Cover Reveal: Ways to Go

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Title: WAYS TO GODisplaying WaysToGo-FrontCover.jpg

Author: Katrina Marie

Genre: New Adult Romance

Cover Designer: KP Designs


When Jake walked into the tattoo shop Life in Ink, he had no idea his life was about to
change. This time for the better. After his girlfriend left him and decided to raise their daughter
with another man, Jake walked away to put the pieces of his life back together.

Charleigh knows she has what it takes to be the best artist in her uncle’s tattoo
shop. If he’d only give her a chance. When Jake walked into the shop, she’s not
sure why he gets under her skin. But he does, and she doesn’t like it.

Jake has to overcome his fear of living in his parents’ shadow and finally stand up to them,
with Charleigh by his side. But Jake isn’t sure he’ll be able to push aside his
jealousy and raise his daughter. Will his pride get in the way? Or will he finally become the man
he wants to be

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Expected publication: April 19th 2018

Read the Other Books in the Taking Chances Series


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Katrina Marie lives in the Dallas area with her husband,
two children, and fur baby. She is a lover of all things geeky and Gryffindor for life. When
she’s not writing you can find her at her children’s sporting events, or curled up
reading a book.

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Book Blitz, Teasers, and Giveaway: Wild Pride


Wild Pride
Kristen Banet
(The Kingson Pride #1)
Publication date: October 20th 2017
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance, Urban Fantasy

Twenty-three year old Riley Stern has lived in Wild Junction for two years, cultivating a mediocre life that she is content with. Just content. It’s nothing special, but it’s hers.

Then five locals move back into town after disappearing a decade before: the boys of the Kingson Estate. They have reputations that Riley needs to avoid, but they are sexy and powerful in ways that draw her to them. Then they tell her she’s only half-human and make her an offer she doesn’t want to refuse: join the pride, become part of the family, and learn everything about what she is.

Too bad her body wants much more than to be part of the family.

Too bad they also want more.

Too bad that there is much more to this deal than any of them know.

The Kingson Pride, infamous due to their youth and ruthlessness.

Brenton Kingson, Zachary Woods, Andrew Hicks, Troy and Gabe Walker. Five of the richest, most successful, and bitter feline shifters that walk the earth. Deciding to keep her close and keep an eye on her, they uncover terrifying family secrets. Now that they just need to stop all hell from breaking loose.

*This is a Reverse Harem series with graphic scenes, mature language, and mature themes. Suitable for ages 18+*

Goodreads / Amazon


Author Bio:

Kristen Banet has a Diet Coke problem and smokes too much. She curses like a sailor (though, she used to be one, so she uses that as an excuse) and finds that many people don’t know how to handle that. She loves to read, and before finally sitting to try her hand at writing, she had your normal kind of work history. From tattoo parlors, to the U.S. Navy, and freelance illustration, she’s stumbled through her adult years and somehow, is still kicking.

She loves to read books that make people cry. She likes to write books that make people cry (and she wants to hear about it). She’s a firm believer that nothing and no one in this world is perfect, and she enjoys exploring those imperfections—trying to make the characters seem real on the page and not just in her head.

She might just be crazy, though. Her characters think so, but this can’t be confirmed.

Check out her social media to catch what’s going on in the worlds inside her head. She drops teasers, new covers, and opens ARC reader slots through her Facebook group, The Banet Pride.

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Book Blitz, Excerpt, and Giveaway: Bound by Deception


Bound by Deception
Trish McCallan
Publication date: March 2nd 2018
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

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.

Goodreads / Amazon


Rio pushed back his desk chair, and stretched his tight shoulders and back. Hunched over that desk all day played hell with his muscles. “Who’s on the jacket?”

“Rachel Blaine. You gonna check into it? The daughter is waiting in the lobby.”

Rachel Blaine…Blaine…

Becca’s last name had been Blaine…and her mother had committed suicide… could it be… He did the math. Becca had been living with Adam’s family for four years by that summer twelve years ago, which would put her mother’s death around sixteen years ago.

So yeah, this could be her mother’s case.

“What’s the name of the daughter?” Rio forced a casual tone.

“Rebecca Blaine. From Olympia. She says she found her mother’s diary and from the entries, there’s no way the woman killed herself.”

