Sunday, August 30, 2015

The Lost by Cole McCade


The Lost by Cole McCade

Date of Publication: August 25, 2015

Blurb

She's known it her whole life. She knows it every time she spreads her legs. Every time she begs for the pain, the pleasure, the heat of a hard man driving deep inside. She's a slave to her own twisted lusts--and it's eating her alive. She loves it. She craves it. Sex is her drug, and she's always chasing her next fix. But nothing can satisfy her addiction, not even the nameless men she uses and tosses aside. No one's ever given her what she truly needs.
Until Gabriel Hart.
Cold. Controlled. Impenetrable. Ex-Marine Gabriel Hart isn't the kind of man to come running when Leigh crooks her pretty little finger. She loathes him. She hungers for him. He's the only one who understands how broken she is, and just what it takes to satisfy the emptiness inside. But Gabriel won't settle for just one night. He wants to claim her, keep her, make her forever his. Together they are the lost, the ruined, the darkness at the heart of Crow City.
But Leigh has a darkness of her own. A predator stalking through her past--one she'll do anything to escape.
Even if it means running from the one man who could love her...and leaving behind something more precious to her than life itself.

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About Cole McCade

Corporate consultant by day, contemporary romance author by night.
Mid-thirties. Coffee addict. Cat lover. Bibliophile. Technophile. Definite sapiophile. Native Southerner. Runner. Country boy turned city suit. Shameless collector of guitar picks, vinyl records, and incense holders. Aficionado of late-night conversations over live music in seedy bars. Browncoat with a secret crush on Kaylee Frye.
Fascinated by human sociology, and particularly by the psychology of sex and gender – and their effect on relationship expectations, the culture of dating, and what it means to fall in love.
Non-smoker. The picture's just a stock photo. A rather broody, dark one for someone who isn't all that broody or dark, but sometimes forgets to smile even when he means to.

