once.
 
I should have listened the second time around.
 
But the king of this small town, had me starving. Had me craving his taste.
 
My name is Kandi, and he called me his Kandiland.
 
The king declared I was his medicine, and with each dose, he became better and better.
 
He was the perfect liar.
 
And I was his perfect Kandi.
 
Together, we were explosive, and toxic in every way.

 

 

HOSTED BY:

 

Series: Stupid Awesome Loveby Ceri Grenelle Includes: Sweet Disaster

 

Title: Sweet Disaster
Series: Stupid Awesome Love #1
Author: Ceri Grenelle
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: Sofie Hartley, Hart & Bailey Design Co.
Release Date: June 7, 2018

 

Blurb
Sophie…has stupid awesome sex with a stranger.
 
New York City summers are hot and sticky, which only makes what I’m feeling for the asshole in my new building even messier. Usually, I quietly reserve my opinions for my news articles, but when Tony argues with me, he tempts me to give in to my crazy. I yell back. He smiles. Something in me melts.
 
It was only supposed to be one time, but we can’t get enough.
 
With Tony I’m a new person, brave and unashamed. But anything between us can only be a fling. He’s offered a job in Rome. That’s good, right? With a long history of unreliable relationships, messy emotions are a complication I don’t need.
 
Tony…has a sexy new neighbor.
 
I’ve worked my ass off to climb the ladder at my company, even threw away my passion to prove I’m worth something. When they offer me a high position, I should be focused on my work. But no one’s ever spoken to me the way Sophie does. She pushes buttons I don’t know I have. Forces me to confront a dream I gave up long ago.


In two months, we go our separate ways. No hurt feelings. No misunderstandings. That’s the deal. She doesn’t need to know I’ll be playing for keeps.

 

ADD TO GOODREADS

 

Pre-order Links
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
B&N / KOBOiBOOKS

 