So, it was Becca. And she was right around the corner and down the hall.

Rio sat perfectly still, his pulse and breathing accelerating as an exotic face with dark, slightly titled eyes took shape in his mind. A flash fire of heat hit his blood, rippling out through his muscles, which infuriated him. Damnit, he was not still hung up on the woman. That entire fuck up had happened twelve years ago. He’d shaken that itch way before he’d left SEAL Team 7, and joined the San Diego Police department.

This jolt to his nervous system was curiosity, that’s all. At one point, back in his twenties, Becca Blaine had been an obsession, a craving that had fucked with his head. It was natural to wonder how the years had treated her.

It was also natural, considering what a little troublemaker she’d been, for suspicion to rise. What was she up to? Knowing Becca, there had to be some deeper manipulation at work.


Author Bio:

Trish McCallan was born in Eugene, Oregon, and grew up in Washington State, where she began crafting stories at an early age. Her first books were illustrated in crayon, bound with red yarn, and sold for a nickel at her lemonade stand. Trish grew up to earn a bachelor’s degree in English literature with a concentration in creative writing from Western Washington University, taking jobs as a bookkeeper and human- resource specialist before finally quitting her day job to write full time.

Forged in Fire, the first book in her Red Hot SEALs series, came about after a marathon reading session, and a bottle of Nyquil that sparked a vivid dream. She lives today in eastern Washington. An avid animal lover, she currently shares her home with four golden retrievers, a black lab mix and two cats.

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Pen&Xander.v9Pen & Xander
by Laekan Zea Kemp
Get a copy here!


Pen Prado has a passion for cooking. Specifically, cooking her father’s food in her father’s restaurant. It’s the heart of their immigrant neighborhood, a place where everyone belongs, and second chances are always on the menu. Except for Pen. Despite the fact that there’s something almost magic about her food, her father can’t imagine anything worse than her following in his footsteps. And when Pen confesses to keeping a secret from her family, he fires her, ensuring she never will.

Xander Amaro is undocumented but that doesn’t stop Ignacio Prado from offering him a job at his restaurant. For Xander, it’s a chance to make amends and to sever his toxic relationship with the druglord, El Cantil–a man whose been like a father to him since his own disappeared. Soon after, his mother abandoned him too, leaving behind a void that not even his abuelo can fill. Until he meets Pen.

Both seeking a place where they feel like they truly belong, they end up finding each other, and in the face of tremendous fear and self-doubt, they end up finding themselves.





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Book Blitz and Giveaway: Still

Camilla Monk
Publication date: February 28th 2018
Genres: New Adult, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy

It always started like this, a pulse inside me, like a warning before the tide surged, roared… and froze everything.

Twenty-year old Emma just landed in Rome, to find the father who walked out of her life more than a decade ago and was too busy eating pizza to call. Traveling with her is a secret she’s carried alone since childhood: sometimes, around her, time stops. People and cars freeze, rain hangs still in the air and there’s only her left in the silence.

To make things worse, instead of her dad, Em runs into a past she’d rather forget in the person of Lily, her step-sis. Kind, beautiful, Harvard honors student Lily: the perfect daughter Em never was. As the two of them reconnect, Em starts to pick up some creepy vibes from Katharos, the mysterious archaeological foundation Lily works for—and more specifically the ancient stone table they’re digging up near the coliseum…

Faust, the blind hobo Em keeps running into, might be the key to piercing Katharos’s secrets. Actually, he might even have something to do with that pesky time-freezing thing. With Lily’s life on the line and no one else to turn to, Em chooses to trust this unlikely ally, but behind his charming smile and lunar antics, the guy comes with some serious fine print…

Goodreads / Amazon


Officially, this is not my story. It’s not my face you saw on CNN and Rai News after it was all over. I didn’t lose my mother at a young age; as far as I know, she’s still alive, probably doing fine. My paternal grandfather wasn’t a world-class historian, and I didn’t enroll in Harvard at seventeen to follow in his footsteps—I was never really good with books and studying. Just didn’t have the brains for that.

