Don’t Look at Me by J.P. Grider 💕 Book Blitz & Prize Pack Giveaway 💕 (Romantic Suspense)

This blog post contains affiliate links.  Click Here for details.

Haven:
A diligent hand carved this hole in my face.
It stole my confidence, my identity, and ended my short-lived career as a broadcast journalist.
I am now unemployed. Alone. Ugly.
And expected to get over it and move on.
Go on living life as usual—as if the world doesn’t judge the grotesquely unattractive.

Quest:
It’s been three years since I was kicked out of the Army for nearly killing the opposition’s militia commander with my bare hands.
I am now unemployed. Alone. Angry.
And expected to forget the nightmares that hold me hostage and move on.
Go on living life as usual—as if the world doesn’t judge a dishonorably discharged ex-soldier.

Don’t Look at Me is a modern-day Beauty and the Beast tale—reversed and twisted. Because even the ugly need a good story, and even the beautiful are ugly deep down.

Questions for Haven Quinn
(a character interview)

If you had a free day with no responsibilities and your only mission was to enjoy yourself, what would you do?

Drink tea and read books. Do you really have to ask?

What impression do you make on people when they first meet you? How about after they've known you for a while?

Well…BEFORE the ‘attack’ I always thought I made a good first impression. But now…AFTER…I don’t want to know what they think of me.

If you could spend the day with someone you admire (living or dead or imaginary), who would you pick?

Papa Hemingway. No, Jules Verne. No, Stephen King. No, Nicholas Sparks. No, J.K. Rowling. No…you know what? This question is too difficult to answer. Can I pass?

Do you think you've turned out the way your parents expected?

God, no. I’m sure my mother didn’t expect me to become this…this…this BEAST!

What's the worst thing that's happened in your life?

My attack, of course. I never want to relive that horror again.

What did you learn from it?

I learned that it’s what I feel about myself, and not what others think…not what Mother thinks, that matters.

Tell me about your best friend.

Marisela is theeee best! She is straightforward, gutsy, and fun. If I could be like anyone else in the whole world, I’d want to be like Marisela. I’m lucky to have her as a friend.

What would you like it to say on your tombstone?

Haven Quinn – she liked books, she liked tea, and she liked herself…let’s hope I can live up to that one.

Describe your ideal mate.

An ex-soldier with a chip on his soldier???

What are you most afraid of?

Being afraid of being judged. I don’t want to be afraid of being judged. I want to not care if someone comes to their own ugly opinion about me. I want it to only matter what I think of myself and my choices…and God. I care what God thinks.

Are you lying to yourself about something?

I was lying about something. Something my mother put into my head.

What is it?

Now, now…you wouldn’t want me to spoil my story now, would you?