Excerpt
Chapter One
Sophie moves into a new building. There are sexy assholes.
The first time we argue, I feel alive. I’m sweating, my blood’s pumping, and my hair is sticking to my face in the stinking New York City humidity. I don’t know what life really is until some asshole starts screaming at me to move my van from his spot, because it feels so damn good to yell right back at him.
“Get your U-Haul out of my parking spot!”
This guy’s hollering at me from across the street.
“Excuse me?” I call back, convinced he isn’t speaking to me. No one ever yells at me. I’m unassuming and introverted. I’m a wallpaper ninja, blending so well people can’t even find me to yell at me.
But the guy across the street sees me, clear as day.
“Are you deaf?” he yells with slow and exaggerated articulation. “Get your damn moving van out of my spot.”
I’m not the type of person to engage in a verbal fight. I’m quiet-even when someone pisses me off. I roll with the chaotic nature of my beautifully harsh city: a strand of seaweed in the ocean, riding the tides. But after surviving the day from hell, only to
be accosted by this bear of a man? I fight back, like I never have before.
 “Last time I checked there are no spots assigned to people on this block, or anywhere else in Brooklyn.”
“It’s an unwritten rule.”
I mimic his earlier tone, hitting every consonant and unleashing my New York accent to embellish the attitude. “If you couldn’t tell, I’m moving into the building and
there’s an actual written rule that if I double-park the U-Haul, I’ll get a ticket.”
“That’s not my problem, baby.” He steps into the street, waiting for a break in traffic to cross. “Find a new spot.”
I nearly drop the moving box in outrage before remembering it has wine glasses mom sent from Napa. Breaking them would be a crime. I’ll need them before this shit day
is over, especially after getting a look at the man charging at me like a bull chasing red.
As he crosses the street I expect to see a guido with a beer gut, and while I imagine he’s got a decent percentage of Italian heritage, there sure as hell ain’t no beer gut.  Instead I’m greeted by a fit and trim physique, tanned skin, and biceps I could drool over. The muscles in his arms tense and roll with every word, every wild gesticulation. He levels with me on the sidewalk and removes his sunglasses, revealing dark eyes flecked with gold. He’s shockingly handsome—like runway model handsome— combined with the grittiness of a rock star and the best parts of a native New Yorker. I’m wearing the tank top I slept in last night, a ratty old sports bra, and shorts I haven’t washed for two weeks.
This day is the pits.
“Because of your stupid van, I had to circle the surrounding blocks for twenty minutes to find a spot for my pickup truck. A paid, limited-parking, spot.”
“How is your poor car choice my fault? Who in their right mind has a pickup truck and lives in Brooklyn? You’re just asking for endless nights searching for parking.
What do you do when it snows?”
The challenge in his eyes is like a book I have to devour. One flexed bicep, an arched eyebrow, and I’m hooked.
He shoots a disparaging glance at my van before asking, “You’re moving into this building?”
He points at my new place.
I’ve propped the outer foyer door open and there are boxes preloaded onto a dolly at the top of the stoop.
“No.” I lay the sarcasm on thick. “I’ve come here to unload this van with the sole purpose
of pissing you off. I thought, ‘who in all of New York can I make the most miserable today?’ ” I raise one arm in a fist pump. “I won!”
His eyes widen like he can’t believe I’m not backing down, and I might be hallucinating from the heat, but I swear I catch a smile before he starts laying into me again, our voices getting louder and louder.
“I don’t care what you’re doing; I need this spot for my truck, and you need to move.”
“I will move my truck when I’m good and ready.”
“You’ll move now.”
“No.”
“No? That’s it?”
“That’s it?” I repeat, dumbfounded. As if the world revolves around this asshole’s giant ego. “I’ll tell you what’s it. It’s
ninety-eight degrees outside. I had to take a day off work to move because the management company of this stupid new building insists I move one week after signing the lease, much to the dismay of my boss, who was kinda pissed I didn’t
come in today.”
He opens his mouth to speak and I cover it with my hand, unwilling to break my stride. I haven’t unloaded like this in years.
“And then the rental company loses my reservation for the van, and proceeds to send me to two consecutive branches ’till I found one that has the size I reserved. Two branches.
His eyes narrow as he crosses his arms, but he doesn’t stop me. I’m on a damn roll, releasing pressure built by an awful day, and years of containing my opinion to the written word. I keep my hand on his lips, not because it feels nice or
anything, but because I need to get this off my chest and he’s the unlucky bastard who’s gonna hear it. Not even an introvert of my level can keep it cool
after the shit storm of my day.
“The Task Rabbit guys I hired to load the truck were an hour late and on the drive over no less than three cabbies-three-cut me off on the bridge, and I’m pretty sure I heard one of my boxes fall over and break as I swerved to get out of the way. And now, to put the icing on a great big turd of a cake, a
