Friday, April 21, 2017
Title: Almost Never
Author: Amy Lamont
Genre: New Adult/Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: Talina Perkins, Bookin’ It Designs
Release Date: July 11, 2017
Son of an aging rock star, Declan Cooper is considered royalty on the Warren College campus. When he meets petite freshman Harper Warden, he dismisses her as just another groupie. He realizes his mistake pretty quickly, but despite his near-obsession with the premed student, he keeps his distance. The last thing she needs is the notoriety that comes along with being connected to his infamous family.
Getting blown off by the sexy and popular King of Campus is the kiss of death for the new life Harper hoped to make for herself at college. Her only goal now is to get into medical school so she can leave her past, and Declan Cooper, far behind. But when the plans Harper made are threatened, Declan might be the only person who can help. All she has to do is trust him with a few small things—like her heart and her future.
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Amy Lamont is a USA Today bestselling author. She writes steamy contemporary and paranormal romance filled with quirky heroines, alpha heroes, and always a happily ever after. Whether she’s writing about world-weary billionaires or rugged bear shifters, she loves nothing more than delivering stories with just as much heart as heat.
Amy lives in a small town outside of New York City with her husband, twin daughters and their two rescue mutts, Maggie and Toby. When she’s not writing or hiding somewhere with her nose stuck in her eReader, she loves spending time with her family, taking in shows in the city, and traveling every chance she gets.
Title: The Curse
Series: The Butterfly Effect #2
Author: Margaret McHeyzer
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Cover Design: Book Cover by Design
Release Date: TBA
It's been the butterfly effect.
I changed the course of my life because I warned a man.
I thought what I had was a gift, but it's quickly turning into my curse.
Now I realize I'm much more than a girl with an ability.
Because now... I'm becoming a weapon.
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NEW YORK TIMES BEST SELLER OF UGLY AND MISTRUST
**Write something worth reading**
I'm Margaret and I'm a self-published author.
Recently I was fortunate in obtaining New York Times best selling status on my YA/NA book - Ugly, and my YA book - Mistrust.
My last three books have been YA and I'm completely in love with the genre. I love being able to communicate with people through my words and stories.
My writing genres all differ, but the one thing I keep consistent is my heroines. All my female lead characters are strong, gutsy and not the 'perfect' woman. While my books all have romantic elements in them, they aren't just about the romance. They're about finding strength, acceptance and making life long connections.
I hope you enjoy my stories as much as I have while writing them.
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Title: In the End
Series: Lifetime #3
Author: Ariadne Wayne
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 20, 2017
The time has come for Finn to find out the truth about his father. When he seems to take it in his stride, Matt, Ella, and Sam are relieved. But nothing’s that simple when you’re seven years old.
Sam’s love life has been on hold while he gets to know his son. Meeting single mother, Natasha, rocks his world. She’s not had an easy life and he has to navigate through her past to make her see a future. The one thing that scares her, Sam’s guilty of. Love’s never easy, especially when there are secrets involved.
The last book in the Lifetime series features a boy finding out about his father, a father falling in love, and the last wedding you’d ever expect on the farm.
Free on all platforms
Ariadne Wayne is the alter ego of Wendy Smith. She loves books and lives in Auckland, New Zealand with her husband and two children. Having always had a prolific imagination she now writes the words down instead of storing them in her head where she can't share them. When she's not writing she works in Telecommunications, frequently banging her head on the desk with the random things that can happen to the ordinary phone line.
Author: S.M. Lumetta
Series: Bodhi Beach #1 (Standalone)
Series: Bodhi Beach #1 (Standalone)
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Cover Design: S.M. Lumetta
Release Date: April 17, 2017
Release Date: April 17, 2017
What’s a little sex between friends?
Sophie Fordham never thought much about motherhood until her body forced her to. With the onset of early menopause, she knows if she wants to have a baby, it’s now or never. So what’s a single, financially-strapped girl to do? Go with what you know, of course.
