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Friday, November 28, 2014

Portrait of Passion by Lynne Barron (ADULT title) (Virtual Book Blast, excerpt and GIVEAWAY)



This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. A randomly drawn winner will receive a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

ADULT title



Portrait of Passion

What’s a Viscount to do when a mysterious lady with a secret past and a reputation frayed around the edges suddenly appears in London in hot pursuit of his naive young cousin, setting the gossips’ tongues wagging, stirring his family into pandemonium, and driving him mad with her irreverent ways?

If the Viscount in question is Simon Easton, the answer is quite simple. Seduce the beguiling lady. But Miss Beatrice Morgan isn’t your average tarnished lady. She’s lived a slapdash life wandering the globe like a gypsy, painting fantastical portraits of Duchesses as Sirens and landscapes featuring a crumbling old fountain, all the while harboring a secret desire to return to Idyllwild, the only home she’s ever known.

What Simon does not know is that Beatrice just might be willing to sacrifice her honor, her virtue, her very heart to reclaim Idyllwild.


Excerpt

Beatrice thought that had Abby been born into a different family, she would be making her debut soon, perhaps next year.

Instead she waited upon a dishonest, lying, scheming woman.

Bea could not hold back bitter laughter at the thought. Simon turned his head to look at her in surprise. Abby froze, her gaze flying to Bea’s face.

“You are a very pretty girl,” Bea said and watched the blush deepen on the girl’s cheeks.

“Thank you, miss,” she shyly replied, bobbing another quick curtsy.

When Bea only watched her silently, Abby looked to Simon, who gave her a subtle shrug, before she asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you, miss?”

“You may undress me,” Bea said.

“Beatrice,” Simon protested quietly.

“I would like Abby to undress me and brush out my hair,” Bea insisted. She forced herself to raise her eyes to his, unsure what they would reveal to him. She was confused, an awful feeling of desperation mingled with the banked rage and shame. Would he see?

Simon captured her gaze, his eyes dark, not angry, uncertain perhaps. She knew she was behaving irrationally. She did not care.

“I’ll step outside,” Simon finally replied.

“Do not,” Bea said, waving her hands about in agitation. “Please, stay.”

Simon looked from her face to her hands, suspended in midair. She dropped them to her sides, clenched her fingers in her skirts, grabbing fistfuls of the dark silk.

Bea looked at Abby, standing as still as a statue, her eyes wide as she looked back. Bea realized that it was the first time the timid girl had ever looked her mistress in the eye. As if reading her mind, the maid tore her gaze away and bent her head down.

Buy the book at Ellora’s Cave, Amazon, or Barnes and Noble.




About the Author:   Write About What You Know.

Every Creative Writing Teacher and College Professor said these words to Lynne Barron in one form or another. But what did she know?

She knew she enjoyed the guilty pleasure of reading romance novels whenever she could find time between studying, working and raising her son as a single mother.

She knew quite a bit about women's lives in the Regency and Victorian era from years spent bouncing back and forth between European History and English Literature as a major in college.

She knew precious little about romance except to know that it was more than the cliché card and a dozen red roses on Valentine's Day.

Then she met her wonderfully romantic husband and finally she knew.

Passion, Love and Romance.

And she began to write.

If you would like to learn more about Lynne Barron and the Idyllwild Series, please visit her website at LynneBarron.com or follow her at Facebook or Twitter.


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Thursday, November 27, 2014

The Bones of You by Laura Stone (guest post, excerpt and GIVEAWAY) GFT



It is my pleasure to share a guest post by Laura Stone...(and...HAPPY THANKSGIVING to those of you who celebrate!)


A Perfectly Imperfect First Date

Movies like to have these “First Dates” all about grand gestures: a balloon ride, a magically lit tree with a four course meal served underneath, a surprise limo or helicopter ride to some exotic locale. And while, hey, I wouldn't turn any of those date options down, they're also not realistic for most of us. And more importantly, that sort of huge gesture isn't really needed. It's not about the Big Event, it's about the romantic thought behind it.

In The Bones of You, Oliver plans an afternoon and evening of specific locations and surprises for Seth as a way of rekindling their former relationship, and without giving too much away, it works. I based a lot of that chapter on an experience I had with maybe the most romantic boy I've ever known on our first date.