loudmouth jackass is ordering me to move my van after getting a spot directly in front of my new building. He wants to shit on the one good thing that’s
happened to me today. You want to know what’s it?” I’m panting it’s so hard to get the last words out.
“That’s fucking it.”
I’ve lived in various spots around New York City my entire life but until this moment I’ve never adhered to the loud-mouthed-I-don’t-need-a-filter culture. With this guy and his amber-streaked hair and gold cross around his neck-I let go of all my insecurities and worry over what people will think and just let it fly. Over a parking spot, of
all things.
A freakin’ parking spot.
When he takes my hand away from his mouth, cradling my wrist with an almost shocking tenderness, making my skin itch, I ask, “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
My yelling draws the attention of passing pedestrians. I think I see a smartphone or two recording us. He sees them too, a frown pulling his features into severity. It
transforms his smooth edges into a creature of rougher origins, a true piece of him I find both unnerving and intriguing.
 “I think I’m the guy who needs you to move your van, so I can park my pickup truck here, in the only spot on this block
that fits it.” His voice is low, but there’s a definite heat behind it. Whether it’s the same annoyed tone from before or something new I can’t tell, and after the scene I just made, I don’t think I want to know.
He’s still holding my hand, swiping his thumb back and forth across my wrist.
“Do you verbally attack every unsuspecting person who parks in your spot, or am I just lucky?”
“Baby, you don’t know what lucky is, but I’d be more than happy to show you.”
That might be a warning or a come on…or both.
I advance on him, my bravado knowing no ends today. “Don’t call me baby, asshole.”
He matches me step for step. “Till you move out of my spot, I’ll call you what I want, baby.”
I want to kick him, but the way he says baby flashes through my body like a heat wave. A
deliciously sexy heat wave.
Actually, I should kick myself to get my good sense back.
His hand is still holding my wrist. I’m starting to think I don’t want him to let go.
 “Why don’t you go cool off with a walk around
the block, go pump some iron, take some steroids, or do whatever it is you guido types do.”
“You say guido like it’s a bad thing. Where are you from that you can cast aspersions on my character?” He laughs when my eyebrows shoot up, casually leaning toward me
as if I didn’t just spit my entire day up on him.
He finally lets go of my wrist, and I feel the loss of his heat, even in the humid air.
 “Guidos know big words too, baby.” God, why does fighting with him feel so good? I should want to smack him, and I do, but having his lips so close to mine makes me want different things. Sinful, sexy, and dirty things.
“You perpetuate that stereotype yourself. You’re doing it now, yelling at me like an Italian thug.”
His hand clutches his heart. “You wound me, baby. I should take you inside, throw you over my knee and teach you a lesson.”
His immodest threat makes me blush, but not because I’m scandalized, but because now I know I kinda want it. And God, he sees it. He sees the shift from anger to lust. He sees my skin flush in color from something other than fury, and he
grabs hold.
 “You can’t tell me to move the van,” I say before he can interject with another baby.
“I can tell you whatever I want; it’s up to you to behave and actually do it.”
“Who says I need to behave?”
“The laws of decency.”
“You’re screaming at an innocent woman like a madman, and you have the balls to call me indecent?”
“I have balls for many different scenarios. I keep them in a velvet-lined drawer and take them out when such occasions arise.”
Don’t laugh. Don’t fucking laugh. I open my mouth to start another round, but before I can get a word in His Almighty
Dickishness turns on a dime and flashes a roguish grin, the asshole gone in a flash. The result is devastating. His body is all fully-grown man, but his smile is whimsical and childlike, more open than what I’m prepared for. I was raised on cynicism and sarcasm. Pure honesty is alarming.
“Listen, the longer we stand here, the hotter and crankier I get. I’m gonna speed this up for us. What floor you movin’ into?”
“Why?” He runs his hands through his hair, seeking an outlet. I know the feeling; I’m as jittery as kid with A.D.D.
“I’m gonna help you move so you can get your ugly van out of
my way.”
His offer, combined with the sudden change in his demeanor, throws me so far off balance I answer without thinking, “Third floor.”
“What a coincidence. I’m on the fourth. Welcome to the building. C’mon, baby, show me what you need moved.”
“You live here?”
“Yes.” He peers into the van, seeing all the boxes and furniture pieces I could cram into it.
“Were you gonna move that loveseat by yourself?”
“You live here.” I point at my new address, making it obviously clear which building I mean because I need to know absolutely, without any doubt, that the man I’ve just screamed at, like a an unashamed weirdo, like I’m never gonna see him
again, lives one floor above me.
“At this building.”
 “Yes. This building.” He grins, his teeth accompanied by a sparkle.
It is singularly unfair that a man so annoying can be so profoundly attractive. He’s checking all my boxes. Which only makes me angrier.
“I don’t need your help.” What I don’t need is this big gulp of man in my apartment.