Fox Monkhouse has been Sophie’s gorgeous best friend since preschool. This sun-kissed surfer boy has no shortage of ladies, but she’s hoping he’ll put that aside to help her out. As there’s never been anything romantic between the two, things get awkward when she asks him to put a bun in her oven—especially since it has to be done the old-fashioned, no-pants dance way.
When Fox agrees to do the deed, Sophie is ecstatic. But she soon realizes that this chance at a baby could cost her everything. Keeping sex and emotions separate is clearly not in her wheelhouse especially when her best friend is involved. If their relationship can’t evolve into something new, their unusual arrangement could destroy the friendship of a lifetime.
The Diagnosis: “It’s menopause.”
Laughing. All the laughing. Until Doctor Beaufort looks at me like I’ve cracked. I stop myself and swallow. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘it’s menopause’?”
“Sophie, your symptoms and test results point to perimenopause. Your estrogen levels have been a little all over the place, and with your erratic cycle, it’s extremely likely that early menopause has begun.”
I’m glad I’m not drinking or eating because I would have choked. Oh, scratch that—I’m choking on my own spit. It’s so great that I don’t even need to put anything in my mouth to choke.
The studio audience in my head reacts on cue, complete with cheering and lewd gestures.
“I’m sorry?” I ask, my throat on fire as I cough roughly. I sound like a veteran smoker. Or maybe even like I’ve moved past that into voice box territory.
My doctor finally notices my insta-panic and waves her hands in front of her face. “That is to say it could be.”
I gasp, hacking up a lung for good measure and in hoping I heard her wrong. “But… I’m twenty-eight.”
This is where the audience supports my outrage with a sharp gasp followed by a dead silence.
Doctor Beaufort smiles, her teeth blindingly white next to her dark skin, but it does not comfort me. “I’m aware of your age,” she says with humor. “But I’m pretty sure this is premature menopause. It can hit women as young as their early twenties, though it’s rare.”
I stare at her, my mouth agape but still trying to form a word or two. All that comes out, though, is “buh buh buh… buhhh.”
For all the erratic and weird symptoms for the past six, maybe eight months, I never even considered this a possibility. Ever since I dumped that life-suck Brett, I blamed everything—from cycle woes to crazy unusual mood swings and a bout or three of awful night sweats—on stress and the breakup. Though the first missed period caused a different kind of nightmare. Or as my best friend Nora put it, The Pregnancy Panic Heard ’Round the World.
Dr. Beaufort is talking, but my brain is white noise. I’m forced to shake my head a bit to tune back in.
“Twenty-eight is certainly not common either but it’s not unheard of,” she continues, oblivious to my dumbstruck noises—or maybe because of them. “And it’s not immediate. As you probably know, menopause itself is a process. It can take years to complete itself. So you may still have time to have a child if that’s in your life plan! Many women going through menopause have a ‘oops’ baby.”
“Baby?” I ask, and I sound like I’ve never heard of them. I flash back to The Scare and for a quick second, wonder if that wouldn’t have been a blessing. Jesus, no. Then I’d be attached to Brett forever. I shudder. My credit score is still in the toilet because of him. That’s more than enough of a legacy and intrusion on my life.
My resulting silence stretches out before the both of us, but not because I have nothing to say or ask. It’s mostly because I find that I cannot speak.
“Sophie?” Dr. B begins, and I think she asks me a question, but it sounds like I’m underwater.
I have sudden trouble focusing and feel my body sway. The room leans into a cartwheel and everything goes black.
When I wake, I’m happy to find I did not, in fact, fall off the “spread and swipe” table after all. However, a nurse holds my legs up toward the ceiling. Dr. Beaufort hands me a paper bag.
“I’m not hyperventilating, Dr. B,” I murmur, pushing the bag away. I sound drunk. Great. Maybe I had a stroke, too? That would be a tasty cherry on top of this shit sundae. “I choked and then I freaked out.”
I’m well aware of my dramatic tendencies. At times. Occasionally. When it suits me.
“You passed out,” she says simply, no judgment. “Do you feel light-headed?”
I do a mental check. “I’m good.” Sitting up slowly and with assistance, I notice the nurse is my oldest friend in the world, Fox Monkhouse.