But I was there. I went to Rome to visit my dad at the time—booked a round trip ticket and six nights in a budget guesthouse with my tips from Tuna Town. I know, I know . . . Keep your jokes; I’ve heard them all. We had the cheapest tuna rolls on Broadway, though, and fresh most of the time. Anyway, I hadn’t seen my dad since I was seven, so it might sound like the adventure of a lifetime. It could even have been my story: this girl who decides to burn her meager savings on a trip to Italy to find the mysterious genitor she hasn’t heard from in thirteen years. There’s a tearful reunion, they sort out their issues, and she moves to Rome at the end—to start a new life and all.

I’ll get to that part, but let’s start with the afternoon right after I landed. I was sitting on a bench in a tiny park square tucked by the Piazza di San Marco—little more than a patch of grass under a few parasol pines. With my ripped jeans, my old Eastpak, and a can of beer tucked between my knees while I munched on a two-euro slice of margherita, I probably looked like your average gutter punk to the untrained eye. The October sun was warm in my hair—a messy bun dyed a washed-out turquoise. I liked that color, even if my blonde roots looked a little greenish.

Washing down the pizza with a slow sip, I watched over the rim of my can as buses came and went from a station on the square. Tons of buses, white and red, vomiting families of tourists coming to visit Roman ruins and that castle thing overlooking the piazza. It kinda looked like a Greek temple, with columns everywhere, white marble, and a statue of a guy on a horse in front of it. Old stuff, very nice. I took a couple of pics, mostly to pass the time because I couldn’t muster the courage to hop on a bus and go knock on my dad’s door.

I had his address saved in Google Maps; well, I hoped it was his, anyway. I’d found it not long after discovering his Facebook profile a few weeks ago, but he hadn’t replied to my friend invite. Maybe social media wasn’t his thing. He must be in his mid-fifties after all, which, to my twenty-year-old self sounded like some sort of pre-mummification stage. I set my beer down on the bench and took out my phone to check my Facebook feed for the hundredth time. I chewed on my nails. No new notification.

A few taps and a tiny profile pic of a fifty-something guy with graying blond hair appeared. Big grin, a tan, and sunglasses—taken during a vacation, I gathered.

Gabriele Lombardi.

Lombardi . . . the last name I had never worn. The name of a quiet Italian dude who’d sometimes visit our Brooklyn flat on Sundays and take me to Coney Island for the afternoon. We never did any rides, just strolled up and down the Boardwalk and shared a hot dog. He didn’t know what to say to a six-year-old, so he’d be like, “Guarda, gabbiani!” Look, seagulls! Meanwhile, I’d eat my half of our hot dog in dignified silence because I already knew what a seagull was. I would have wanted to hear about his job instead, or if he’d left Rome because of all the slavery there, like in Gladiator. And maybe, if I’d been brave enough, I’d have told him about the secret weighing in my chest and keeping me up at night, but I was too shy—too awkward for any of that.

I had no idea, back then, that Italy was even farther than Florida, and that this occasional Sunday dad of mine didn’t have legit visitation rights because he’d never filed for paternity in the first place. I didn’t know there’d be one too many fights with my mom over alimony, one too many threats of suing his lazy ass, one last Sunday, one

last hot dog, and that I’d never see him again after that afternoon, when the seagulls paused in their flight above our heads for a short eternity.

Whatever. Tough shit, I guess. I chugged another gulp of beer and listened to the city’s noise, the cars, and the laugh of strangers, getting reacquainted with what little Italian I’d learned from my dad as a kid, like a song I wouldn’t remember well, but whose melody lingered. The notes threaded with Roman voices to fill the gaping holes in my vocabulary, and I could tell that those two women worked in a hospital, or that the guys sitting in the grass were checking their phone to see how to get to Quartaccio—wherever that was. Not bad for a high school dropout with a record 0.6 GPA. I gave a snort when I noticed an ad on the side of a bus with the words test di admissione. College, the final frontier . . .

I manspread wider on the bench with a bitter sigh and craned my neck to look up at the azure sky. Maybe I should message him again, and say “Hey, I’m here in Rome”? But what if he thought I was a stalker and he freaked out? What if he didn’t want to be found? Okay, that one was far-fetched; he was on Facebook, after all. And yet goose bumps bloomed under my hoodie in a familiar mix of shame and dread. It was kind of too late for that, but I was starting to realize I’d fucked up—again. I’d pictured myself starring in my very own Lifetime movie and blown $700 on a stupid impulse. Now I couldn’t even find the balls to call him and simply ask, “Do you remember me? Do you want to see me?”