(This is not the warm and cheerful Mr. Vescovi)
I drive to the bookstore, wishing I’d see Mr. Vescovi behind the desk, with his silver-white hair, stark against his olive skin. His big smile greeting me in his slightly broken English. “Mia bella, how lovely to see you today.” My heart is heavy with the longing to hear his voice one more time.
Parked out front, my stomach uneasy, the dark store adds to my grief. Undeterred, I step onto the pavement and walk up to the window. Peeking in through the glass door to see if anyone is inside, a cold chill runs up the back of my sundress. The store is dark, lifeless.
I walk to the corner of the building and take a peek through Mr. Vescovi’s display of Little Golden Books mixed in with classic children’s books such as Charlotte’s Web, Where the Wild Things Are, and The Complete Tales of Winnie the Pooh in the large window. A light is on in the back storage room, so I figure someone is probably here after all.
“Hello, hello,” I say in vain, as if anyone can hear me through the glass. Instead, I ball up my fist and knock hard on the window. “Hello. Is someone in there?”
A dark shadow appears in the storage room doorway, so I rap the glass again and wave. “Hello. Hello.”
The tall image with broad shoulders and large torso raises his hand and waves me away.
I find myself suddenly pounding the glass, going from using my knuckles to my whole fist.
I see him, rather than hear him, say something as his hand flies at me in another go-away gesture.
I don’t relent and continue rapping on the glass until the figure moves forward, revealing himself to be even larger than I’d first thought. The dark tee-shirt pulling across his chest exhibits the muscles that help contribute to his size.
“We’re closed,” he shouts loud enough for the man standing on the corner, taking a drag off his cigarette, to look in our direction.
My adrenaline high, I flap a finger toward the door, signaling for him to open it and let me in. Again, he shouts, “We’re closed.”
At this point, a pride of lions couldn’t stop me from entering Mr. Vescovi’s store, so I continue knocking until he finally unlocks the door and pushes it open an inch or two. How generous. “I said, we’re closed.” This is not the warm and cheerful Mr. Vescovi. This man may be tall, handsome, and twenty-something, with eyes the color of a Van Gogh sky and hair as black as midnight, but he is the complete opposite of his gentle-hearted predecessor.
“What do you want?” he growls, his voice is deep, charred from either years of tobacco use or a lifetime of yelling at people.
“I’m Haven Quinn.”
“I don’t care if you’re Angelina Jolie. We’re closed. Indefinitely.”
“But. I’m Haven—”
“Yes. You’ve stated that,” he interrupts.
“Your grandfather named me in his will.”
If I think that piece of information will bring out his warmer side, I am mistaken. Pushing open the door a few more inches, so he can scrutinize me from head to toe, he lets spill his assumption. “You’re a little young for my grandfather, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why else would he leave you a collection worth five hundred and forty thousand dollars?”
“Five hundred and forty thousand!” I blurt childishly. “I think you have the wrong person. Your grandfather left me an Ernest Hemingway book. One.” I doubt it's worth five hundred and forty thousand dollars.
“No,” he sneers. “It’s you. Besides that one book, he also left you my entire collection of signed first edition Ernest Hemingway books. Totaling about five hundred and forty thousand dollars. Those books are the most expensive collection he had,” he continues through gritted teeth and fluttering nostrils. “I hope you were a good lay, and it was worth it for him.”
“You don’t even know me to make that kind of assumption.”
“I know your type, gorgeous. You get by on that long golden hair, those deep brown eyes—” He eyes my body top to bottom again. “—those long lean legs. You expect the world to cater to you, and you don't care what you have to do to get what you want. Including getting old guys off in exchange for their fortunes.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” My two inch heel grinds the cement step. A stinging warmth of perspiration collides with the salty tears forming on the rim of my burning eyes. Reality hits me in an instant. Forever gone is my kind, old friend, mentor and nurturer who shared my love of books. I fling open the door and hold my hand flat against it so he can't pull it shut. “Your grandfather is probably looking down on you shaking his head in disgust. I don’t need the Hemingway book. I’m just here out of respect for a dear friend.” I turn on my heel and walk away, heartbroken for a man I’ll never have the pleasure of talking with again and maddened by a man I hope never to see again.
Not ten feet from the door, my hopes are already dashed.
“Wait.” Not even a please.
“What?” I say with just as much contempt when I turn around.
“Sorry I was rude, but a half-million dollars is a lot of money.”
He expects me to respond, but I turn back around and take a step toward my car.
“Maybe—” he shouts so I stop walking. “—we can discuss this pathetic stipulation further. When I get back from California.”
Once again, I turn to face him and sigh. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I received a phone call from a Mr. Samuel Hart saying that I was to pick up the Green Hills of Africa book that Mr. Vescovi left me. He never mentioned anything about a five hun—”
“Right. Well, there’s a bit more to it. I don’t have time to get into it right now, I gotta be to the airport in an hour, but can we meet in two weeks? I’ll bring a copy of his will.”
“Fine.” Aside from being a regular customer, it doesn’t make sense that Mr. Vescovi would leave me anything, but I can’t just ignore his grandson, rude as he may be.
“Is there somewhere we can meet around here?”
“Oh. We’re confirming plans now?”
“Unless you want me to guess where you’re gonna be.”
Jackass. “I can give you my phone number.”
He holds up his hands. “No pen.”
“Cellphone?”
“Not on me.”
What. An. Ass. “Fine...There’s a diner on route 206 in Branchville. Jumboland.”
The guy snorts. An immature ass.
“So I just need a day and time,” I say.
“Monday the twenty-sixth. 7 p.m.”
“I work in the evenings.”
“Doing what?”
“None of your business.” My voice cracks. Betrayer.
“I can find out on the internet if I really want to.”
“Be my guest.”
“Does noon work?”
“Noon works.” It goes against my nature to leave a discussion without a proper farewell, but that’s exactly what I do when I turn on my heel and leave Quest Vescovi once and for all.