“What the fuck?” I try to kick him, but it comes across like the death throes of an extremely long, uncoordinated fish. “I’m commando, Fox! Shouldn’t there be a female nurse in here?”
The attempted kick seems even more foolish now. I pull my hospital gown tight in the back and slap my thighs together to hide my cooter.
“Mr. Monkhouse was just outside when you fainted. And he has a master’s in nursing,” Dr. B adds, unaware that I’m familiar with his qualifications. Even so, that doesn’t mean I want him all up in my lady biz. “He’s a professional.”
“Yeah, but a professional what is debatable,” I say.
He breaks into a huge grin.
Jerk. “What are you even doing here? You work at Shoreline!”
Fox rubs the corner of his eye with his middle finger. “Same hospital network,” he says, faux professionalism oozing everywhere. “They needed a floater today.” He makes an incredibly immature face behind Dr. Beaufort’s back as I try desperately not to crack up at “floater.” His immaturity rubs off too often for my own good. A few instances of which flit through my mind. The facial expressions that result are likely horrifying. I’m glad I cannot see my face right now.
“Are you all right, Sophie?” she asks, looking at me with concern. “I take it you and Fox are friends.”
I fake a cough and clear my throat. “Fine. And yes, I guess you could say we’re friends.”
Fox snorts, tucking a stray sun-kissed curl behind his ear. The rest of his shoulder-length blond hair is tied back. “I’ve known Sophie since we were… I’m not sure, five?”
“Four,” I correct, just to be a bitch. He rolls his eyes, and I smile. “When my family moved in down the block, I hadn’t started preschool yet.”
“Oh, right. We bonded over the ice-cream man.”
“Ohh,” he moans, damn near orgasmically. Dr. Beaufort shoots him a look, but he’s not paying attention. “I loved those.”
“It’s basically frozen sugar and food coloring,” Dr. B throws in her two cents. “It’s—”
“Don’t crap on my childhood, Beaufort,” he snaps jokingly, but realizes his place with an “oh shit” expression. “I mean, yes, doctor. Sorry. Yes, of course. You are totally correct.”
The idiot pauses to clear his throat. I catch Dr. B minutely shake her head in what I assume is exasperation. I completely understand where she’s coming from. After an awkward beat, he picks up where he left off.
“Anyway, Sophie wouldn’t go to school unless I was in the same class. She needed me.”
“He was held back,” I add. “Started preschool at seven.”
Fox coughs, “Asshole!”
Dr. B rolls her eyes before looking at me. “I stand corrected on the professionalism. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m good, Dr. B,” Fox says.
“I’m okay,” I say at the same time. At least, I’m okay where the fainting is concerned. The rest is still pretty sketchy.
“Good,” she says, eyeballing Fox with a sliver of a smile on her face. She pats me on the shoulder and tells me to get dressed. “We can chat more in my office before you go. Mr. Monkhouse, let the patient dress, please?”
“I will,” he says with a nod. She smiles as she walks out.
“Did you sleep with her? Or are you trying?” I ask him.
“I don’t shit where I eat,” he says.
“Oh, really?” My eyebrows jump for my hairline as my eyes drill into him my blatant disbelief.
“She’s twenty years older than me!”
I tilt my head, waiting. He’s holding out. He knows damn well he’s nailed a colleague or two well into their forties. Such as… “Rita?”
His mouth drops open, his dual-colored eyes going wide. Thanks to his scrubs, the green one shifts to blue-green or turquoise like the ocean and the hazel one looks golden. I still marvel at how strange yet beautiful they are.
“Wow, pulling out the stops,” he says. “Fine, I have cleaned up on the nurse aisle before, and a couple docs, but I’ve learned my lesson. It gets ugly.” He opens the door and stops. “Get dressed.”
I wait for him to close the door behind him before I peel off the gown and put on my clothes.
“Why’d you faint?” he asks when I get out into the hall. He’d clearly waited just outside.
I lightly punch his arm, noting a slight sunburn on his nose. Someone went surfing this morning and forgot his sunblock. “Don’t you have actual work to do, stalker?”
“Not at this very moment.” He looks around. “So what’s up? Are you okay?”