“Okay,” I announced, to no one in particular—scared a couple of pigeons though.

I slammed my beer on the bench. Night wouldn’t fall for another couple of hours, at least. Museum tickets and tourist stuff were expensive, but I could always take a stroll around the piazza to clear my thoughts—the forum with the old Roman ruins was right behind that palace with the horseman. No need to pay for a ticket to check it from the street and snatch a few pics. I grabbed my backpack and beer. I frowned down at the almost-full black can. Honestly, that shit tasted worse than a Natty Daddy you drink alone for breakfast, and I didn’t want to be the girl who drowns her sorrow in grandma’s rubbing alcohol.

But I didn’t like to waste either. I decided to leave it up for whoever wanted to grab it—a bit of street solidarity never hurt. I’d barely shrugged on my backpack before this old guy with dirty track pants and gaping sneakers popped up behind me. Bumdar alert: dude hadn’t even bothered removing the cardboard sign around his neck—a few lines in Italian hastily scribbled with a Sharpie. I made no attempt to decipher it; his toothless grin spoke for itself. I flourished my hand toward the can with a wink.

He took the can and toasted me with it, chewing out a few words in a raspy singing voice. It took me a couple of seconds to make sense of the jumbled syllables—he wanted to know what a nice girl like me was doing in Rome.

My lips parted to reply. No sound came out. A loud and familiar beat in my chest muted my voice. His. Everyone else’s.

Oh God. Oh no . . .

It always started like this: a pulse inside me, like a warning before the tide surged, roared . . . and froze everything. The bum had raised my beer to his lips; golden drops remained still in the air above his open mouth. The tourists stood paralyzed mid-stride. The children’s grins were empty masks; their legs were coiled, ready for a jump that

wasn’t coming, like birds about to fly away. The cars and the buses had stopped. Over the suffocating silence, all I could hear was the blood drumming in my ears, my neck. I staggered back, buried my face in my hands. I didn’t want it anymore—this hideous disease I could tell no one about.

It’d been weeks, perhaps even months since the last time, and like always, I’d almost allowed myself to believe it’d never happen again. How the fuck do you sit down in front of a shrink—or worse, your social worker—and tell them that you’re doing great, except when time stops, and everyone and everything is frozen but you? Don’t worry, though, it’s been like this since I was a kid; I’m used to it. I mean, sure, I freak out a teensy bit when I wake up at night, and I see a drop of water hanging midair from my kitchen faucet, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. Nothing the right kind of meds and a straitjacket can’t fix, right, Doc?

It wouldn’t last. It never did. I massaged my skull and kept my eyes screwed shut, repeating the words in my head like a mantra: It’s almost over. It never lasts. Never. Just long enough to make me freak out in the middle of Central Park among frozen joggers and their dogs. Wax statues everywhere whose clothes wouldn’t wrinkle when I tried to touch them, water that wouldn’t wet my hands, and the silence, the silence drilling into my eardrums. I breathed through my nose. In. Out. Slowly, ticking endless seconds in my head until the hallucination passed.

Reality rushed back to me in a deep exhale. A car honked somewhere across the piazza, and the bum chugged down the rest of my can with a reassuring gurgle. A fat kid bumped into me; I was so out of it that I was the one who kept apologizing over and over as I stumbled away from the bench and toward the sidewalk. I needed to get away from the noise, the people. Right now. Scratch tourism; my new plan was to run straight to the guesthouse, check into my room, and stay curled in the dark until tomorrow.

Fighting the urge to climb on the first bus I saw, I resolved to ask for directions instead. Because my day hadn’t been shitty enough yet, might as well stack some cringeworthy social interaction in a language I hadn’t spoken in over a decade on top of it. I waved awkward fingers at a sweaty driver who sat slouched behind his wheel. “Quale . . . Autobus . . . Appia Alba?” Which . . . bus . . . Appia Alba?

My stuttering efforts were rewarded with a compassionate wince before he motioned at another station across the park with a doughy arm. “Si può prendere l’ottantasette.” I remained stuck in place, my jaw hanging limply as I slowly processed his instructions. “Ottantasette,” he repeated, before thankfully adding, “Eighty-seven.”