We were both poor college students, each of us paying our own way and working two jobs. There wasn't a lot of money for wining and dining. He'd done a little research on me via my roommate, and took me to places I loved. We spent twenty four hours together talking, getting to know each other, and then there were random little surprises of turning a corner and finding ourselves in front of a sculpture in a city garden that I loved. We stopped in a cafe to get a slice of my favorite cake. We drove to the far side of town to watch the sun rise over the mountains. With the exception of the cake, we didn't spend any money, we didn't go to any fancy restaurants or clubs, we simply spent our time getting to know each other, excited to find so many similarities between us.

At one point, I asked if he wouldn't mind if I called my roommate to let her know we were still out (this was back before cell phones—ancient times!), and he laughed to himself and said quietly, “You don't even know. I'd give you the moon.” I'm blushing and grinning just remembering this. About two days after our perfect date, one that neither of us wanted to come to an end, I had a package delivered to my dorm: a giant poster of the moon and a card, “I told you I'd get it for you.”

Cute, right?

Romance isn't about glitz and glamor, although that's okay, too. For me, and it's how I wrote the story, it's about connecting with who the other person is and letting them know how special they are to you. Romance is remembering an important day and honoring it, even with a simple card. It's knowing that your partner likes a particular scent, has a favorite restaurant, loves more than anything else to curl up with a blanket, a good book, and you. It's honoring what you've learned about your partner and making them feel like they have a permanent place in your life. Gosh, who doesn't want to feel special to the person with whom they're in love?

Towards the end of this well-planned outing between Oliver and Seth, Seth is almost overcome by all of the little details Oliver never let himself forget over the years. Seth had revealed earlier how different dating was in New York City versus how they'd grown up in their little town, and it's almost overwhelming, how good it feels to have someone make him feel special again, and in a way only Oliver ever managed. As for what happens after that, you'll have to read to find out.

As the stodgy-yet-fabulous Aunt Josephine says to Anne Shirley, “Make a little room in your plans for romance again, Anne, girl. All the degrees and scholarships in the world can’t make up for the lack of it.” I couldn't agree more.










The Bones of You
by Laura Stone

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLURB:

Oliver Andrews was wholly focused on the final stages of his education at Cambridge University when a well-meaning friend up-ended his world with a simple email attachment: a clip from a U.S. morning show.

The moment he watches the video of his one-time love Seth Larsen, now a Broadway star, Oliver must begin making a series of choices that could lead him back to love—or break his heart.

The Bones of You is full of laughter and tears, with a collection of irritated Hungarians, flirtatious Irishwomen, and actors abusing Shakespeare that color Oliver and Seth’s attempts at reconciliation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EXCERPT

“Do you have any idea how badly I want to kiss you right now?” Seth murmured.
       
Oliver's heart gave an enormous, pained thump and with a choked cry, he leaned forward the mere inches between them, pressing their lips together. He felt Seth's hand slide from his cheek to be buried in his hair, could feel Seth's strong, lean chest pressed against his. Oliver held their bodies together tightly even as his mouth was still gentle on Seth's, sliding softly over Seth's lips, amazed that this was even happening.
       
Seth pulled back and pressed their foreheads together, his hand massaging Oliver's scalp. “God, I've missed you so much, Oliver—”
       
“I know,” Oliver exhaled before kissing Seth again, all thoughts of being wary gone. He opened his mouth, moaning softly when Seth followed suit, splaying his hands across Seth's back when their tongues touched, memories of all of the kisses they'd shared in the past coming back and speeding up their reconnection.


Amazon link

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AUTHOR Bio and Links:



 A life-long fan girl, Laura Stone takes a leave of absence from the glamorous life of motherhood while the kids were in school, devoting her days to writing full-time. In the past she's worn the hat of actress, Master Gardener, and computer geek, but now sticks mostly to a Texas Ranger's ball cap as she raises her children. They're not fully raised, but then again, she would say that she isn’t either.

She began telling stories to her parents at the age of four. She was so successful in catching her parent's attention that her father actually dislocated his back, trying not to sit on her imaginary cat, Doka.

She lives in Texas as proof that it's not totally populated by hard-line right-wingers—and because that's where the good tamales are from.

Connect with Laura:

Website
Goodreads
tumblr at Stoney321
Twitter

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Wednesday, November 26, 2014

The Kingdom Lights by Stephen VS (Guest post, excerpt, GIVEAWAY) GFT




I have the pleasure of having a guest post by author Stephen VS, who is writing about:


5-10 musts every story in your genre should have

World building – when dealing with the sorts of crazy concepts and creatures typical to the genre of fantasy/steampunk it’s important to spend time world building. There are lots of different ways to do this, but the best way is to start slow. Don’t overwhelm your reader, ease them in gently. If you introduce concepts slowly they are more likely to be accepted, and it will build a foundation so that when you introduce more farfetched concepts, they’ll be easier to take.