   

Bound by Deception by Trish McCallan 💕 Book Blitz & Gift Card Giveaway 💕 (Romantic Suspense)

This blog post contains affiliate links.  Click Here for details.

He broke her heart. She twisted his mind. But in this game of love, nothing is quite as it seems…

Rebecca’s life is haunted by unexpected tragedies. Her lover left her when she least expected it, and her mother’s suicide took everybody by surprise. But when a recent inheritance reveals a secret, Rebecca discovers her mother’s death was actually a cold-blooded murder…

Dante “Rio” Addario swore off his irresistible ex and her web of lies 12 years ago. But the former Navy SEAL turned police detective can’t ignore Becca’s plea to re-open an old case. As he and his ex team up, they discover missing evidence, tight-lipped detectives, and the conspiracy that tore them apart over a decade ago…

With everything they believed thrown into chaos, Rio and Becca can’t ignore their reawakened desire. But if they don’t solve the case soon, the real killer may just finish the job and their love story…

Bound by Deception is the pulse-pounding third book in the Bound By series of romantic suspense novels. If you like simmering chemistry, chilling mysteries, and second chances, then you’ll love Trish McCallan’s twisty tale.

“Grab the door,” Rio said in a calm voice, his gaze flickering toward her.
“Sure.” Becca grimaced at the faintness of her voice, wishing she sounded as calm and casual as he did. But then he was probably used to being shot at—first as a Navy SEAL, then a police officer and now a detective.
Good God, his career choices practically begged for late afternoon shootouts, followed by cruising speeds of over a hundred miles an hour.
“Becca—” He shot another quick glance at the yawning abyss along her right side.
“I know. I know. The door!” She blew out an aggravated breath.
She anchored herself in place by grabbing the edge of the seat. Without looking down at the endless ribbon of black whistling below her, she leaned outside the cruiser far enough to grab the door handle. The agony pulsing across her shoulder escalated to knife jabs and volcanic lava as she struggled to pull the door toward her. When it finally clicked into place, she groaned in relief and collapsed into her seat.
Sweaty and shaky, she looked down at her right shoulder. Had the door’s impact broken a bone? Was that why it hurt so bad?
Queasy joined sweaty and shaky when she caught sight of the moist, red fabric of her blouse. Fabric that used to be white. Her gaze dropped to her right hand and the crimson beads that dripped steadily to the floor.
A broken shoulder or arm wouldn’t bleed. Would they?
She scanned her left side again. Nothing looked bent, or broken, or out of whack. It just looked bloody. Maybe the edge of the door had sliced her skin…but she didn’t see a rip in the fabric of her blouse.
High on her shoulder, though, just below the fleshy, curve, she found a blood-soaked, frayed hole in the fabric. A bullet sized hole.
Bullet wounds bled like the dickens. She knew that from the movies.

To be released March 30

For This Moment by Holly Bush 💕 Book Tour & Gift Card Giveaway 💕 (Historical Romance)

This blog post contains affiliate links.  Click Here for details.

1871 Born to privilege and duty, Olivia Gentry comes of age as women begin to find their social and political independence. The youngest child, and only daughter, of a successful Virginia horse breeding family, she has been raised and educated to carry on the family business with her brothers. Having been deceived in love as a young woman and unsure of her instincts, she is wary to commit to a marriage, but she cannot deny her long-buried feelings for a family friend.
Jim Somerset has been in love with Olivia Gentry from the moment she gazed up at him as a young girl. A farrier by trade like his father before him, he and his business’s future are inexorably entwined with the Gentry family. He has watched her be courted by statesmen, and considers her and her goals out of the reach of a common workman. But he is fearful that he will never purge Olivia from his mind and his heart. Has the moment come for him to reveal his passions for her? Find out in the third installment of the Gentrys of Paradise.

