Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Spirited Away Release Blitz


Title: Spirited Away
A Resort Romances Novel
Author: Mary Billiter
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Publisher: Hot Tree Publishing
 Release Date: October 31, 2017


Blurb
What happens when the legend of the old west becomes the new reality? In Mary Billiter’s fun novel of investigating the unknown and navigating love, a drop-dead sexy cop and a fiery redhead are linked by a mysterious haunting and the unsolved crime of passion behind it all.

When Reese Pemberton relocates from the Golden State to the Cowboy State for a corporate promotion, she discovers a different state of mind. From the hustle and bustle mayhem of the Bay Area to the slow and easy meanderings of Wyoming, Reese welcomes the change in pace as the hotel’s new general manager. However, she shuts the door on the notion that her hotel is haunted.

But when a series of mishaps introduces the fiery redhead to the hotel’s legendary cowboy ghost, she begins to question the events surrounding his demise.

Reese and Cheyenne police detective Cody Pring join forces to put to rest the spirit that haunts the hotel. In the process, they discover long-buried secrets. Can the two solve a decades-old mystery or are some things better left with the dead?


Purchase Links
$1.99 for a limited time
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU


Also Available
Do Not Disturb & Escape Clause 
are free in Kindle Unlimited
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU


Author Bio
Mary Billiter is a weekly newspaper columnist and fiction author. She also has novels published under the pen name, “Pumpkin Spice.”

Mary resides in the Cowboy State with her unabashedly bald husband, her four amazing children, two fantastic step-kids, and their runaway dog. She does her best writing (in her head) on her daily runs in wild, romantic, beautiful Wyoming.

Author Links



Let Her Go Release Blitz +Giveaway


Title: Let Her Go
Author: Briana Pacheco
Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 31, 2017


Blurb
Zoë Whitmore is in love with her best friend, but haunting memories and a guilty conscious have been holding her back from letting her be with him.

Owen Stevenson is unknowingly paying for the sins of his father. He doesn't understand why Zoë can't look at him for more than a few seconds or why his touch is unsettling at times. All he's ever wanted was to love her, to protect her, and to be hers, but it's not so easy.

She pushes, he pulls.
She hurts, he loves.

Both are holding onto ghosts of their pasts and in order for them to peruse a relationship they'll have to let them go.


Purchase Links
99c release day only price!
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited


Author Bio
Briana Pacheco is the author of New Adult novels (DON'T LET ME FALL, SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY, A SKY FULL OF SECRETS, and LET HER GO), a twin, a dreamer, a tattoo lover, easily swooned by accents, and a little bit of an extrovert but a whole lot of introvert. When she’s not reading, writing or people watching, she can be found listening to music, perfecting resting bitch face, or at Dunkin’ Donuts.

Author Links

Monday, October 30, 2017

Mister McHottie Release Blitz +Giveaway


Title: Mister McHottie
Author: Pippa Grant
Genre: Sexy Romantic Comedy
 Release Date: October 30, 2017


Blurb
Chase
I’ve just bought the woman of my nightmares.
Technically, I bought the company she works for. Point is, she cost me my two best friends ten years ago. It’s payback time, and I’m going to make her life hell.
When I’m not banging her silly and myself stupid.
I need to get my head back in business, because getting off is great, but He was a man who had sex, and lots of it, and in the worst locations, with the woman of his nightmares isn’t the inscription I want on my tombstone.
Even if it’s true.

Ambrosia
There are three things I hate:
Bratwurst in any form, my neighbors boinking loudly like farm animals at 3 AM, and Chase Jett.
Mostly I hate Chase Jett. It’s been ten years since he took my virginity—I’d make a bratwurst joke, but the unfortunate truth is that it would have to be a bratbest joke, which also pisses me off—and now he’s not only a billionaire, he’s also my new boss.
Turns out our hate is mutual. And this kind of hate is horrifically twisted, filthy, and banging hot.
I just might have to hate him forever.


Mister McHottie is 45,000 gloriously hilarious, hot, sexy words that your mother warned you about, complete with an organic happy-ever-after (or seven), a Bratwurst Wagon, ill-advised office pranks, and no cheating or cliffhangers.