I gave an eager nod. “Grazie mille, signore.” Thank you very much, sir.

Well, things were looking up. If the bus didn’t freeze on its way to my guesthouse, I might even consider the trip a small victory. I strode toward the station at a brisk pace, passing the bum I’d given my beer to earlier. Dude had collapsed on the bench, using his cardboard sign to shield his leathery face from the sun while he napped. I thought of that old Phil Collins song: “Just Another Day in Paradise,” but I wasn’t really sad for him because I knew there were good and bad days on the streets, and to him, a sunny afternoon and free beer probably made for a good one.

Lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t pay attention to the elegant silhouette catching up with me until a soft voice said, “Em? Is that you?”

Author Bio:

Camilla Monk is a French native who grew up in a Franco-American family. After finishing her studies, she taught English and French in Tokyo before returning to France to work in advertising. Today, she builds rickety websites for financial companies and lives in Montreal, where she keeps a close watch on the squirrels and complains on a daily basis about the egregious number of Tim Hortons.

Her writing credits include the English resumes and cover letters of a great many French friends, and some essays as well. She’s also the critically acclaimed author of a few passive-aggressive notes pasted in her building’s elevator.

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PROMO Blitz: The Sapphire Song

Coming of Age, Spiritual Fiction

Publisher: Balboa Press

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The time and the place are universal. Metaxaeus, a youthful yet visionary sculptor, will embark on an odyssey in which he will at last meet face to face with Akasha, a talented storyteller from a distant township. Set in a simple landscape of mountains and rivers, The Sapphire Song is a meditation on the possibilities of love, when seen in the light of the spirit. Underscoring a fidelity to the sacred dimension of life, that so often reveals itself to us in the inmost presence of our dreams, and written with the poignancy of a parable, this timeless story is an evocation of the spiritual power, and the lasting truth, inherent in our quest for an enduring love.

Praise for The Sapphire Song:

“Pedersen’s work is considerably more esoteric than your average teen-geared supernatural romance. The Sapphire Song is a subtle religious allegory in a gently fantastical wrapping, echoing works from Tolkien to Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha.”  –  Foreword Reviews


From Book One:

In a different town far away from the village of Metaxaeus, a young girl, Akasha, spins her tales. Like the most skilled weaver, she has a gift for storytelling that is as preternatural in the world as anyone’s gift for doing anything, as anybody’s gift for doing anything at all.

For the tales she tells cause even the most wizened of hearts to belong to her as she unfolds her breathless stories. Young and old alike smile and laugh and weep and finally joy at the spirit and romance of these on-spinning motifs of love and trials and perseverance and even the ways of God and now and then ultimately even the ways of the greatest mystery of all, that of the source of creation itself. See in her thought, then, in her speech, and in her stories, questions encircling questions, and riddles answering to riddles. Akasha is gifted like none other.

The question arises, then, in the minds of her hearers, whence always this fountain of inner peace and wisdom and joy and creativity arising from the soul of such a youngster, and one apparently virgin in the ways of the world? The almighty taleteller-girl Akasha has, in her town and its environs, gotten to be quite the spectacle. Yet what of her own mind?

In one of her most popular stories she spins the tale of a youth with gifted hands who can sculpt any image from any stone, but who cannot figure out how to leave from his home. In this story told by Akasha endings vary and at times the boy makes his fortune and lives happily, in love with a girl from a distant city, but at others it ends badly and the boy at the last finds himself both broke and heartbroken, alone and darkly arthritic, bereft of the great and wonderful gift of his holy craft.

Let us not forget, however, that Akasha, away down in her heart, knows more than we do; and

perhaps that is why in her thoughts she sometimes dreams of meeting just this youth sculptor wandered away from his very distant village, and his very distant home.

* * * *

From Book Two:

Akasha awakes. Rises from bed; greets the day. Finishes her morning chores, and begins listening for the music, the music within, the music generally escaping her way, at this selfsame hour of the day. Her own orison of play…. She had once been up and away into the mountains, this when she was still but just a little girl. Lost for a moment, she bumped into a strange looking elderly man who claimed to be a magician. When he smiled at her, her feeling of uneasiness vanished, and she found she could not help but smile, too. He is the one who first talked to Akasha about the mystery of spirit, but up until a certain age she had always considered it far more important the moment when he touched with his hand her forehead, for that is when she felt dizzy for a minute, and afterwards when the feeling she always carried inside of her when telling her stories, began.