Twilight had descended, though, and she wasn’t walking into the woods, where tree cover had already made it dark. But Olivia was heading toward the woods, where she could skirt the cool edges, away from the crowds until her breathing and sense were restored. She noticed two things as she walked. The sound of human voices had dimmed, and Jim Somerset was standing directly ahead of her.

“Of all people,” she said softly.

He pushed off the tree he was leaning against and walked toward her. He didn’t stop until he was standing close to her.

“Are you engaged to him?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“What did that kiss mean?” he blurted out.

“I didn’t kiss him,” she said and looked so forlorn, so lost, that he wanted to gather her in his arms like he would a sister or brother who’d skinned a knee. But that wasn’t quite true, or even true a small amount, because he wanted to ease her to the ground and cover her body with his. He wanted to touch her face and hair. He wanted to put his lips on hers.

“At the creek when you kissed me,” he clarified.

She was silent for so long he wondered if she’d heard him or was ever going to answer if she had heard him. He was staring at her, waiting, when the tears began to roll down her cheeks and drop off her chin. The muscles in his chest contorted and twisted as he watched each tear fall. He had to force himself to breathe. Her hurt, her pain, was constricting his heart’s ability to beat and his lungs’ capacity to draw air and he understood at that moment with some clarity what poets meant by heartbreak.

   

Ella's Triple Pleasure by Anna Lores 💕 Book Tour & Wine Glass Set Giveaway 💕 (Contemporary Romance)

This blog post contains affiliate links.  Click Here for details.

It takes three men to satisfy one woman’s needs…

Single mom and massage therapist Ella Winthrop isn’t looking for a relationship. She has enough problems without risking a business that barely meets her needs. Then her world is turned upside down by three men, each offering something she isn’t prepared for—love so deep it hurts, sex so hot she’s afraid she’ll melt from the pleasure, and a future beyond her wildest dreams.

Steamy businessman Cade Jackson has it all—money, looks, a giving heart, and a dominant nature—but Ella refuses to date a client even if she’s lusted after him for a year. After his brother’s death, Garrett Winthrop moves back to town opening old wounds and even darker fantasies. Dr. Derek McGregor gives her balance and understanding that speaks to her soul. All three men force Ella to question the limits of a traditional relationship.

What is something unique/quirky about you?
Most people don’t know that when I came down with insomnia I became a writer. I read one to three books a night for more than a year when my husband suggested I put my English Literature degree to use and write my own novel. I took the challenge and began writing anytime I had a free second from homeschooling my three children.

Reading so much over the years and having a background in literature analysis and writing, I took the time during the late night hours when everyone else fell into dreamland to figure out what kind of story I had a passion to write. I love a LOT of drama. I love spicy, steamy, hot and heavy sensual bedroom scenes. I love strong secondary characters who bring understanding to why the main characters do what they do and who I can develop into a novel. And I love adding innovative twists within each story to keep readers wondering what will happen next. So, that’s what I attempt to do whether I’m writing contemporary erotic romance or paranormal erotic romance.

How do you find time to write as a parent?
Time, in general, is hard to manage. Throw in a spouse/significant other, kids, school activities, dogs, meal prepping, laundry and more laundry—I’m a mom of three teens so the laundry machine is forever full at my house—finding those precious hours to write is a challenge for anyone, even when it’s your full-time job.
So, here’s what I do. I set my hours during the week day while the kids are at school that I write/research/market. Then I set evening and weekend hours for writing around helping the kids with homework and activities, and my husband’s hectic work schedule. My husband and kids are my VIP’s, so they always come first. But, with a quality schedule managing my time, I get to have the best of both worlds—time for my family and my work.

When did you first consider yourself a writer?
Some people immediately identify as a writer. Me, not so much. Growing up, having a career as a fiction writer seemed like an impossible task. As I read more and more over the years, the process and idea became less daunting. So, when my husband suggested I write a story, I was at a stage in my life where I wanted to push all those negative thoughts away and put pen to paper or more accurately fingers to the keyboard. With his encouragement, I found my writing voice and dove in deep.
When I signed my first contract, I still didn’t consider myself a writer. I fumbled over those words. After my fourth novel was published I found myself answering “What do you do?” with “I’m a writer.” I still hesitate before I say those words, but it’s easier now. I am a writer of spicy happily ever afters.