A strong antagonist – A hero is only as good his villain. A strong and present antagonist gives your hero and your readers something to rally against and gives a point of reference as to where the story is going. Introduce your antagonist as early as possible and the threat that they present to your hero. If you don’t do this, the story can seem unfocused as the reader wonder where it’s all going. A clear and present danger streamlines and empowers any story .
 

A world that makes sense – It doesn’t matter what you create, it has to make sense. For example in your world people may have the ability to come back from the dead, okay fair enough. But what is the limit to this? What are these people like – walking zombies or completely normal? You have to create real parameters for your world otherwise things will seem “cheap” as though you are just making things up as the story needs it. Do yourself a favor, create a set of rules for how your magic/technology works and stick to it. You will create a far more powerful narrative this way.
 

A history – if you are going to create a fictional world it isn’t enough to simply start telling your story from day one. A believable world means knowing where you have come from. Does your world have two nations that are at war? Are allies? Have never met? Well what were these nations doing a hundred years ago? Five hundred years ago? Our world today is the way it is because of things that happened a long time in the past. If you are going to create a world this is something you too must bear in mind. A good writer knows everything about their world, even if they don’t put it on paper. Go the distance, make a real world with a real history, it will elevate your writing from good to legendary .
 

Limitations – you might think this is a strange one, but limitations are just as important as creating cool stuff. Do you want to know why it is so difficult to make a compelling Superman movie as opposed to say Captain America? Because Superman has no limits, no real weaknesses (apart from the obvious one) and therefore it is hard to have Superman in a situation where you really think he is in danger. Captain America on the other hand – you put a gun to his head and he might die. If your protagonist is too powerful, or his technology too advanced then you may box yourself into a corner where nothing can hurt them.







The Kingdom Lights

By
Steven Seng (Steven VS)

BLURB:  

In a world where cities float, airships sail the skies and mythical creatures are summoned in a pinch, Celes Vale is distinctly average. Living in the shadow of his talented cousin and his powerful aunt and uncle, Celes is resigned to a future of soot, factories and well, more soot.
  
But on the night of his twelfth birthday everything changes.  A blinding light, a whispered voice and in an instant Celes becomes the first ordinary child in history to develop magic, sending him on a fast-track ticket to the greatest of the floating cities, Gardarel.  Boasting grand, elegant buildings wrought from shimmering white stone, the entire city appears as though it has been built from light, and so it has come to be called the Kingdom Lights.

  Though some welcome Celes, others want the dirt-ridden up-start off their city, preferably head first.  Nowhere is this clearer than in the attitude and actions of the beautiful and haughty Lady Ban and her sneering nephew, Marcus Blackwood.  But Blackwood, with his gang of goons and unimaginative one-liners, is soon the least of Celes's problems.
  With a little magic and a lot of detective work, Celes and his group of Scurriers and Wisps unravel the dark truth behind Lady Ban's prim, perfect smile an alliance to the villainous Wardens and the masked man who leads them.  However, in his attempt to expose Lady Ban, Celes unwittingly stumbles onto an even darker conspiracy, a plan that could lead to the complete destruction of Gardarel itself.



EXCERPT

Tidus was crying. Tidus often cried and Zephyr wondered how best to cheer his friend up this time.

“It won’t be so bad. I mean, we’ll be in different schools, but maybe your magic is just getting started.” That’s a good approach, thought Zephyr. The tears ebbed and Zephyr thought he heard a sniffle. “I’m sure it’s taking a bit longer…bit longer than normal. But I bet… I bet when your magic does come, it’ll be really strong!” he finished enthusiastically. Tidus howled. Oh no, maybe it’s not working at all.

Barely four foot tall, Zephyr was small even for a Wisp. Covering his entire body was a thick robe that extended all the way over his head, upon which it became a large furred cowl. Being made of a great deal of spirit and magic, Zephyr’s face was rather hard to see and appeared as no more than a haze; dark as midnight, punctuated by two large silvery eyes that shone as bright as lighthouse beacons, hiding the pale skin that lay beneath.