Find Cole McCade Online

Teaser

Note: This book contains material that may be triggering for some readers
PROLOGUE
"State your name."
Cold, clipped words, blending into the noise of the police station. Leigh lifted her head from a fixed study of her clenched fingers. Colors whirled around her in a lurid carnival nightmare, too bright, too blurry. On a bench on the far side of the room, a wasted and broken scarecrow woman picked at a scab on her wrist with a certain habitual listlessness, oozing diseased red-brown blood over liver spots. Her tendons were rails under her skin, and the dull gleam of cuffs chained her to the bench. She raised her head and stared at Leigh with yellowed eyes that captured her with a sort of empty, terrifying promise.
Across the desk a policewoman waited, with that compassionate impatience only a half-step from pity and shoulder-to-shoulder with disgust. Her flat blue eyes said she'd been trained to care, but couldn't be bothered anymore. Leigh swallowed and tugged her hoodie close against the tinny air-conditioned chill. Her mouth had dried to a tacky, sticky mess, gummy pills of lipstick beading on her lips, and her tongue was a bloated and useless organ, this swollen pink thing pushing pointlessly against her teeth.
"Leigh," she ground out. "Clarissa Leigh…" Her married name scratched sandpaper syllables against her throat. "…van Zandt."
"And Miss van Zandt, do you know why you're here?"
She nodded, her neck a creaking wooden puppet-hinge. "I do."
"Your family's been worried about you."
"I know."
She knew what she should do here. Bow her head in shame and contrition, maybe even sniffle. But she looked for the emotions and they weren't there; just scraps and tatters, clinging to the empty place where they belonged. She had no feeling left, hollowed out and lost and wondering how she'd ended up here. This didn't feel real. Instead it was a dream where everyone leered in fisheye close-up, their smiles all teeth and stretched red lips and manic glee. She wanted to run, but somehow she'd gone too numb to do anything but sit here surrounded by the stink of fear-sweat, stale beer, and that particular police-station smell of urine soaked into concrete for decades on end.
"What happened to you?" the officer asked. Leigh didn't answer, and the officer's pen tapped against the forms on her desk, rat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tat, Morse code for I'd rather be anywhere but here with this spoiled little runaway princess. "It's been four years. You were declared legally dead."
"That's all right." She closed her eyes with a laugh that ripped her guts up into her mouth, and buried her face in her hands. Dead. Dead.
Yeah, that was about right.
"Miss van Zandt?"
Stop calling me that.
"Miss van Zandt. I need you to focus on my voice."
Stop calling me that!
Leigh took a measured breath and opened her eyes. Her shoulders squared. The bolts on the back of the hard, ass-biting chair dug into her shoulder blades. "I am focused. I can hear you just fine."
"Eyes are dilated." The officer—her nametag read Maroni, could there be a more clichéd name for a Crow City cop—leaned across the desk, peering at her face. Then she beckoned to the aide hovering over them like a mannequin. "I've seen this too many times. Drugs and prostitution." She talked about Leigh like she wasn't even there. "We'll have to clean her up before her husband gets here."
"I'm not on drugs. I've never been on drugs."
Maroni's pen-clicking stopped. Her disbelief was a heavy thing, push-push-pushing until Leigh nearly laughed.
"You're not on drugs."
"No."
"Then what happened?"
There it was. The first hint of exasperation. Of frustration, stitched into knitted brows and the purse of lips in just the right shade of I can't be a woman, I'm a cop mauve. Because like anyone normal, anyone who wasn't fucking broken to pieces and liked being that way, Maroni needed to make sense of this. Needed to quantify it in a world where the rules worked as normal and everyone wanted to chase that dream of happiness that wasn't anything but desperation painted over of a frantic tally of things. Things of plastic, things with value created by people whose upper lips curled when they looked down at little girls like Leigh, and demanded she account for herself in sane, rational ways that made proper sense.
Sorry, Officer Maroni.
I'm not the kind of thing that makes much sense.
Maroni pushed a harsh sound through her teeth. "You had a job, a husband, a newborn son. You had a life other people would kill for, and we find you here on the streets. Were you pressured? Kidnapped?"
"No. None of that." Leigh shook her head.
"You'll have to explain, then."
"I left." She trailed off, lips parted; no words came for long seconds, until she managed, "I…I was afraid."
"Of what?" Maroni tried to catch her eye, but Leigh looked down at her hands, at her chipped pink fingernails dipped in the sparkles of shooting stars. "Miss van Zandt. If someone was hurting you, you need to tell us now so we can take appropriate steps to protect you."
"No. No one hurt me. Not like that."
"I'm afraid you'll need to be more clear. What were you afraid of?"
"Of…"
She struggled for an answer. Struggled for something this woman would accept, something that would make her sigh with sympathy and pity and relieved disdain that said there, but for the Grace of God…
But again, she found nothing. Nothing but the truth, and Leigh shrugged as she looked up at the policewoman and wondered if she had daughters who might one day be like Leigh, daughters who would cut stark red lines of fingernails in the walls of flesh that caged her in the shape of pop culture's perfect woman.
"Of the inevitable monotony of it all," she said.
And smiled.
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Saturday, August 29, 2015

Between the Notes by Scarlet Hawthorne #Promo


Author:  Scarlet Hawthorne
Title:  Between the Notes
Genre:  M/M Contemporary Romance
Release Date:  August 15, 2015
Cover Designer: Dawné Dominique

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When an underage groupie stows away on his tour bus to be near her idol, rock superstar Damon Frost suddenly finds himself facing serious charges and a federal prosecutor out for blood. He could easily prove his innocence but only by revealing the secret he has hidden in the closet for years, destroying his image as a sex symbol. 

Damon thinks a deal offered by US attorney Michael Rellman will save his reputation as a ladies man, but what will protect him from his growing feelings for the handsome prosecutor and the risk to his career?

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US | UK | AU | CA


“What are you doing?”

Damon jumped at Michael’s voice from the doorway. “I…um…” His attempt at nonchalance failed miserably as Michael walked towards him, likewise wearing only jeans, drawing Damon’s gaze to his ripped abs. “Just admiring your bed.”

As Michael curled his arms around Damon, he said, “I could admire it much more if you were in it,” then wasted not another moment before reuniting their mouths.