“I’m stronger than I look.”
He sighs, leans against the hated van with his arms in his pockets. Unassuming. Harmless.
Ha!
“I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”
I dip my chin and stare at him with an eyebrow arched in sarcastic doubt.
“Okay, I am sorry I made your day harder. Let me make it up to you. Let me help you move in.”
He doesn’t wait for me to accept, of course, just turns back to the open van, eyeing it like a mountain to be climbed.
“What do you want moved first?”
He’s genuine. He’s actually offering to help me, after spending a good twenty minutes making an ass of himself by demanding I move for his benefit. And all of sudden he’s helping me, like this is who he was all along. Like I’m not the only one who’s had a shit day.
“How about the ones labeled kitchen? That’s the best room in my apartment.” he chuckles to himself. I figure it must be an inside joke until he proves he’s gotta have the single most massive ego in all of Brooklyn. “It’s only the best due to my superb cooking. Do you like linguine?”
“Yes,” I mumble automatically, unable to deal with the shift in his demeanor. I’m practically out of breath from hollering at him, and my body is on a knife’s
edge, tempted by this hunk of man, and he’s talking about fucking linguine.
“Baby.” There’s that word again.
“You haven’t had linguine till you’ve had my
linguine.”
Oh, I want his linguine.  Without another word he gathers two boxes, one on each shoulder. He looks like a textbook illustration of an ancient Roman hauling cement blocks to build a great structure.  He catches me staring and winks.
I will not let Lord Linguine show me up. I will prove I can do this by myself, and maybe that will make him go away. I grab a box, then another, and another, balancing them and forcing myself to smile. These boxes weigh nothing. I’m not killing myself in the heat to prove anything. I perform heavy lifting on a regular
basis.
“You got-
“I’m fine,”
I grunt, hobbling up the steps to the building, the weight of the boxes turning me slower than molasses.
The elevator is out of order-don’t cry, don’t cryso it’s pointless to use the dolly. We’re forced to take the stairs.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Stop asking me,” I grunt.
Christ, this hurts so much. I’m going to die. My knees will break, and I’ll crumble in on myself, forced to listen to Lord Linguine laugh as he steps over me.
My foot catches on the top step, and the boxes start to tumble. Before I can even cry out, he’s there, deftly placing his boxes down to help me, making sure I don’t fall. One hand on my waist, the other supporting the three boxes.
“Thanks.”
The adrenaline from the near fall pulses through my veins as I look up at him. We’re close, barely a breath apart, and I can’t catch my breath. I can’t stop looking into his eyes.
Is it possible for a man’s gaze to smolder and shine at the same time?
“You’re welcome.”
He sounds normal, no longer filled with false bravado, almost kind.
“What would my Ma say if I let you land ass up?”
There’s the idiot I’ve come to know.
We make it to the third floor, and I almost collapse when we reach my door.
“Is it unlocked?” Linguine asks, shuffling in front of me.
“Yes.”
He slides the door open, sets the boxes in the kitchen where I direct him to, as if they’re light as a feather, then comes over and takes all three of my boxes
away. He doesn’t so much as grimace from the weight, and I hate him more than
ever.
“Let’s take a break-
“Shut up, there’s still more.” I ignore his deep chuckles as we go back to the van.  I don’t repeat my earlier folly, but I make him carry the heavier stuff to pay him back for being so smug. He doesn’t complain, just lugs another two boxes onto his shoulders and places them where
I tell him.
I trail behind him each time we go back down the stairs to the first floor. His back muscles flex with every step, on display through the thin, white tank top. It’s a nice view, and I don’t stop myself from raking my gaze down his waist to what
I can only describe as the most delicious bubble butt ensconced in pants tailor-made for his ass.
He faces me once he hits the sidewalk, a self-satisfied smirk highlighting a mouth and cheekbones I’m slowly starting to obsess over in my head, and I think he knows
I’ve been looking. I don’t care. I’m taking full advantage of the view while I can, except when he calls me on it.
“You looking at my ass, baby?”
“No,” I say too quickly, cursing my lack of finesse.
“I can feel your eyes on me.”
“You’re hallucinating.” We get to the van, and I’m surprised by how little is left to move.
“Don’t worry, I’ve been looking at yours too.”
“You son of a-
“I’ve got time for one more trip,” he says, his arm brushing mine as he reaches for more boxes.
Electricity shoots through my body. Our eyes meet. He licks his lips. I can’t have him in my apartment anymore, filling it up with his raw energy and body so beautiful I’ve come to appreciate it for the work of art it is.
“You can stop right now, I didn’t need your help when I started, and I don’t need it now.”
He ignores me, grabbing another two boxes.
“I said I don’t need your-” He grabs two more boxes and runs up to the building, like a puppy stealing a shoe, trying to instigate a play session. Except this is a grown man who I can barely look at without thinking dirty thoughts. “-what a freaking asshole…