“You’re just saying that,” sniffled Tidus, another Wisp with crackling eyes of electric blue and a full year younger than Zephyr. “You’ll go to the Anchor School in a few weeks then you’ll go to the Lunar Academy next year and I’ll be…I’ll be…” He hiccoughed, his whole body jolting. “I’ll be all on my own!”

“No, no, no. We’ll still be friends!” he said, giving Tidus a small pat. “And you’ll have so much fun at your new school, you won’t even notice.”


Amazon link




AUTHOR INFORMATION:


 A resident of the sleepy coastal town of Bexhill, East Sussex, England. Steven graduated in the summer of 2013 from the University of Southampton with a Bachelor of Medicine Degree and a Master’s Degree in Global Health from Sussex University – where he spent the majority of his time in Shawcross writing this novel!
In between writing and dreaming Steven is a medical doctor and has worked at the University Hospital of North Staffordshire and the Princess Royal where he fights the system with quirky lanyards.
Steven’s debut novel steampunk fantasy The Kingdom Lights is out on October 17th published by Neverland Publishing.

Website


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Deviation by Christine Manzari (New cover reveal, excerpt, GIVEAWAY) GFT



This post is part of a cover reveal for the re-release of Christine Manzari's DEVIATION. One randomly drawn winner will be awarded a $25 Amazon/BN gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Being a Sophisticate of the Program seems like it’d be a pretty sweet deal: a little genetic alteration and anyone can be smarter, faster, and stronger. It’s a dream come true. All you have to give up is your freedom.

Cleo is a Sophisticate and she has a bright future in the Program. But she has a secret. When she gets upset, bad things happen. Explosive things. Things she can’t control.

When her secret is discovered, she’s sent to the Academy to train in the military branch of the Program. She’s destined to be a human weapon in the war that’s been going on since Wormwood occurred nearly 30 years ago. She soon learns that although her ability is unique, there are others like her — other Sophisticates with lethal skills and odd code names like Archerfish and Mimic Octopus.

Immersed in a dangerous game of supernatural powers and dubious motives, Cleo doesn’t know who to trust. Ozzy, the annoyingly attractive cadet who has perfect aim in weapons class and deviant lips behind closed doors, begs her not to use her powers. He’s the golden boy of the Program, but can she trust him? Or will she find herself a target, caught in his crosshairs?

Enjoy an excerpt:

“Late on your first day?”

I turned to find the dark haired boy still leaning against the wall. The top button of his shirt was undone and his tie was slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t wearing his jacket and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing his tan, muscular forearms. His tousled hair hung across his forehead, nearly falling into his eyes, and it appeared he hadn’t bothered to shave this morning.

“You’re late, too,” I pointed out. I also wanted to point out that his uniform was far from uniform or acceptable according to St. Ignatius policy.

The boy shook his head and then ran his hand back through his messy curls, trying to tame them into submission. “Not late. Sick.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I said, because I couldn’t think of any better response. It was obvious the boy wasn’t sick, he was skipping class. “Look, I really have to go. It was nice meeting you.”

“But we haven’t met,” he responded.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“We haven’t actually met yet,” he explained, pushing away from the wall. “Name’s Ozzy,” he said, holding out his hand.

I looked at his hand. “Is it contagious?”

He tilted his head causing the unruly curls to tumble back across his forehead. “I don’t follow.”

“Your sickness, I don’t want to catch anything.”

“Right,” he said, a wide grin dimpling across his face as he pulled his hand back and returned it to his pocket. “Well then, I should let you get to class I suppose.” He turned and walked down the hallway, the opposite direction from my classroom. “It was nice meeting you, Clementine,” he called back over his shoulder.

“I never told you my name,” I said calmly, even though I was a little unnerved that he knew my name.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Apparently, I do,” I retorted. “I don’t answer to Clementine.”

Ozzy chuckled without turning around. “See you around, Cleo.” 



Buy the book at Amazon, Smashwords, or Barnes & Noble.


About the Author:
The first thing Christine does when she's getting ready to read a book is to crack the spine in at least five places. She wholeheartedly believes there is no place as comfy as the pages of a well-worn book. She's addicted to buying books, reading books, and writing books. Books, books, books. She also has a weakness for adventure, inappropriate humor, and coke (the caffeine-laden bubbly kind). Christine is from Forest Hill, Maryland where she lives with her husband, three kids, and her library of ugly spine books.