Purchase Links
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited


Excerpt
Ambrosia May Berger is standing in the elevator bank, peering up at the numbers. She hiccups again. I stop beside her and watch her eyes go wide, then narrow, then cross. Mirrored elevator doors are possibly the second greatest invention known to man.
First, of course, is the internet.
I stare at Bro in the door mirror.
She stares back.
For all the shit she gave me growing up, I always respected her spine. As much as one can respect something that infuriating. She got away with everything. Even when she was reckless.
I can honestly say no woman I’ve been with since her has ever tried to make a break for it in the Bratwurst Wagon.
As long as I block out the month that followed, I can think of the Bratwurst Wagon with a smile.
“Working late or coming in early?” I ask.
“The hogs are mating again,” she replies.
The world believes this woman to be a sane, competent adult. Mind-boggling.
“Do you always wait in elevator banks for women you want to harass?” she asks.
“Only when I’ve gotten bored staking out the bathrooms.” I reach over and hit the up button, because she hasn’t. “Do you always assume the elevators can read your mind?”
“They were doing better than you. I didn’t want to go up.”
“And you’re standing here because…?”
“It’s my thinking spot.”
“It’s 3 AM on a Wednesday morning.”
“Do you see me judging you on wanting to use an elevator at 3 AM on a Wednesday morning? No, you don’t. So why do you have to judge me for wanting to think in an elevator bank at 3 AM? Hmmmmmm?” The hum trills up on the end, right in time with her swiveling to face me. She squints one eye, then the other, before scrunching her face, pointing her index finger at my nose, and making pew, pew noises.
If this is what the security guards were worried I’d find, I’m rather disappointed.
“Drinking on the job again?” I ask.
Again implies I’ve done it before. Which I have not, unless you count that time the guava kale juice fermented, which I don’t, because it only counts as drinking if I enjoy the alcohol. Also, all whiskey was consumed off-premise.”
“So you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m barely buzzed enough to be able to tolerate you.”
I eye her, and decide she’s telling the truth. Her eyes are too focused and her tongue’s too sharp for her to be drunk. I can’t even smell anything on her. Tired, maybe, but not drunk.
“Was it organic?” I ask dryly.
“It’s whiskey, dickhead.”
Christ, that mouth. I want to lick it and tape it shut all at the same time. “You shouldn’t call your superiors names.”
She blows a raspberry. The sight of her ripe pink tongue makes my cock leap to attention.
“Looking for disciplinary action?” I murmur.
“Oh, don’t you wish.” The elevator dings, and she lists inside. I’d try to catch her, but frankly, I wouldn’t mind seeing her crash to the ground.
She comes to a solid stop at the railing along the back paneled wall. “And you’re not my superior,” she says.
“I write your paycheck.”
“Not yet you haven’t.” Spittle shouldn’t be sexy, but her second raspberry gives me a longer look at her tongue. I remember that tongue. Long as a lizard’s, hot as a volcano, talented as a porn star.
That’s as complimentary as I get where Bro Berger is concerned.
“So Mr. Liver-bellied Bratwurst-runner-away-er,” she says, “wouldn’t you be happier owning a grocery store that I don’t work for? Because I’m sure we can find another zagillionaire to take your place.”
I punch the button to the eighteenth floor—where the fresh greens for tomorrow are being picked and packed right now, if all’s on schedule—and give her my worst smile. “Aw, Bro, your inflated opinion of my bank account is touching.”
“You could be a mega-ka-billion-trillionaire, and you still wouldn’t have enough money to buy a soul.”
I’m relatively new to the ranks of the ten-figure club, but it’s still been years since anyone has insulted me to my face.
Her blatant hatred is oddly erotic. “Who needs a soul when I have the power to sack tempestuous employees?”
“Go ahead. I dare you.” She bangs the button for the fourth floor. Then the third, fifth, seventh, ninth, and every odd number to the top. With a frown, she draws her hand down the row of even numbers until every single floor is lit, and if I’d still thought this was alcohol motivating her, the sharp, devious intention in her cold eyes removes any doubt.
She’s fully in control and she’s intentionally trying to bait me.
Heat creeps over my scalp. It’s working.
She’s making this elevator stop on Every. Single. Fucking. Floor.
I whip out my cell phone—security can override her little prank—but as the doors close, my signal dies.
She does the MC Hammer dance, and her breasts jiggle under her swishy spring dress in a way even a celibate Tibetan monk couldn’t resist. There’s no fucking way she’s wearing a bra.
My cock twitches harder.
How did a woman so insanely evil land the world’s most perfect tits?
“Go on, rich boy.” She switches to the Lawnmower, and now her hips are rocking it too. “Buy your way out of that.”
Good Chase, the businessman, the gaming tech genius, the face I show the world, the smarter part of my brain, hops off when the doors open on the second floor, because he appreciates stairs and getting the hell away from this deranged woman.
Bad Chase, though, has possessed my body, and keeps me in the elevator.
I wave goodbye to rational thought and better judgment—who needs those bitches anyway?—and turn to Bro with a growl.
She’s wiggling her sweet curvy ass at me now, arms circling, stirring the batter. “It’s my birthday, happy birthday, it’s my birth—oomph!”
Huh. Emergency stop button works, but it’s a little choppy on the execution. Better have maintenance look at that tomorrow.
I take one large, purposeful step toward Bro.
She fists her hands on her hips and calls me an asshole with her dark, heavy-lidded, fuck-me bedroom eyes.
Yeah.
She’s feeling it too.
That pull. That hate. That inexplicable force of rage that can only be satiated with a hard, hot fuck.