How did you come up with the title of your first novel?
The title for my first novel, The Horse List, came about from an innocent family conversation. My daughter has a thousand normal tasks on what she now calls her bucket list. But, when she was younger, we drove home from one of her English riding competitions and she started a list of the things she needed to buy a horse. We called it The Horse List. As we listed off land, a barn, a horse, a saddle, halters, ropes, etc, my daughter threw in things like a baby sister – that ship has sailed—and gummy bears. My spicy romance writer mind began working overtime and a mature wish list blossomed which turned into a spicy erotic romance trilogy The Horse List, The Horse List Challenge, and The Horse List Unveiled.

How did you come up with the title for Ella’s Triple Pleasure?
When someone says, “What’s the title for your work in progress?” I mentally start to sweat. My hands get clammy. My heart races. I fidget. Titles are the last part of my writing process. Most of the time, I hand over a manuscript with a caveat that the title is open to change. That’s what happened with Ella’s Triple Pleasure. I was being offered a contract, but needed a real title for them to put on the document. At the time of the pending offer, I was visiting with my best friend Kelly and her husband. The panic immediately set in and they offered their incredible brainstorming help. For a couple hours, we sat on the patio throwing out title after title as options. When we decided on ten decent titles, we stopped. The next morning at breakfast, Kelly blurted out “Ella’s Triple Pleasure.” I loved it. So, thanks to Kelly, I sent in a title and my novel had a name.

Have you written any other books that are not published?
I have written a bunch of books that aren’t published yet. One of the unpublished books I’ve written is scheduled to be released this summer. Cursed to Love is the standalone sequel to my paranormal erotic romance One Night of Love. I’m excited about the werewolf and vampire series and can’t wait to bring life to more of their characters. Also, I am editing the standalone sequel to my contemporary erotic romance novel Ella’s Triple Pleasure. The super spicy sequel doesn’t have a title yet. I’m probably going to have a brainstorming session with my bestie Kelly for this one ;)

Do you believe in writer’s block?
There is always talk about writer’s block. I do believe in writer’s block. It’s got to be a thing with the amount of people dealing with it. A friend of mine once said to me about a story that wasn’t quite right, “Why don’t you change it? You are the author.” That resonated with me. Those nine words freed me to adjust my plot summary, my characters, my world at any point within the story. If I got to a point where something wasn’t working, I would, and still do, go back and find the fork in the road where things went astray. I fix it or go in another direction which seems to make the writing flow smoothly again. I know that I have the power in my story. My characters and worlds answer to me.

At most retailers.

Please double-check the price!

    

The Sheikh’s Captive American by Leslie North 💕 Book Blitz & eBook Giveaway 💕 (Contemporary Romance)

This blog post contains affiliate links.  Click Here for details.

Shiekh Tarek of Zahkim doesn’t believe in superstitions or hunches, so when an old woman tells him an angel will fall from the sky and save him and his tiny kingdom, he ignores such a prophecy—until Tess Angel crashes into his life. Literally. Now he’s struggling with an attraction to this very modern
woman—but her life is worlds away from his own. There’s no chance of a future for them, but in the present moment, he can’t keep his hands off her.

After her jet crashes, Tess Angel is stuck in Zahkim with a gorgeous sheikh, and she has a hunch they could be soulmates. But this sheikh keeps telling her he’s a rational man who doesn’t believe in true love, and while his grandmother is scheming to keep Tess in Zahkim, Sheikh Tarek seems willing to let her go on her way. Can she convince him there’s more to this world than facts and numbers—and that true love can overcome any obstacles?