We’re in my apartment again, the space getting smaller and smaller with every second I’m near him. We’re so close to each other, yet a million miles away.
He sets the boxes by the entrance and runs his fingers through his hair as he straightens from a crouch, his slacks stretched taut over muscular thighs.
His hair looks soft. Does he highlight it to get that color? Beautiful amber streaks piercing through pitch black.
I push my hands through my curly, pixie-length haircut, mussing it up to distract myself. I gnaw at my bottom lip and press down till I feel a pinch, a reminder not to stare at him. It’s just so damn hard. He catches me looking again, and I glance away, coming down from the high of strong emotions and physical exertion. But it’s not enough. I feel anxious and incomplete, like I’m missing something.
Like whatever is passing between us isn’t over.
“I’d say thank you, but I don’t think you helping me makes up for your dickishness earlier.” I shrug, unrepentant.
He doesn’t move, just keeps looking at me as his hands slowly lower. No other response. My heart beats a little faster when he licks his lips, and wet heat that has
nothing to do with summer humidity blooms between my legs.
 “You can go now.” I don’t really want him to
go. I want him to stand in the middle of my apartment, so I can stare at him a while longer. The last time I was near a man so beautiful was for an article I wrote on the trials of the male model life. Those guys are paid to be gorgeous,
but they’ve got nothing on Lord Linguine.
He nods, as though he hears and understands, but makes no moves to leave. He just keeps looking at me, and now he’s touching his bottom lip with his thumb.
Dear Lord, his mouth is sumptuous. No, not just sumptuous. It’s fat and thick, made more tantalizing by the way it plumps whenever he bites down.  Who is this guy?
He’s been carrying my heaviest boxes up and down the stairs without a drop of perspiration, like some Greek god. I’m sweating worse than a roasted pig and am most likely still flushed and red after our argument-thanks, Irish coloring. My clothes are wrinkled and gross, and I can’t recall if I brushed my teeth this morning.
But I know the look he’s giving me, like there’s nothing in the world he wants more. It should scare me. I don’t know him at all, and yet…and yet…that itch in my skin is all from
him. One argumentative word from my new neighbor and I’ve unleashed more personality on the world than in the past five years.
Male desire emanates from his gaze like the sun at high noon; no doubt I’ll get burned if I don’t protect myself. I would usually feel uncomfortable, wary even, if someone I don’t know keeps staring at me like he does, but after spending the last hour with him—feeling his hand on my back when I nearly missed a step on one of our ascents, staring at his ass, watching his muscles tense and roll with every step, watching his lips like my
favorite TV show—all I feel is an intense need.
The realization slaps me in the face so hard I nearly take a step back.
I want Lord Linguine. I want his beautiful body covering mine. I want his lips on places that haven’t felt the touch of a man in longer than I care to admit. I want him inside me. I want him to use my body till I’m wrung out and this awful day is erased.               
But all I say is, “See you around the building.”
Again, no response, just staring, with the occasional lip licks or flickers of his gaze. He’s looking at my body the same way I’m looking at his. Seeing him want me
only makes me want him more. 
Proof of his humanity shows as moisture drips down the side of his tanned face, tripping
over a thin layer of manicured stubble. Shit, he’s beautiful, in a brutal, New York City way. And considering the way he shifts, his tight-fitting trousers stretching taut, a long hard line now highlighted at the front of his pants,
I’m pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing about me.
I bite my bottom lip deliberately to see what he does. He watches the move then finally speaks. His voice is as far from the riotous nature of our initial encounter as
it can get.
“I could stay, help you unpack some stuff.”
I nearly prevaricate, but decide to stick to honesty. We both know what’s happening
here.
“That’s not what would happen if you stayed.”
“It’s your choice. If you don’t want me to stay, I’ll leave. We’ll nod at each other as we pass in the hallway, like this was an unremarkable encounter. We’ll go back to being strangers. I don’t want that, but I promise I’ll leave if you do.”
“Oh, now you care what I think?” Stalling. Stalling, I am so stalling.
“I’ve been hanging on your every word for the past hour, and in no world would I ever want to make a woman uncomfortable, so
yeah, I care a whole fucking lot.” His body is tense, practically vibrating, yet he stays put. Waiting for me.
“Tell me what you want, baby.”
Do I want what he’s offering?
“I’ll make you feel so good.”
Uninhibited sex between strangers?
After the day I’ve had?
He takes a step forward. We’re nearly on top of each other now. My hands itch to touch him. “Say yes.”
Fuck yes, I do.
 “Yes.”
Author Bio
Ceri is the author of quirky and sexy contemporary romance
novels. She has a major weakness for sappy cuddle moments as much as hot and steamy sex scenes, and a penchant for writing snappy and sarcastic dialogue.
She loves romance that isn’t afraid to be awkward and uncouth, and thrives on flawed characters with big hearts.
 