Author Bio
Pippa Grant is a stay-at-home mom and housewife who loves to escape into sexy, funny stories way more than she likes perpetually cleaning toothpaste out of sinks and off toilet handles. When she’s not reading, writing, sleeping, or trying to prepare her adorable demon spawn to be productive members of society, she’s fantasizing about chocolate chip cookies.

Author Links

Friday, October 27, 2017

Fervent Release Blitz +Giveaway


Title: Fervent
Author: Claudia Burgoa
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 27, 2017


Blurb
As a former Army Ranger who works for a high intelligence, private security company, I’ve seen my fair share of death, betrayal, and pain. 
I’ve lived them. 
I trust no one, only my brothers, and my best friend.
I wasn’t always like that. Everything changed the day my parents died and my nation was attacked. 
Since then, family comes first. Work is my mistress. 
Nothing else matters. 
That is, until she walked into my life.
Short dress, long, tanned legs, and honey eyes that make me weak. 
She’s chaos.
She’s sunshine and daffodils.
She’s loud.
She’s a fighter.
She’s a dreamer.
She’s everything I hate.
Why is it so hard to walk away from her?


Purchase Links
$1.99 for a limited time
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
B&N / KOBO / iBOOKS


Excerpt
Stretched t-shirt, dry blood and badass attitude looked good on him. That’s nothing compared to Harrison Everhart wearing a suit. His tall, broad, body wrapped in a dark gray is a site I want to photograph, frame and stare at it forever. He’s the type of man who behaves differently depending on the place and time. For the past five hours, we chatted pleasantly about our families. Nothing too superficial but nothing too intimate, either. If I had time to date, he’d be the kind of man I’d choose. Easy to talk to, funny, and a gentleman.
A refreshing touch from the guys who I hook up with when I have time to go out with my friends. Which lately it’s been never. Maybe I have time, but I don’t want to waste it by doing the same thing over and over again. Meeting a guy who has little social skills, only talks about himself, and by the end of the date is the only one who is satisfied isn’t great. I have my little friendly toys that to do a better job and I don’t have to listen to nonsense.
This would be a great subject for a sociology class; the interactions between humans, and how out of touch they are with one another that dating has become a joke. What happened to love letters? The chase is so much different now than it was back when my parents dated. I should quit the Bureau and go back to school. Finish my psychology degree, go into anthropology or sociology. I would enjoy doing that more than having to jump through hoops to show that I’m capable of more things than my superiors like to acknowledge. If anything, I can write a book with Mom’s letters and notes.
A manual on how it’s done.
“Everything okay?” Harrison asks when the service car stops, and the driver opens my door. “You’ve been quiet since we left the party.”
Define okay? My skin tingles every time you touch me. Your deep voice makes me shiver, and dancing in your arms was a bit torturous because everything inside me wanted you to touch more than my bare shoulders and my waist. But yeah, I’m cool.
“Your brother and Hazel never arrived at the party,” I comment, not disclosing that I’d like to find out how my fake future boyfriend kisses. “Gia wasn’t there either.”
 “I’m sorry about that. If you want, I can try to find out her whereabouts. My people can hack her phone and track her daily activities. He smirks and winks. “We can start stalking her.”
“Stalking?” I boom, laughing and covering my mouth when a couple walking close to us turns to glare at me.