PROLOGUE

Tarek Rahim watched as his cousins and friends, Nasim and Arif, leaped with a whoop down the curved steps of the Sheldonian Theatre, their academic gowns flapping behind them. He followed at a more dignified pace.
"We're free, lads!" Nasim shouted.
Tarek shook his head. Happy as he was to have completed his Oxford education, he couldn't quite bring himself to crow. Other graduates laughed and jostled around them, greeting their families, and Tarek pressed his lips together. For a moment, he could only think of his parents. Five years ago, an automobile accident had taken their lives. He wished they could see him now.
Blinking, he pulled himself back to the moment. He could already hear the rattle of shackles coming to bind him to the throne of Zahkim, inherited from his father. His grandmother, Amal, had been acting as regent until he finished his education. Tomorrow he must become Sheikh Tarek of Zahkim, and the thought wasn't appealing.
Nasim jabbed an elbow into his ribs. "We are going to party right up until we have to pour you onto the plane home. Let's get rid of these robes and head to the Sunset Lounge."
Arif chuckled. "You only want to go there because of that bartender who gives you doubles. It's amazing you got your degree, given how much attention you paid to women and drink instead of your studies."
"I had to make up for you," Nasim said, slapping Arif on the back. Tarek smiled. They did tend to give Arif a hard time about his resistance to hedonistic delights.
Tarek thumped his cousin's back as well. "Don't worry, Arif. I'm sure we can find a woman to interest you tonight. It's our last chance in England to live like the English."
An hour later, they crossed the street and headed to the upscale bar they’d made their own over the last four years. Arif had his eyes on his mobile, as usual.
"No phones tonight." Tarek plucked the device from Arif's hand and stuffed it into his own pocket. "Only friends. Who knows when we'll have another chance to do this."
"And no being maudlin," Nasim said.
Tarek straightened into a mock-formal pose. "I am a serious man, Nasim."
Nasim snorted, and Arif said, "Tell that to the first year whose shampoo you replaced with mayonnaise."
They laughed and turned toward the entrance, where chatter and laughter spilled out. The evening was descending, and streetlights flickered on up and down the sidewalk. The peculiar smell of Oxford—something not quite like sour milk—hung in the air. Tarek shivered in a cool gust of wind. He'd never become accustomed to the cold of England. He'd just reached the corner of the building when an old woman stepped from the shadows of an alley and grasped Tarek's wrist.
The woman looked older even than Tarek's grandmother. In the dim light, he couldn't see much but bright blue eyes and wisps of gray hair escaping from the black scarves swathed around her head and shoulders. A baggy dress draped her figure, and she smelled faintly of beer.
"I'll tell your fortune. Such handsome men, such tangled paths…"
"Not tonight, mother." Shaking her off, Tarek reached for his wallet. "No futures. We want only this moment."
But Nasim stepped between Tarek and the old woman. "It's the perfect night—we have only the future ahead of us. Let's hear her out."
Arif frowned and stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. "Do you really want to know? There's more to it than you realize."
Tarek pulled two fifty-pound notes from his wallet and pushed them into the woman's gnarled fist. "Find yourself some food and a place to sleep, mother. I'm not thinking about the future until I must."
She grasped his arm and pulled at him until he had to bend closer. She spoke clearly, but so softly only he could hear. "An angel will fall from the sky and land at your feet, sheikh. She will save your country, but only if you fall at her feet in turn. Trust your instincts, my son."
Tarek stared at her, but she only gave a smile and faded into the gathering night.
Nasim broke the silence with a nervous laugh. "I'm not sure what you just bought."
Tarek hunched a shoulder. How had she known he was a sheikh? Was it a guess because he looked Middle Eastern? What had she meant about saving his country? From what? He shrugged off her words. If his country was on the line, he’d trust his intellect, not his instincts.


EXCERPT 1
Both our interests? Sheikh Tarek almost sounded like he couldn't wait to get rid of her. Except he wasn't looking at her like that. Those amber eyes held a lot of heat and Tess couldn't help but respond. Sheikh or no sheikh, he was a man, and she knew interest when she saw it. She'd always been someone to follow her intuition, and right now it was telling her there'd been an instant connection between them.

EXCERPT 2

Eyes opening, she stared at him. Those eyes of his really were amazing. Tawny like a lion's eyes, the pupils so huge right now she felt she could get lost in their depths. Heat flashed over her skin and left her breathing shallow. She'd never been the type to jump into bed with any man, but something about this guy was getting under her skin.