A New York native, Ceri now lives in California with her two
cats, Mercy and Eugene Fitzherbert, who should be very thankful she didn’t name him frying pan. She is a proud functioning introvert and lover of all things geeky. You can find her haunting the Twitter machine or posting pictures of her
ridiculous cats on Instagram.
 
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The Right Stud by Ilsa Madden-Mills & Tia Louise

 

Title: The Right Stud
Authors: Ilsa Madden-Mills & Tia Louise
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Cover Design: Shanoff Formats
Photo: Wander Aguiar
Release Date: June 4, 2018

 

Blurb
Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills and USA Today bestselling author Tia Louise are back with an all-new romantic comedy filled with Southern sass and steamy scenes that will have you laughing out loud and fanning yourself. Pour the sweet tea and get ready…
 
“The best way to get over your sh**ty ex-fiancé is to get under a shiny new stud…”
 
As soon as Mr. Tall, Blond, and Handsome walks into that bar, I know he’s the hook-up I need to get over stupid Cheater Kyle.
 
A few stolen kisses in a dark hallway, and I’m pretty sure we’re headed for a home run—until he disappears without a trace.
 
Whatever.
Men are all snakes in the grass, and I don’t need a new one anyway.
 
I resolve to forget about his perfect lips (and chest of steel) and instead focus on turning my Granny’s old beach house into a profitable B&B.
 
What I don’t expect is for him to show up the next day in my kitchen!
 
You see, my sexy mystery man is none other than Jax Roland, the drop-dead gorgeous home improvement star of The Right Stud, and he’s got an offer I can’t refuse.
 
With a suitcase in one hand and a hammer in the other, he wants to move in and renovate my old house while he films his new show.
 
But my roommate has secrets, and they threaten to rip our blossoming friendship—and possible love—apart.
 
When push comes to shove, is Jax really The Right Stud or is he just another nail in the coffin of love?

 

ADD TO GOODREADS

 

About the Authors
Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills and USA Today bestselling author Tia Louise are not a secret duo, but simply themselves.
 
Great friends, former English teachers, and southern gals in real life, they’ve teamed up to bring you laugh-out-loud naughty romances with strong leading ladies and sexy alpha males who know how to please their women—and who sometimes you just want to slap.
Authors Links
ILSA MADDEN-MILLS

TIA LOUISE

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The Perfect Mistake by Sophia Karlson

Title: Perfect Mistake 
Author: Sophia Karlson
Genre: Contemporary Romance/Suspense
Release Date: June 6, 2018
Cover Credit: Debbie Taylor from http://www.dcagraphics.com

 