Now in the mornings and sitting still awaiting the music that comes floating its way into her room, into her heart, into her mind, she thinks often of that afternoon when she encountered the magician. Strange man. Strange things to say to one so young. What did he know? He spoke of the spirit as invisible, as everywhere, as continually aware of everything and everyone, including itself, and he spoke of its connection to the Maker of the World, and to each one of us. He laughed, then, and went on to say only that if you wanted to be in its presence, you would have to learn to sit very still, and to

go all the way within yourself. This all he did say, and then he winked slyly and right at that moment must have handed to her a token, pressed into her open palm, although she was not aware of it at the moment that it happened. All she knew was that when she looked down at her hand she held in it a tiny figurine, and when she looked up again the old man was nowhere to be seen. As far as she could tell, the thing he had presumably pressed into the palm of her hand was nothing but the tiny statue of a boy, a boy who himself held something out in the palm of his own hand, but what it was, was far too small to make out. Since then, though, she had always kept the tiny statue in a place special to her, and that where no one else would be likely to find it. Until one day she realized that it had become precious to her, and she even imagined that when she was feeling cloudy or distressed, she could take up into her hands this trinket and begin to recover her calm or her clarity. She was beginning to get very superstitious.

About the Author

Todd Erick Pedersen is a poet-essayist and novelist whose writing strives to evoke the cross-section between our dreams and the spirit, with a natural sense of wonder and the turning seasons of the Earth. Thus, his poems, his essays, and his stories are an invitation to any reader to explore this timeless terrain for oneself. His home is in the beautiful Bitterroot Valley, in Stevensville, Montana.

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Book Blitz, Excerpt, Teasers, and Giveaway– A Hero’s Haven: Resolution Ranch


A Hero’s Haven: Resolution Ranch
Tessa Layne
(Flint Hills Military Heroes, #3)
Publication date: February 27th 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Former Navy SEAL Cash Aiken assumed he could leave behind the trauma of war and settle into life as a bodyguard. Why not? He was big, smart, and nothing ever got past his eagle eye. But a split second of inattention nearly cost the life of his asset, and cost him his job. When his old buddy Travis Kincaid invites him to come work at Resolution Ranch, an organization helping wounded vets, he clings to the lifeline and hopes it’s a chance to start over. But Cash is stunned to discover that the beautiful woman he nearly let die is hiding out at the ranch, masquerading as a stable hand.

Country Music’s Superdiva, Kaycee Starr, is done with the music biz. After a terrifying encounter with a crazed fan, she goes underground and answers a help-wanted ad in a place the paparazzi would never think to look. Prairie, Kansas. While she finds solace and healing among the horses, handsome ranch hand Cash Aiken lights her up in ways she only wrote about in songs. He’s the only person she’s met who seems to ‘get’ her.

Cash and Kaycee fall hard and fast for each other, but when their secrets are exposed, will they have the courage to trust each other? And more importantly, themselves?

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The barn door stood partially open and Cash parted it the rest of the way, stepping into the dim warmth. The sweet smell of dried clover and hay, laced with an undercurrent of oiled leather and the sharp tang of manure settled into his bones. He cherished the solace and security of the barn. He’d learned every nook and cranny the first week he’d moved to the ranch. And on really bad nights early on, working and sleeping in the barn had been his salvation. While he welcomed the addition of a desperately needed ranch hand, the thought of an interloper in his sanctuary unsettled him.

The scrape of a shovel against the floor drew his attention. Looping Samson’s lead around a post next to the tack room, he slipped down the aisle following the sound. He stopped short at the sight of a luscious heart-shaped ass bent in his direction. Of course, if the interloper looked like that

Sensations Cash hadn’t felt in ages stuttered to life. Legs for days? Check. Curves? If her ass was any indication, check. He couldn’t care less about hair color, but the sight of the thick long brown braid peeking out from under a felt cowboy hat and hanging down the owner’s shoulders launched his imagination into overdrive. Visions of winding its length around his hand and tugging, exposing a column of creamy skin danced through his head. His pulse went to the races as he watched her fluidly shovel hay into a wheelbarrow. The woman was poetry in motion. She moved with an easy grace that belied the difficulty of the task at hand. He’d shoveled hay for hours. He knew how taxing it could be on the body. Was this Kate?


