The Marriage Agenda by Sarah Ballance ♥ GIVEAWAY ♥ (Contemporary Romance)

There's a scandal brewing in Washington... 

Knox Hamilton wants his father’s recently vacated Senate seat, but the only way his conservative constituents are going to vote for Knox is if he loses his playboy reputation. Which means Knox needs a wife. There’s only one woman with whom he's willing to share his life, but after the way he broke things off with her, will she give him another chance?

Chloe Lochlan's job is on the line. If she doesn't grab a big headline, she'll be ousted from her gig at the major newspaper where she works as a reporter. Knox's offer of marriage chills her to the bone. He already crushed her heart once and she has no intention of letting it happen again. But being with him gives her the kind of access to top tier social events rarely granted to media, access that could land her the story of a lifetime. When the truth she uncovers threatens to destroy the man she still loves, will she bury the story...or his career?

His touch left a trail of gooseflesh over her thighs, her shivers contrasting wildly with the heat nestled against the front of his slacks. A string of profanity grazed his lips where they crept against her skin. More.

He dragged her closer, but the dress bunched around her waist and created a surprisingly formidable barrier for something so damned soft. He tugged and shoved the fabric to no avail, then finally gave up and slipped a finger beneath her panties.

Though he didn’t enter her, the barometric pressure lowered with the force of her gasp. She caught her breath enough to utter a very unladylike oath, and he had every intention of following through on that particular demand.

He withdrew to his knees, gaining an edge of control with the distance. With a laziness that belied the charge of his heart through his chest, he explored her outermost contours with soft, intimate strokes. Little sounds of contentment spilled from her lips, a breathy staccato of demands for more. Clearly, he wasn’t the only victim of this crippling desire.

She was wet and unbelievably hot, and he was an ass. When this was over and the sun pasted a morning-after glare on what they’d done, she’d want to fall in love and charge head over heels for a happily-ever-after that wasn’t on the agenda. Not his anyway. But sex…dammit.

He bit back a groan that had nothing to do with the erection that had probably by now reshaped his zipper. He didn’t have any condoms.

“What’s wrong?” Her breathless words were punctuated by the trace of her nails down his abdomen. Her dress, at this point, was little more than a belt. She hadn’t worn a bra, but she hadn’t needed one. Her breasts—perfect handfuls, each of them—were fully bared and begging for his attention. Her soft, sleek hips gripped him, framing the silken vee of her drenched underwear. He stroked her there, watching desire churn in the oceanic depths of her eyes.

“No condoms,” he muttered, fully sheathed in some sort of Chloe trance. Whatever element she possessed belonged on the krypton block of the periodic table. She vexed him, and he’d have been smart to remember that before he’d gotten close enough for all of his blood to rush south and point her way—simple instructions for a senseless man.

No condoms.

For some reasons, his words incited a riot of blush over her face. She raised a white-tipped nail to her lips. “I…uh…in my bag. You…help yourself.”

Well, hell. Good for her, but she hadn’t planned on spending her evening in his arms. Which meant Chloe was prepared for, well, someone other than him. A man she didn’t know, per her own admission. The news stung but didn’t change the fact she lay there wet and trembling and offering Knox the latex key to her kingdom.

He’d cope.

Sarah and her husband of what he calls “many long, long years” live on the mid-Atlantic coast with their six young children, all of whom are perfectly adorable when they’re asleep. She never dreamed of becoming an author, but as a homeschooling mom she often jokes she writes fiction because if she wants anyone to listen to her, she has to make them up. (As it turns out, her characters aren’t much better than the kids.) When not buried under piles of laundry, she may be found adrift in the Atlantic (preferably on a boat) or in search of that ever-elusive perfect writing spot where not even the kids can find her.  To learn more about her work in contemporary, historical, and supernatural romance and romantic suspense, please stalk accordingly.

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Share the Moon by Sharon Struth ♥ GIVEAWAY ♥ (Contemporary Romance)

Sometimes trust is the toughest lesson to learn.

Sophie Shaw is days away from signing a contract that will fulfill her dream of owning a vineyard. For her, it’s a chance to restart her life and put past tragedies to rest. But Duncan Jamieson’s counter offer blows hers out to sea.