Simone Levin had a dream job as a safari pilot until an unexpected pregnancy clipped her wings. Tired of juggling motherhood with her demanding flight schedule, Simone applies for an office job, unaware that her new boss is Carlo Carlevaro, the man who’d ditched her before finding out he’d knocked her up. Carlo returns to East Africa only to kill another fire—Ivory trafficking from his lodges threatens to destroy his company. Finding Simone back on the payroll comes as a pleasant surprise. As his employee, Simone is off-limits, but she is the only one he trusts to help with his undercover investigation. With time running out, Simone and Carlo strive to expose the trafficking ring, but working together rekindles their mutual desire. When Simone is implicated as a trafficker, revealing her daughter’s existence to Carlo seems inevitable. Acting on her instincts might come too late as the syndicate retaliate and hone in their threat. Will they survive to give their love a chance?

 

Simone went to stand next to him. “Why am I here?”
He turned to her. The dark shadows under his eyes were somehow more accentuated in the play of lamplight than in the bright sunshine. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”
“Where do you suggest? The guests are bound to arrive soon and you know we can’t walk around by ourselves after dark.”
“Come to my room.”
She inhaled sharply, her hands clenching into fists. “Is that why I’m here? Do you really think–”
With a soft groan, Carlo curled his fingers around her arm and pulled her onto the deck, away from the other people sitting in the lounge. “To your room then,” he whispered, “although I much prefer mine. And no scenes, if you please.” His hand was a ring of fire around her arm, propelling her to the wooden walkway.
He walked next to her but let go of her arm.
A few steps from her tent she stopped. “I don’t care who hears this. If you think we’re going to carry on where we left off four years ago you are very much mistaken.”
He didn’t blink an eye. “You seem to be singularly one-track-minded, Simone.”
Heat rose to her cheeks; it spread down her chest to her treacherous heart, which pounded at the thought of him. Why was he still able to do this to her? Being alone with him was the worst possible idea.
“Well, if not for that, why march me to my tent as if you would have your way–”

 

“You may still be devilishly tempting, Simone, but now that I’m your boss you’re completely off limits.”
Sophia Karlson has lived in France, Germany, Tanzania, Madagascar (not the movie, the country!) and now finds herself back on home ground in South Africa. As a teenager, she devoured romances with far flung settings, loving to travel through books. After school her itchy feet took her around the world, but now she doesn’t get much further than the school run and the daily walk with her very demanding beagle, Phoebe. She writes contemporary and erotic romance, wanting to take readers on a journey of their own. She loves hearing from readers, follow her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sophia.karlson.5, Twitter: @SophiaKarlson, on the web at www.sophiakarlson.com.
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Series: Iron Orchids by Danielle Norman Includes: Enough, Almost, Impact 📖All Reviewed📖 & Often (Coming-Soon)

Title: Often
Series: Iron Orchids #4
Author: Danielle Norman
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: Najla Qamber Designs
Release Date: May 31, 2018
Blurb

Difficult roads often lead to beautiful destinations…

 
He wore suits and I wore biker boots.
He went to university and I went to trade school.
He lived in a big home and I lived in a tiny apartment.
 
When my world was turned upside down, he took me in his arms and promised to help me find a new direction. Now I’ve lost my job, been separated from my friends, and any day an eviction notice was bound to show up.
 
Unfortunately, my journey was tougher than he had imagined.
When nothing goes right, look who’s left.
Pre-order Links
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Only available on iBooks until May 31, 2018
Also Available
📖All Reviewed📖

 

Only 99c!
 
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
 
Free in Kindle Unlimited
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited
Author Bio

 

Before becoming a romance writer, Danielle was a body double
for Heidi Klum and a backup singer for Adele. Now, she spends her days trying to play keep away from Theo James who won’t stop calling her or asking her out. 
 
And all of this happens before she wakes up and faces
reality where in fact she is a 50 something mom with grown kids, she’s been married longer than Theo’s been alive, and now get her kicks riding a Harley.
 
As far as her body, she can thank, Ben & Jerry’s for
that as well as gravity and vodka. But she says that she could never be Adele’s backup since she never stops saying the F-word long enough to actually sing.
 