What the fuck?


DUCK!” Cash shouted as he launched himself through the air at the woman, pulling her down on top of him to break her fall, then quickly rolling them over to cover her body with his.

A muffled squeak came from beneath him.

“Quiet,” he murmured into her ear, heart pounding, brain racing through a thousand scenarios of what could be going on outside. Whatever was happening, he’d protect this woman with his life. He’d failed to protect people he loved in the past, he wouldn’t fail again.

Another muffled noise came from the body squirming beneath him, and his attention was suddenly drawn to soft curves and heady perfume. “Stay still,” he ordered roughly, bringing his focus back to his surroundings. He couldn’t focus on where the attackers were with her writhing beneath him. Not when his cock was notched perfectly between her legs. She stilled momentarily, only to renew her struggle with vigor. He strained, listening for the telltale signs of an attack, scuffles, shouts, more gunshots. But, nothing.

He lifted his head, cocking an ear in the direction of the initial noise. The woman took advantage, yanking his beard so hard tears sprang to his eyes. He swung his gaze back to the firecracker beneath him and the world tilted sideways, snatching his breath with heart-stopping ferocity.

This wasn’t Kate. Oh, no. This was his worst nightmare come back to life. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Lying beneath him, green eyes

flashing fire, was the last woman he ever expected to see face to face again, Kaycee Starr.


Author Bio:

Hi, I’m USA Today Best Selling Author Tessa Layne.

Thanks for stopping by! I write smokin’ hot contemporary cowboy and military romances filled with tenderhearted tough guys and sassy strong women who capture their hearts.

Please join my email list at tessalayne.com for exclusive updates, previews, and other offers. You can find me hanging out in my Facebook reader group The Prairie Posse.

A little about me- I grew up in Colorado in the mountains at the edge of the Great Plains. There, I met my own smokin’ hot Cowboy and we had a whirlwind romance to rival any novel. I believe in Happily Ever Afters, love fireflies, horses, and breathing clean country air. My favorite thing to do is to sit on the porch swing with a glass of Rose, listening to my Cowboy pluck his guitar!

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Cover Reveal: Rise the Seas

Rise the Seas
Milana Jacks
Publication date: March 10th 2018
Genres: Dystopian, New Adult, Paranormal, Romance

He should send her away. But her innocent touch sets off his dragon beast.


I’m the last Salazar female left on Earth, but I’m still fully human, and I’m not a bargaining chip. No way am I marrying my Dad’s business partner’s son, even if Diego does have a megatronic crotch. I’ve got to get away from the habitat. My old fly-only car won’t make it to New York, but it can take me as far the dragon island just offshore.


Ten years ago, I thought a willowy woman in white “gifting” me and my three buddies with an elemental beast was a tequila-fueled dream—until I woke up as a blue dragon, supposedly with control over water. Except I can’t seem to raise so much as a ripple in the iceberg-choked sea. Worse, unlike my friends, I’m covered in scales.

Most alien Cy know not to visit my domain uninvited. But this intruder isn’t cyborg or alien. She’s a human female seeking protection. I should turn her down. I should send her home. But her innocent touch arouses my beast. And he’s not letting her go…

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Author Bio:

Milana grew up with tales of water fairies that seduced men, vampires that seduced women, and Babaroga who’d come to take her away if she didn’t eat her bean soup. She writes devious dystopian adult romance often about extraterrestrials and fantasy creatures roaming the Earth where she resides with her mate and their three little monsters.

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Cover Reveal: Wings of Flesh and Bones

Wings of Flesh and Bones
Cathrina Constantine
Publication date: April 13th 2018
Genres: Fantasy, Paranormal, Young Adult

An Angel. A Witch. A Demon. And A Choice.

Creatures from outer realms suck, as any gatekeeper worth their salt will tell you. Welcome to Rogan’s life, an orphaned seventeen-year-old who lives and trains with other misfits under her uncle’s roof, keeping Earth safe from non-human realm jumpers. Rogan’s biggest issue concerns her uncle’s short leash with her freedom—that is of course, until she’s taken by a notorious witch, and her life begins to unravel. Soon, the supernatural beauty discovers there’s a reason her uncle kept such a tight lock on her whereabouts, and that she has more than angel blood running through her veins.