Website
Email
Facebook
Twitter
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Pinterest 
Goodreads


The next title in the series is:


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Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Blond Cargo by John Lansing and A Last Goodbye by J.A. Jance (Pocket e-books)




SLACK FRIDAY: NOVEMBER 28, 2014

There are a multiplicity of great titles that are being put on special for this promotion.  I am splitting the features so that it is not overwhelming so please check the blog over the next couple of weeks as I feature them on different days!  Please click on the book cover or title to pre-order.  (and don't forget, I get a small percentage if you do purchase through that link, so thank you!)



Avoid crazed shopping crowds!
Keep calm and carry on at home with these great
Merr-E Holiday Treats from Pocket Star eBooks!


And...to help you choose which titles to buy...there's a cute page of titles...
Happy Holidays from Pocket Books!
Whether you've been feeling naughty or nice, Pocket Star has a festive holiday ebook for you!
Click on the Christmas Cards to find one that’s a perfect fit and download for holiday cheer!
Don't forget to send some holiday cheer to a friend!




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Blond Cargo
John Lansing
October 20, 2014
$5.99
The second Jack Bertolino thriller by John Lansing

“An unyielding pace, vigorous characters and explosive ending.”
—Kirkus Reviews

“A fantastic read…This extremely fast and well-thought-out thriller will remind some of James Patterson’s early works.”
—Suspense Magazine

“Blond Cargo an extraordinary, must-read detective thriller. Can’t wait for the next installment! Look out Patterson, someone’s gaining on you!”
—Amazon Reviewer

SUMMARY:
Blond Cargo is the highly anticipated second Jack Bertolino installment from New York native and now Los Angeles author John Lansing.  This gripping eBook from the former writer/producer of Walker, Texas Ranger and Co-Executive producer of the ABC series Scoundrels continues the story that began in The Devil’s Necktie.

Jack Bertolino is back…in the sequel to John Lansing’s bestseller The Devil’s Necktie!

Jack’s son, Chris, was the victim of a brutal murder attempt and Vincent Cardona, a mafia boss, provided information that helped Jack take down the perpetrator of the crime. Jack accepted the favor knowing there’d be blowback. In Blond Cargo, the mobster’s daughter has gone missing and Cardona turned in his chit.  Jack discovers that the young, blond mafia princess has been kidnapped and imprisoned while rich, politically connected men negotiate her value as a sex slave.

John Lansing taps into the real life world of cops, crime, drugs and murder in Blond Cargo to deliver another sizzling whodunit.

EXCERPT:
Jack Bertolino moved briskly down the polished terrazzo floor of the American Airlines terminal at San Francisco International Airport. He walked past travelers who were deplaning, waiting to board, eating, drinking, and queuing up at ticket counters. Through the windows on either side of the crowded terminal he could see a line of Boeing MD-80s and 737s.

Jack had his game face on. One thought only: take down the manager at NCI Corp who was dirty.

Todd Dearling had been hired as one of five project managers, developing a new generation of semiconductors meant to challenge Intel’s control of the market. Yet the new engineer was plotting to steal the proprietary architecture for the company’s most advanced technology and sell it to an Argentinean competitor.

Jack had done a thorough background check on Dearling and found no skeletons in the man’s closet, no gambling issues, no drugs, no priors; it was greed, pure and simple. Cruz Feinberg, Jack’s new associate, had arrived in Silicon Valley two days prior and wirelessly inserted a program onto Dearling’s iPad while the stressed-out manager was sucking down his daily chai latte at the local Starbucks. Any text or e-mail sent to or from Dearling was cloned and sent to Cruz’s laptop. A piece of cake to pull off for the young tech whiz. Jack was being well paid to catch the thief in the act—let the money and the technology change hands, and then drop the hammer.

Todd Dearling had made reservations at the Four Seasons Hotel in East Palo Alto. A car would be waiting at SFO to ferry his Argentinean counterpart to the suite where the exchange was scheduled to take place.

Jack had booked Cruz into that same suite two nights earlier, where he had set up wireless microcameras and wired the room for sound, to be routed to the suite next door, where Jack’s team would document the crime.

Jack lived for these moments. Outsmarting intelligent men who thought they were above the law. Badge or no badge, Jack loved to take scumbags down.

Ten minutes ago, Flight 378 from Buenos Aires had flashed from black to green on the overhead arrivals screen. Dressed in a gray pinstripe business suit and wheeling a carry-on suitcase, Jack walked toward a limo driver stationed near the exit door of the international terminal. The man held a sign chest-high that read emilio bragga.