Danielle writes about kickass women with even better shoes
and the men that try to tame them (silly silly men).
Author Links

 

Cock Tales by Bestselling Authors

cocky-final (2).jpg

Cocktales, a limited-release anthology of original, never before published material, from some of your favorite bestselling authors is coming May 26th!

Cocktales Anthology

Publishing Date: May 26th

Cover Designer: CD Reiss

Each story was specifically written for this anthology.

The goal of the Cocktales Anthology is to raise funds to fight against obstruction of creative expression. Specifically, what we believe are obstruction attempts through the trademarking of common (single) words for titicular use in books / or as a book series (eBooks, print, and audio).

Cocktales will only be available May 26th-August 26th.

Pre-order your copy today

Amazon

iBooks

Nook

Kobo

Google Play

Add to Goodreads

Contributing Authors Include

Nana Malone, USA Today Bestselling author – Foreword

Dylan Allen – ‘Cocked and Loaded’

Jana Aston, NYT, WSJ, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Double Cocked’

Whitney Barbetti – ‘Cocksure Grin’

Author Sawyer Bennett, NYT, WSJ, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘A Wicked, Cocky Plan’

K.f. Breene, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Magical Cock and Bull’

Ruth Clampett, Amazon top 20 Bestselling Author – ‘Don’t Get Cocky’

L.H. Cosway, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Illusionist Seeks Neanderthal’

Mariah Dietz – ‘Landmines’

Amy Daws, Amazon Top 25 Bestselling author – ‘Cock and Balls’

BB Easton, Amazon Top 100 Bestselling author – ‘Cocky BB: Two Boys, One Prom.’

Jaymin Eve, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘The Cockier the Dragon, the Harder They Fall’

Emma Hart, NYT and USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Tricky Bond’

Staci Hart, Amazon Top 10 Bestselling author – ‘Cockamamie’

Jessica Hawkins, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Cocky Couture’

Julie Johnson Amazon Top 100 Bestselling author – ‘Culinary Cock-Up’

Karpov Kinrade, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Crimson Cocktail’

Adriana Locke, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Swag’

Lex Martin, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Love & Hate at the Stallion Station’

Aly Martinez, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Going Down’

Katyi McGee – USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Cocksure Co-Star’

Corinne Michaels, NYT, WSJ, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Cockblocked’

Liv Morris, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Getting It Up’

Red Phoenix, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Her Cocky Russian’

Daisy Prescott, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Confessions of a Cockblocked Wingman’

Jessica Prince – ‘A Cocky Corruption Engagement’

Meghan Quinn, Amazon Top 20 Bestselling Author – ‘Fight or Flight’

CD Reiss, NYT and USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Cocky Capo’

Penny Reid, WSJ and USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Beard and Hen’

Julie Richman, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘The Color of Love’

Aleatha Romig, NYT, WSJ, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Aligned’

Kennedy Ryan, Top 40 Amazon Bestselling author – ‘All’

Kylie Scott, NYT, WSJ, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Short Story with Mal and Anne from The Stage Dive Series’

Sierra Simone, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Until the Cock Crows’

Tara Sivec, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Chocolate and Cockup’

Kate Stewart, Amazon Top 30 Bestselling author – ‘The Golden Sombrero’

Leia Stone, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Cocky Alpha’

Karla Sorensen – ‘Tristan & Anna: A Bachelors of the Ridge short story’

Rachel Van Dyken, NYT, WSJ, USA Today Bestselling author – ‘Cocky Mafia’

April White, Amazon Top 100 Bestselling author – ‘Code of Conduct’

CT_PO1

*ALL* net profits will be donated to:

Authors already impacted by creative-obstruction (10%), and Romance Writers of America (RWA) (90%) as a general donation intended for their Advocacy Fund.

*Disclaimer: This anthology is not being conducted on behalf of RWA, nor does RWA endorse this anthology or effort. They have, however, graciously agreed to accept the funds.

For more information, visit: https://www.cockyauthors.com