“Yeah, that’s the word and you know what they say, ‘couples that stalk together stay together.’” He grins, his blue-crystal eyes shining with the post light.
That grin is addictive. I shouldn’t mind pretending to be with him while I’m working. A little fun on the side, some sexy times. Sex. I haven’t had that in a long time. So long that I can only remember what my toys can do for me. But I care. He’s a distraction. Each time he smirks, touches me or talks with the low-bedroom voice I want to jump him. That’s not only unprofessional but also illogical.
“Anything for the sake of the case, right?” My voice comes out a little throaty, needy.
He clears his throat, looking around and poking the elevator. “We should do this again,” he says, leaning closer to me.
“Technically, we have to do it again.”
Have I mentioned this is the best case I’ve ever worked on in my entire life.” He leans forward, kissing my cheek. His lips lingering close to my ear for one too many seconds. His musk-wood scent making my stomach flutter.
“Thank you,” I swallow hard, turning around and stepping into the elevator. “We can discuss our next move tomorrow.”
I poke the elevator, looking at the doors that start closing his gaze locks with mine.  His eyes darken, the intensity of that gaze makes me feel vulnerable, bare. I imagine my skin searing with the touch of his big hands. As the doors close, my phone rings. An incoming message. Unknown number reads the screen.
Unknown: This was the best first date I’ve had in a long time. Thank you.


Also Available
NEW COVER & TITLE
(Previously titled All of You All of Me)
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited


Author Bio
Claudia grew up with a childhood that resembled a caffeine-injected soap opera.

She lives in Colorado working for a small IT company, managing her household filled with three confused dogs, her geek husband, two daughters wrought with fandoms and a son who thinks he’s the boss of the house. To survive she works continually to find purpose for the voices flitting through her head, plus she consumes high quantities of chocolate to keep the last threads of sanity intact.

Author Links


Giveaway

Stories Untold Book Tour +Giveaway


Stories Untold
by Leslie Wolfe
Genre: Thriller, Suspense


A GRIPPING, SUSPENSEFUL THRILLER



Can a psychologist, still grieving the loss of her husband, save a traumatized war veteran who is planning his own death? Stories Untold explores the devastation of loss, the struggle to find meaning in life, and the enduring power of love that transcends boundaries between past and future.


They’re both strong and fearless, determined, relentless. 
He’s a decorated war veteran and he wants to die. 
She’s a prominent psychologist and she won’t give up on him.


When a suicidal client seeks her help, Dr. Angela Blackwell cannot turn him away, despite the fact that he isn’t seeking the kind of help she normally provides her clients. The man, who won’t fully identify himself, wants the distinguished psychologist to stand witness after his planned death in six months’ time, ensuring his wife will not be charged as an accessory or be hindered from collecting the death benefit he carefully provisioned for her. He calls himself DJ and won’t willingly share anything about his past.

As Dr. Blackwell is struggling to reconstruct her own life after the loss of her husband, she recognizes his unusual request as a subconscious cry for help and embarks on a relentless effort to guide the reluctant stranger in uncovering the trauma that has permanently altered the course of his existence. Playing a deck of cards stacked high against her and rushing against time, she has no other option but to intervene, pushing the ethical boundaries of the doctor-client relationship and refusing to give up. 