Chest against chest and tongue against tongue, Michael deepened the kiss as Damon relaxed in his embrace. Their lips moved in unison, but soon their hands had their own schemes—roaming over bare skin, touching, squeezing, fondling. To every movement Michael made, Damon responded. Every urge with which Damon pressured Michael, he responded. Damon’s lack of self-control shocked him as he shoved down Michael’s jeans and wrapped his hand around his gloriously hard cock. Once they both stood starkers holding each other, their mouths never ceasing their relentless pursuits, fear no longer caused his heart to race but desire. Need.

Michael grasped the sides of Damon’s head and broke the kiss, which left them with shallow labored breaths. Meeting Damon’s eyes, he said, “Let’s get into bed.”




Scarlet Hawthorne began writing short stories at the age of eight, poems at ten, and wrote her first novella – a romantic tragedy – at twelve. Today she enjoys creating characters who discover integrity and their authentic selves through their sexuality. She has been a speaker at national conferences discussing how power exchange can enhance relationships and refuting the negative stereotypes of BDSM promulgation in the media.

An award-winning and bestselling author in a variety of genres under other pen names, Scarlet was a featured author at the 2014 BDSM Writers Conference in New York City and contributed an excerpt from her upcoming romantic suspense Retrograde to the first BDSM Writers Con Anthology.

Always eager to challenge herself as a writer, Scarlet utilized a “panoramic point of view” narrative style, rarely found in fiction today, in her erotic romantic suspense Deadline.

Scarlet lives with her two dogs and their Master in a lakeside community in the New Orleans area. When not devoting herself to writing or what Erica Jong refers to as the requisite “zitzfleisch,” Scarlet spends her free time drinking wine and eating cheese, taking long candlelit bubble baths, and playing with her dogs around the lake.




Friday, August 28, 2015

This Love by Hilaria Alexander blog tour with excerpt and #Promo @hilarialexander