“Low blood sugar,” I lie. It feels gross, especially given his sincerity. I never lie to my best friends. “Forgot to eat this morning.”
“Forgetting to eat? That’s not like you.” Likely sensing my bullshit, he steps a little closer. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”
I’m warmed by his concern, but I’m not yet ready to discuss anything. Time to redirect.
“Are you calling me fat, Monkhouse?” I like giving him shit. Not to mention, I’m quite comfortable in my own skin. At five foot nine, I’m pretty lanky with the exception of a bit of a bubble butt that popped out when I was in college.
An elderly woman walks by at that very moment. She stops to spit at him and expresses her extreme outrage on my behalf. “Horrible man! You want me to crush his man business?” she asks me, holding up her cane, which has flames painted on it.
“Um,” I stammer. I pretend to think about it while Fox’s eyes grow wide.
He purses his lips as if to say, “be serious!”
I turn back to my savior. “That’s very tempting, thank you. But I’m okay.”
“You’re sure?” Harley Quinn’s grandma doesn’t buy it, and is clearly looking to dole out a beatdown. Maybe she got bad news today, too.
“Totally.” Leaning toward her, I cup a hand by my mouth to offer an aside. “I have it on excellent authority that his dangle isn’t exactly swinging in the breeze, if you know what I mean.”
She nods knowingly and threatens Fox with her badass cane one more time before walking away.
“Wow,” I say after she turns the corner. “That was like tenth grade all over again.”
In high school, I struggled to keep on weight because my metabolism was pretty high. Some incredibly rude people called me “Rexy,” so Fox would call me “Chubs” in protest. He got in loads of trouble because the perceptive teachers of Bodhi Beach High assumed I was, in fact, anorexic and Fox was bullying me. Since the actual name-callers were girls, that slipped right under their radar. Fox, however, was loud and proud about it. It was a hell of a mess, but in the end, it was just my friend sticking up for me in his own poorly thought-out, controversial way, as per usual.
“I’ve never been threatened with the official cane of the Hells Angels before,” he says, wiping the spit off his scrubs.
“Go back to work,” I say with a giggle. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“You coming to the barbecue this Saturday?” he calls after me. “It’s my birthday, you know.”
“Wouldn’t miss it, old timer. Is the bonfire going to be legal this time?” I wink. Fox’s house is on the beach. It was his grandpa’s and he inherited it, the lucky prick.
“Of course not!” He rethinks his volume. “I mean, yes. Yes, it is. Bring beer. Oh, and is your brother coming?” he asks.
“You know, I haven’t talked to Cameron in a few. Seems like he’s been a little incommunicado, according to my mom. I don’t see how he’d miss it though.”
Fox nods. “Well, I hope he can make it! Tell him to come in drag because I want to motorboat him again. I don’t know where he got those falsies, but they were super comfortable to stick my face in.”
I perform the expected eye-roll followed by an about-face toward Dr. Beaufort’s office. “See you then, perv,” I call.
“Takes one to know one!”
After a more in-depth conversation with Dr. B, I’m not very good anymore. I may only have one good year of fertility if I want to conceive a baby without assistance. Or I could have five years, maybe more, but even that’s hard to say. Menopause is not only hard to predict, but makes my cycle erratic, which heavily lends to the odds against me. I thought I wanted kids but I’m hella single at present. It’s been eight months since I dumped Brett, and after that debacle, the “do I want kids” question is, well, questionable. With my new and the-opposite-of-improved timeline, I’m forced to address an issue I should have had more than a decade to consider.
Freezing some eggs is supposedly a legit option as I’m otherwise healthy and a good candidate for it. “But I wouldn’t wait,” Dr. B had said, stressing the point that I might not have very long to decide. “Think about it. You have a little time, but don’t think too long. Before you know it, it could be too late.”
I told her I didn’t have to think. I don’t have tens of thousands of dollars to plunk down on iced egg-os. Thanks to Brett’s bullshit and my stupid trusting heart, I loaned him the money to start his deejay business. I blame blind lust.