An astonishing, vibrant story of human strength and frailty, of love lost and love found, the Stories Untold saga will captivate as few stories ever do, with unexpected twists and turns, leaving a lasting memory ingrained into the essence of the reader’s being. 


Goodreads * Amazon


Excerpt


1
 The Chosen Day

He was ready to die.
Not fighting the thought anymore, not even feeling sorry for forfeiting his tomorrows.
All feeling had abandoned his weary heart, leaving nothing but hollow space behind. Nothing more than emptiness, the vacant shell of what he once was, back in the day when life was wondrous and joyful and fun, centuries ago, when he was still alive.
He leaned back farther in his seat and enjoyed the silence that engulfed the warehouse. The last of the employees had clocked out and gone home. Even Terrell, who took the most convincing to leave while he was still there looking busy in his small office, had left almost an hour ago. Most of the warehouse was shrouding itself in darkness, while one fluorescent light after another reached their automatic delays and went off, precisely sixty minutes after the last human being had tripped the respective motion sensor. It was almost like nightfall in a way; it had to do with life, but wasn’t natural. There, in the realm of the immense office supplies warehouse, it was life that generated light, not the other way around.
Soon darkness would come, and bring relief with it.
His desk lamp was the only light still on, and he stared at its pale, yellowish glow for the longest time. Absentminded, he pulled two small, white pebbles out of his pocket and let his fingers play with them, rubbing and knocking them against each other, making soothing, muted sounds that filled the hollow silence. No thoughts crossed his mind; he could have stayed like that for ages, lost in the transcendence between life and death, caught between his past and his nonexisting future.
But no, he had a job to do. He forced himself to come back to reality and shrugged off the emptiness that had swallowed him whole. He let the two pebbles drop into his pocket, then tapped on the fabric to make sure they were tucked safely in there. His eyes struggled to focus on the paperwork lying in front of him on the desk’s melamine surface, guaranteed to be scratch and stain resistant.
He shook his head angrily, inviting the unwanted tidbit of office product description to get out of his head, and then reviewed the list of dates printed on the sheet of paper he held with firm, cold fingers.
Only one policy left, that was all. The rest of them had passed the two-year mark that was the typical suicide exclusion waiting period. Most life insurance policies would pay the benefit even in the case of suicide, if more than two years had passed since the policy had been underwritten. His had passed that mark, except for one. He looked at the date and counted in his mind. Five more months, and that last one would reach the threshold, putting the suicide clause into effect.
Huh… From a risk analysis perspective, the insurance companies believed no one could hold on to the will to die for as long as he had, and that’s why they were willing to pay. He reflected on that thought for a while, while his eyes wandered absently to the letters that formed his name, printed in all caps at the top of the form. The insurance companies knew how to quantify and manage risk, but they had never met nor quantified Dylan James Ballard. By the time the dust would settle on his grave, numerous actuarial busybodies would adjust that risk factor based on his precedent, and soon that clause would probably run three years instead of two. No insurance company could stand to make less than billions in profits each year.
Not his problem anymore; none of it.
All he still cared about was his wife, and he’d made sure she’d be well taken care of. The rest had stopped mattering a long time ago.
He stood with a groan and pulled the calendar off the wall, then sat back in his chair, flipping through the pages. Six months from today was November. The last of the policies would mature in five months, but he didn’t want to cut it that close, so they wouldn’t be suspicious.
He picked up a red pen and read through the dates, looking for one that would be worthy to become the day he stopped breathing. A Monday… what could be worse than a Monday in November, right? It would probably be a gloomy, never-see-the-sun kind of day, cold and humid and foggy and nasty, like November Mondays can be in San Francisco.
He chose the second Monday, the twelfth, and circled it firmly with the red pen. Then he squinted a little in the dim light, and read what was written right underneath the bold digits that formed the number twelve. Veterans Day, it said there, in font so small and discrete, it was almost like the calendar makers had been ashamed to print those words. How appropriate a day for him to choose; how fitting. Decidedly, he revisited the date with the red pen and circled it a couple of times more.
Satisfied, he flipped the calendar pages back to May, and hung it on the wall in its rightful place. Then he turned toward his computer and opened a browser window. It was time for the next phase of the plan.
He scrolled through countless search results and spent his time reading reviews and looking at people’s faces before he finally chose her. Dr. Angela Blackwell, forty-four years old, highly credentialed, favorable reviews, published works. Not cheap at all, but he didn’t care to save money this time. He needed the perfect witness, someone whose testimony would carry weight in court, someone who could swear his wife had nothing to do with his death, so the cops wouldn’t suspect her of any involvement in his sudden demise. Then the insurance bastards would leave Taylor alone and have no alternative but to pay the death benefits.
He checked the time on his phone and almost smiled, noting it was probably late enough to not risk catching the good doctor still in her office. He dialed the number, and after four rings and the customary beep, he cleared his voice and spoke plainly.
“Yeah, Dr. Blackwell, hello. I need your help. I need a few sessions during the next six months or so. I will pay in cash; I believe that won’t be a problem. I can’t have anything like that show up on my record; I hope you’ll understand. Please call me back.”
He ended the call and leaned back in his seat, then allowed the silence to settle over the vast space of the warehouse, after the last echo of his voice had vanished. He closed his eyes, feeling nothing but emptiness, the familiar absence of feeling that shrouded him wherever he went.
He was ready to die, and now he knew just when that was going to happen.
November twelfth.
  