Title: This Love
Author: Hilaria Alexander
Release Date: Aug 4, 2015
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Running off to Amsterdam is the best decision Ella ever made in her life. In just a few months, she’s been able to put her past behind her and has found a new family and friends. She can almost ignore the voices in her head telling her this idyllic scenario is temporary.
When Lou Rivers shows up in Amsterdam, he’s the constant reminder of the life she led and the mistakes she made. As the two of them embark on an emotional and musical journey across Europe, Ella will have to face her own insecurities and make a decision that might break them apart forever.
I had never kissed with my eyes open. This was going to be my first time. It took me a couple of seconds to be completely aware of what was happening and realize that I wasn’t imagining his lips pressed on mine. I closed my eyes then, and my lips parted, searching for his tongue. I had wanted this kiss for days, and my tongue wrapped around his a little too fast, too eager.
His hands cradled my face so softly, so gently. My arms circled his neck, and I ran my fingers through his hair. His lips were silky soft, and there was a faint taste of cinnamon on his tongue from the apple tart we just had. His tongue caressed mine over and over until I was breathless. A moan escaped my mouth as he released me and he attacked me again, nibbling at my bottom lip. When he kissed me again and started sucking on my tongue, I was a goner. Heat spread under my skin, coursing through my body, all the way to my fingertips.
He stopped kissing me and released a breath. I found him looking at me with an expression of wonderment in his eyes.
I was glad it was nighttime. The way he was looking at me, had my heart hammering against my chest, and the blood rushing to my cheeks.
Maybe one day I would live to tell Lou Rivers had mad kissing skills. I’d be like one of Elvis’ many flings telling the press—decades later—how great he was. I wondered if I’d get to say we had gone out on dates.
“I’m really sorry about earlier,” he said.
“You should never follow a kiss with an ‘I’m sorry,’” I told him playfully.
“I can’t catch a break with you, can I?” he asked, chuckling.
I shook my head no, but I was smiling at him.
“Are we good?”
I nodded.
“Was it good?” he asked, leaning in, bumping his shoulder against mine.
“Oh my God! What are you, fifteen?” I slapped him playfully on the arm.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said with a smugness I hadn’t seen before.
“You know, I’m really not too sure it was that good. I can hardly remember it, already,” I teased.
“You already forgot our first kiss?” he jokingly asked, the smile on his face telling me he was enjoying this. Our first kiss. By the way he said it, it sounded like it was going to be followed by many more.
“I might need a refresher,” I answered, looking at him defiantly.
He leaned down and kissed me again. This time, things were different. Our first kiss was slow, gentle, building. As his lips claimed me, he closed the distance between us, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me to him. As his tongue kept teasing me and tantalizing me, he placed a hand around my waist, and with the other one behind my head, he dipped me slightly backwards. Show-off. I gripped his shoulders, trying to hold my balance. His body was flushed against mine, and I felt something else as well. Apparently, it didn’t take much for him to get...excited. I liked that I was the one doing that to him. His tongue circled around mine over and over, going deeper. It knocked the breath out of me. This one was an unforgettable kiss. And now I was going to want more; there was no going back.
He stopped, leaving me mid-kiss. A sigh escaped me, and as I opened my eyes, I glanced at him. He was breathing fast, and even in the semi-darkness his eyes looked wilder and even more magnetic than usual. A satisfied, lopsided grin spread on his face.
“There. You shouldn’t forget this one. I was trying to be a gentleman earlier.”
“So you were,” I replied, trying to regain control of my body.
He leaned down, gave me one last peck, took my hand, and said, “Let’s go.”
Neither of us could say a word the entire time we were walking back, but his hold on my hand was strong, and I felt like I never wanted to let it go. From time to time, I could feel his eyes on me, but I never looked in his direction, partly because I had a stupid smile I couldn’t wipe off my face. I wanted to lean into him and have his arms around me.
When we got to Johan’s, I finally looked up. Now, this was going to be awkward. How were we going to say goodbye? With a handshake, a hug, or another kiss?
Thankfully, I didn’t have time to think about it much longer, because his strong arms enveloped me and slowly pushed me backwards, until I was against the brick wall. He pressed his body against mine and my arms ran up his body, wrapping around his neck. Our noses touched first, and then our mouths were devouring each other again.
Everybody thinks they know how to kiss, but a lot of people don’t give it the right emphasis. Some guys are so rushed with it, like they are just trying to hurriedly open the doorway to your vagina. That’s one way to shut that door down for good. Guys seem to forget that kissing is the prelude to everything else. It’s the way you introduced yourself. Some guys I’ve kissed wouldn’t open their mouth enough or even give you enough access to their tongue. And they’d be so boring. After a few minutes, I was ready to be done with them. But this, the feeling of his tongue around mine and his soft full lips kissing my face and my neck...I could have kissed him for hours. Lou went from wrapping his tongue around mine to gently biting my bottom lip, and then kissing me under my chin, all the way under my ear, only to trail back up and do it all over again.
His light stubble tickled me at times, but somehow it only made me more aroused. I started shivering under his touch when he slipped one hand under my sweater, trailing all the way up to my ribcage, sliding it under my bra. He took one of my breasts in his hand and started teasing my nipple with his thumb and index finger. I grinded my hips against his while a moan escaped my mouth. I ran my fingers through his hair and started trailing kisses on his neck, sucking on his earlobe. His other hand made its way under my sweater, and they were both caressing my back and it almost seemed as if he was aiming to take my bra off. Okay, this had gone too far.
“Okay, smooth kisser,” I whispered in his ear, my voice low and breathy, “it is Amsterdam and all, but we’re still in the street, making out next to my place of employment. I’d say we have gone far enough,” I pulled away from him, holding his gaze, panting like prey running away from its hunter.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“You do say that a lot,” I teased him, mimicking what he had just told me a few days earlier.
“Just tonight, I swear,” he replied, giving me a grin that was hard to resist.
Hilaria Alexander was born and raised in the south of Italy, where her family still lives. She attended college at the Istituto Universitario Orientale in Naples, Italy, and lived one year in Tokyo, Japan, as part of an exchange student program. She now lives in Oklahoma City with her husband and kids. When she isn't at work, she is reading, catching up on her favorite TV shows and making up story-lines in her mind. She loves traveling and is a self-proclaimed concert addict. This Love is her second romance novel. She published her first novel, Prude, in January 2015.