I ended up charging a bunch of stuff, which the imbecile sold for cash to blow at the bookie’s. Turned out, he didn’t want to start a business, just further a secret gambling habit. My credit took a nosedive along with our relationship. I’m still wading out of the debt he helped create and I have no money left to take out a hit. Where’s the justice?
I have my grandma’s 1967 Mustang convertible that’s worth a little money, but she’s not all original or in the greatest shape. I’d also need much deeper, unindebted pockets to pay for the work needed to make her a showstopper. I can’t imagine parting with it to pay shit off for my stupidity.
With all this on my shoulders, I sit in my not-very-cherry classic Mustang convertible in the parking garage and cry. And cry. And cry until I’m thoroughly dehydrated and have a mark from the steering wheel on my forehead. The setting sun is piercing directly through the structure when I come up for air.
It’s well past rush hour, and there shouldn’t be much in the way of gridlock left on the 405. So there’s that.
S.M. Lumetta was born in Detroit, MI, and now resides in NYC. Since she was small, she has adored storytelling in all its forms, especially books and films. Sooner and later, she figured out that since her love of words was overwhelming, she had no choice but to take the words in mind and share them. Romance is her favorite read, but horror and crime novels are a close second. She loves to travel and has a bucket list of places to visit long enough for several lifetimes. She also has a plethora of unnecessary t-shirts, a penchant for sarcasm, and a unholy love for the oxford comma.
Title: Fallen Crest Home
Series: Fallen Crest #6
Genre: Young Adult/New Adult/Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 17, 2017
It’s been years since my mother was in my life.
I learned to accept love.
That’s all done. She was away, and now she’s back.
I’ve avoided her for a year and a half, but I can’t hide anymore.
Mason has an internship in Fallen Crest, so we’re heading back for the summer.
And when we got there—no one was prepared for what happened.
My hand cradled the back of his neck, holding him prisoner.
I didn’t want him to look away, to move away.
I wanted him inside of me.
His eyes darkened and as if reading my mind, he moved back to pull his pants off. After grabbing a condom, and pulling it on, he came back and settled between my legs.
My arms went back around him, like returning to their home.
“Sam,” he murmured, tracing a finger down the side of my face. He tucked some hair behind my ear, and then I felt his lips against mine again.
That’s what this was.
I groaned, my head falling back, and I felt his soft chuckle against my skin, but then he reached down and shifted, lifting my leg until I wound it around his waist. He dipped in, shifting, and I felt him at my entrance. He paused, then slid inside.
My eyes closed and I relished the feel of him in me.
He began moving, thrusting inside of me.
As he kept going, and he slid his hands up my arms to capture my hands, I opened my eyes. We were staring back at each other, watching each other. I could feel him reaching inside of me, searching, claiming me. Everything in my body yearned for him, yearned for more. I wanted more. I needed more.
The second he touched me, everything blared alive. I was awakened. Always.
In and out. Mason kept thrusting.
My fingers clamped down over his, sinking deep as his pace quickened.
“Mason,” I gasped. Weak. His onslaught kept going, harder, faster. “I love you.”
He groaned, climaxing, and his body clenched as he thrust into me a last time. It sent me hurdling over the edge, and I wrapped both arms around his neck, hanging on.
A moment later, he brushed a soft kiss on my forehead before he slipped out.
I still lay beneath him.
I didn’t want to move.
I didn’t want him to move, and eventually, we slept like that.
I woke later, but I was still in his arms. He was curled up behind me, and I went back to sleep again. All the doubts and questions would be there tomorrow.
Start the series with Fallen Crest High
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HATE TO LOVE YOU
Releasing Fall 2017
Tijan is a New York Times Bestselling author that writes suspenseful and unpredictable novels. Her characters are strong, intense, and gut-wrenchingly real with a little bit of sass on the side. Tijan began writing later in life and once she started, she was hooked. She’s written multi-bestsellers including the Carter Reed Series, the Fallen Crest Series, and the Broken and Screwed Series among others. She is currently writing Fallen Crest Seven (untitled) along with so many more from north Minnesota where she lives with a man she couldn’t be without and an English Cocker she adores.