What Readers Say About Leslie Wolfe 
-- “Leslie Wolfe has the talent that is comparable to the likes of a Tom Clancy or a Michael Crichton, or even James Patterson.” - Dennis Waller 
-- “Wolfe keeps readers turning the pages...” - Kirkus Reviews 
-- “Leslie Wolfe knows how to blend advanced technological data with powerfully written human behavior responses and the result is a novel that few will want to put down once the story begins.” -- Grady Harp
-- "Verdict: A phenomenal novel that will keep you on the edge of your seat. I highly recommend it!" -- KWNY Publicity 

Readers and Critics Talking About Leslie Wolfe Novels
-- “Leslie Wolfe is now very much on my list of MUST READ AUTHORS and I can't wait for the next book to be released” 
-- “Characters you really can bond with and want to read more about. Too real and plausible not to keep you reading far too long after bed time!” 
-- “Now this was a real smoker, really kept it moving, very well written. Guess I better find out if my wife is talking to me.” 
-- “Leslie Wolfe just gets better and better.” 
-- “This story has one of the best plots I’ve read in a long time.” 
-- “From the beginning to the last page her novel manages to keep reader’s attention, delivering intrigue, thrill and suspense.” 
-- “An impressive amount of suspense throughout.” 
-- “As soon as I picked it up, I couldn’t put it down! Full of suspense and keeps you at the edge of your seat. I loved it!” 
-- “As a long-time fan of Tom Clancy's early works and Dan Brown's techno-thrillers, it makes me proud to see a woman stepping so confidently into this male-dominated arena. Well done, Leslie.” 



Bestselling author Leslie Wolfe is passionate about writing fiction, despite spending a significant number of years climbing the corporate ladder. Leaving the coveted world of boardrooms for the blissful peace of the Florida-based "Wolves’ den," Leslie answers one true calling: writing.
Leslie’s novels break the mold of traditional thrillers. Fascinated by technology and psychology, Leslie brings extensive background and research in these fields that empower and add texture to a signature, multi-dimensional, engaging writing style.
Leslie released the first novel, Executive, in October 2011. It was very well received, including inquiries from Hollywood. Since then, Leslie published numerous novels and enjoyed growing success and recognition in the marketplace. Among Leslie’s most notable works, The Watson Girl (2017) was recognized for offering a unique insight into the mind of a serial killer and a rarely seen first person account of his actions, in a dramatic and intense procedural thriller.
A complete list of Leslie’s titles is available at http://wolfenovels.com/titles
Leslie enjoys engaging with readers every day and would love to hear from you.
Become an insider: gain early access to previews of Leslie’s new novels: 


Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!