Duncan still finds Sophie as appealing as he had during boyhood vacations to the lake. Older and wiser now, he has his own reasons for wanting the land. His offer, however, hinges on a zoning change approval.

Bribery rumors threaten the deal and make Sophie wary of Duncan, yet she cannot deny his appeal. When her journalistic research uncovers a Jamieson family secret, trust becomes the hardest lesson for them both.

Sophie glanced toward his desk, where Duncan remained wrapped up in his phone call.
The top button of his crisp white shirt was undone, visible beneath a loosened red power
tie. Cuffed sleeves, folded neatly to below his elbow, revealed strong forearms. He lifted
his gaze over the rims of his glasses. She froze.

“Hold on, Kevin.” He covered the mouthpiece. “Please. Have a seat.”

“Sorry.” Duncan returned to his call. “We’ll have to wrap this up. My appointment arrived. Anything else we need to discuss?”

He’d requested her for this interview but didn’t seem happy she actually showed up. Did he have another reason, like to retaliate for the parking lot outburst?

She approached an expensive-looking leather sofa and removed a tape recorder, pad, and pen to a teak coffee table but, on principle, refused to sit. Jay often remarked how he hated her passive-aggressive behavior. The reality of his observation came to full light with this situation.

An end table held a picture of Duncan with a pretty, dark-haired woman huddled close to two children, the backdrop some European city. Meg had said his wife passed away. Had she suffered a long illness like Sophie’s mother or was her death sudden?

“Not again?” Duncan sounded annoyed. “You’re right. Okay. I’ll send Carl this time.”

She lifted the photograph. The teenage girl appeared in her early teens and had the cute nose of the woman and her dark hair. The young boy had Duncan’s features, with brighter cinnamon hair and freckles around his nose.

The room’s silence suddenly screamed. Sophie glanced over, afraid Duncan’s angry scowl would have returned. Instead, he studied her with a softened stare. His thoughtful gaze appraised her legs, paused midway then inched the remainder of her torso with a smooth caress. He stopped at her face and those damn crystal eyes pinned hers in place. Sophie’s breath hitched.

Sharon Struth is an award-winning author who believes it’s never too late for a second chance in love or life. When she’s not writing, she and her husband happily sip their way through the scenic towns of the Connecticut Wine Trail. Sharon writes from the small town of Bethel, Connecticut, the friendliest place she’s ever lived. For more information, including where to find her other novels and published essays, please visit her at www.sharonstruth.com

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Sky's End by Lesley Young ♥ Excerpt Tour & GIVEAWAY ♥ (Sci-Fi Romance)

A secret she must never share. A secret that two warring species are determined to control. A universe’s future at stake.

Twenty-year-old Cassiel Winters joins Earth’s new space academy in hopes of finding her brother, one of Command’s top pilots and her only family, who’s been reported MIA. But she quickly realizes she may not be cut out for life in space, where female cadets are outnumbered, competition’s fierce, and she’s already failed her hand-to-hand combat test once.

Even the station’s most respected officer, Lt. Damian King, probably can’t help Cassiel pass the second time around – so why is he so interested in her progress? If only one of her freaky déjà vu visions would offer an answer instead of mysterious messages like hide.

When Cassiel’s manipulated into a perilous mission, she encounters a warrior species bred to protect the universe from an even greater threat. And she learns that her secret visions are at the heart of it all.

Now Cassiel must fight to control her own destiny and race to save her brother – even if it means pretending to be the pawn of Prime Or’ic, the cold-as-steel Thell’eon leader. Even if it means risking her life, facing hard truths, and making the ultimate sacrifice.

The explosion of adrenaline blinds, and then reveals all in vivid, clear, horrifying detail. Absolutely everything, the muted sounds, the metallic scent, the dim light, is foreign. Two unarmed Thell’eons are standing on either side of elaborate console, staring at me, dumbfounded. Holy stars are they BIG! A foot or more over most human men. At least 120 pounds each on me. Wearing sleeveless cloaks. Bursting biceps—20 or more inches wide. Shaved heads. Some kind of markings on faces, foreheads, arms, everywhere. Strikingly attractive. No really.

I was so worried they would be terrifying-looking and unrecognizable, but they resemble humans, and, yet, inhumanly perfect ones.