Eighteen-year-old Max is an angel, and Rogan’s mentor and guardian. He’s well aware of her tenacious inability to obey orders, though he also knows she’s a fierce fighter. When he’s involved in a scheme that ultimately gets Rogan kidnapped, he must battle his way back to her in an attempt to save her from the darkness threatening to possess her.

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Author Bio:

Cathrina Constantine is the Best Selling author of Don’t Forget To Breathe. Her book won Readers’ Favorite International Book Award for 2015. New Apple Medalist for 2016. Literary Classics Gold Award. Literary Classics Seal of Approval. Her Paranormal Fantasy, Wickedly They Come has been awarded the 5 Star Seal from Reader’s Favorite. Tallas from her dystopian series received Literary Classics Silver Award and Literary Classics Seal of Approval.

Cathrina resides in Western New York. I am blessed with a loving family and forever friends. My world revolves around them.

I grew up in the small village of Lancaster, NY, where I married my sweetheart. I’m devoted to raising 5 cherished children, and now my grandchildren.

I love to immerse myself in great books of every kind of genre, which helps me to write purely for entertainment, and hopefully to inspire readers. When not stationed at my computer you can find me in the woods taking long walks with my dog.

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Cover Reveal: Avalanche

Cambria Hebert
(BearPaw Resort, #1)
Publication date: March 26th 2018
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense, Thriller

Don’t get caught in the surge.

Through a bullet hole in a wall, I watch a man bleed to death.

Those responsible think their crime died with the victim, until I identify them.

What’s a girl to do when she’s being hunted by murderers

witness protection can’t even stop?


My only refuge is a place I vowed to never go again.

When it’s do or die, an eight-year-old heartache suddenly seems trivial.

Besides, he won’t be there anyway.

But he is.

Turns out my old pain feels brand new the second his eyes meet mine.

I can’t leave. I can’t stay.

This snowy town that’s supposed to be my shelter

suddenly exposes me more than before.

With no one else to lean on, Liam becomes my lifeline.

Now we’re both running for our lives,

trying not to get swept away.

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I got up and went to the bed, yanking down the blankets in one move.

“What are you doing?” She was cautious.

“In you go.” I pointed.

“I’ll walk you out.” She glanced between me and the door.

I laughed. “Subtle. I’m not leaving.”

“Well, you aren’t sleeping with me!” She planted her fisted hands on her hips.

I tried real hard not to smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

A little bit of hurt flashed in her eyes, and I was a bastard because I was glad for it. I wanted her to want me—even just a fraction of the way I wanted her.

I cleared my throat and added, “At least not tonight.”

Her eyes whipped up to mine.

This time I smiled, letting some of the desire and possessiveness I felt shine through.

She ran for the bed and jumped in, pulling the covers nearly over her head. “You can see yourself out!”

I threw my head back and laughed.

Then I returned to my chair.

Making a noise, Bellamy sat up, pushing down some of the covers to glare. “What are you doing?”

“Staying ‘til you fall asleep.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “But why?”

“Because you want me to.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You didn’t disagree.”

She fell back on the bed with a groan.

I grinned and settled my hands over my middle. “Go to sleep, Bells. I’ll watch over you.”

Author Bio:

Cambria Hebert is an award winning, bestselling novelist of more than twenty books. She went to college for a bachelor’s degree, couldn’t pick a major, and ended up with a degree in cosmetology. So rest assured her characters will always have good hair.

Besides writing, Cambria loves a caramel latte, staying up late, sleeping in, and watching movies. She considers math human torture and has an irrational fear of chickens (yes, chickens). You can often find her running on the treadmill (she’d rather be eating a donut), painting her toenails (because she bites her fingernails), or walking her chorkie (the real boss of the house).

Cambria has written within the young adult and new adult genres, penning many paranormal and contemporary titles. Her favorite genre to read and write is romantic suspense. A few of her most recognized titles are: The Hashtag Series, Text, Torch, and Tattoo.

Cambria Hebert owns and operates Cambria Hebert Books, LLC.

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