These two are clearly confused as they piece together what’s happened, and then, finally, appear thrilled with their find: a human female! I feel sick. I observe this unfold in their expressions as they glance at each other and then back at me, and down to my breasts and lower . . . I react on sheer instinct. I reach for my Derri, bring it up in one swift movement, and fire.

I’m not a bad shot. The key, King once told me over breakfast in Proxy, is intent. Aim, believe, fire.

I stun one, who falls with a loud thud. The other reacts, with a look of disbelief I’ll never forget, like an elephant is shooting at him, and tries to take cover behind the tall console. I manage to ray his leg, barely, damaging the console in the process. My hand’s slippery with sweat and shaking, so I clench the Derri with both hands and, moving closer, shoot him twice more, for good measure. He’s definitely out, probably for days.

Now concentrate. But I can’t feel anything! Calm down. It’s okay. You’re just in shock.

Journalist Lesley Young never thought she would delve into the world of writing fiction, but when she sat down for the first time to put pen to paper, ideas for what would become her first novel just poured out naturally. Young’s first book, “Sky’s End,” is a multi-genre tale that showcases her unique style of weaving romance, action and wit into one page-burning story.

Young was born in Edmonton, Alberta in Canada. She holds an arts degree from the University of Alberta and a journalism degree from the University of Victoria.

Young now lives in Loretto, Ontario where she works as a journalist, freelance writer and editor for health, décor and business magazines. Since 2008, Young has written more than 300 articles for print and online media including Profit, Toronto Life, MSN Green, and Elle Canada among others. She is a regular contributor to Reader’s Digest, Best Health, Canadian Living and House and Home Magazine.

Soul Mate Publishing releases “Sky’s End” on July 15 in paperback and e-book. The novel is Young’s first installment in a series about Cassiel Winters, a futuristic heroine, and her outer space escapades.

Fun Facts about Lesley Young

An astrologer told me I was born on the cusp of Leo and Virgo. What this really means is that I’m an overly passionate Type A. Ha ha, sigh.

How many doppelgangers can a girl have? I can’t tell you the amount of times people have told me, “I know someone who looks just like you.” It’s weird.

As a kid, I was one of the tallest figure skaters (at 5’10’’), like, maybe ever. Not the graceful Katarina Witt kind, either (for the record, she was “tall” at 5’5’’). Think Lurch-like. I still ask my mom, “What were you thinking? I mean, didn’t basketball cross your mind?”

You don’t want to be on a plane with me. Once, as we were waiting to pull away from the gate in Toronto, the power blew in the entire eastern seaboard. Another time, leaving Sydney, Australia, we’d flown four hours before encountering a storm that knocked out all radar. We had to turn around, fly back, stay overnight and start all over again the next day. Good times.

I would take a week in Las Vegas over a beach vacation (snooze) every time, and I’m even less lucky with cards than I am with planes.

I may be terrible at poker, but I am the Chuck Norris of checkers. No, really. Any time, any place.

My novels unfold in my mind like scenes in a movie. And I write from beginning to end, perfecting each chapter before moving on to the next.

When my husband reached into his pocket, on bended knee, and I knew for sure what was coming, the first word that came out of my mouth, in slow motion, was “Noooooo.” Fortunately, he knew me well enough to totally ignore me and continue. He’s smart and courageous.

I stopped offering unsolicited advice in my late 20s when I realized what a turnoff it is. There’s one exception: I do think everyone’s life would be that little bit better for reading True Grit by Charles Portis. It’s my all-time favorite book. I re-read it every couple of years. I laugh. I cry. I want to be a better writer.

My greatest fault: taking myself too seriously. Seriously. I’ve got to stop doing that.

I mix metaphors all the time (“Well, at least you’ve got a stick in the fire” or “You’ll shoot yourself in the leg and won’t have a foot to stand on”)—and worse, I use the wrong words in conversations at parties and even (cringe) in meetings. I blame my brain. It thinks too fast, and never before it speaks.

Actors are often muses for my protagonists. After a few chapters, though, characters take on a life of their own.

I’m paranoid about someday getting bedbugs. If I could put myself and my suitcases and my husband in a vacuum-sealed container when we travel, I would.

If I had to choose a favorite food, it would be butter (the French are brilliant—I mean, croissants). Lay’s Dill Pickle potato chips would come in a close second. And no, I don’t put butter on them. Tastes terrible.

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