Jack reached out a hand toward the driver, who was forced to lower his placard, shake Jack’s hand, and make quick work of grabbing up Jack’s bag. Jack headed quickly toward the exit, explaining to the driver that he was traveling light and had no checked luggage.

As soon as the two men exited the building, Jack’s second employee, Mateo Vasquez, dressed in a black suit, moved into the same spot, carrying a sign that read Emilio bragga.

Jack and Mateo had once been on opposite sides of the thin blue line, Jack as an NYPD narcotics detective, Mateo as an operative for a Colombian drug cartel. When Jack busted the cartel, he made Mateo an offer—spend thirty years in the big house, or come to work for the NYPD as a confidential
informant. Mateo had made the right choice and Jack had earned himself a loyal operative when he became a private investigator.

Thirty seconds later, the real Emilio Bragga walked up to Mateo, stifled a yawn, and handed off his carry-on. He was short and stocky with a rubbery face.

“Buenos días, Señor Bragga. I hope your flight was acceptable?” Mateo asked deferentially.

“Barely. First class isn’t what it used to be.” Bragga’s accented English was spoken in clipped tones. “Take me to the First National Bank. I have business to attend to.”

Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of business, Mateo might have added, but refrained.

Jack arrived at the Four Seasons, generously tipped the limo driver, and hurried up the elevator to the suite where Cruz was waiting. Once Jack stripped off his suit jacket, he joined the young genius by his array of monitors.

“They should make these baby ketchup bottles illegal,” Cruz said as he tried to pound the condiment out of the room service minibottle of Heinz. Growing frustrated, Cruz shoved a knife deep into the viscous ketchup and poured a heaping red mound onto his fries. Happy with the results, he chowed down on three drenched fries before wiping his hands on his jeans and returning his gaze to the computer.

“It looks like he’s getting ready for a date,” Jack said as he took a seat. Cruz kept his eyes trained on the four screens corresponding to the four different camera angles of the room they were covering.

“Guy’s squirrelly,” Cruz said, biting into his cheeseburger.

They watched as Todd Dearling twirled a bottle of champagne in the ice that had just been delivered from room service, along with a tray of finger sandwiches and crudités. He was a slight, pale, middle-aged man with thinning hair that he kept nervously brushing back off his forehead. He shrugged out of his tweed sports jacket, but when he saw the sweat stains in the armpits of his blue dress shirt, he slid it
back on. He hurried over to the thermostat near the door, appearing on a new screen, and turned up the air.

Jack checked his watch and then his phone to make sure he was receiving enough bars to communicate with Mateo. “I’m getting a little nervous. You?” Cruz asked before sucking down the last of his Coke. He crumpled the aluminum can with one hand and executed an overhand dunk into the bamboo trash bin.

Cruz’s mother was Guatemalan, his father a Brooklyn Jew who founded Bundy Lock and Key. That’s where Jack first met him. Cruz, who took after his mother’s side of the family, looked taller than his five-foot-nine frame. Darkskinned, intelligent brown eyes, a youthful angular face, and at twenty-three, he could still pull off the spiky short black hair.

“I’ve got some energy going,” Jack said, “but it’s all good.  You’d have to worry if you didn’t feel pumped.”

Just then Jack’s phone vibrated and the number 999 appeared on his text screen, code for It’s a go. Mateo and Emilio Bragga had just pulled up to the front entrance of the Four Seasons Hotel.

“We’re on,” Jack said with a tight grin.

In another minute, a loud rap on a door made Cruz jump. “Is that here?” he asked, and glanced over at the door to their suite.

“No, it’s next door. Great sound, Cruz,” Jack said, trying to keep his newest charge calm.

Jack and Cruz watched as Dearling’s image moved from one screen to the next, went over to the door, unlocked it, and ushered in Emilio Bragga. The man of the hour wheeled his carry-on across the white marble floor, pushed the retractable handle down into the bag, and gave Dearling an unexpected bear hug, lifting the thin man off his feet. Once the blush faded and he had regained his composure, Dearling
was all smiles. He could smell his fortune being made. “First, tell me you have them,” Bragga said brusquely, his smile tightening.

“I have them and more, Emilio. There are even some preliminary renderings for the next series of chips. Consider it goodwill,” Dearling said.

He lifted the champagne bottle out of the melting ice with a flourish, dripping water onto his dress shirt.
“A celebratory drink and then business.”

 “No, business first,” Jack said.

“No. Show them to me. Now,” Bragga ordered, his voice unyielding.

“Now we’re talking,” Cruz said to Jack, barely able to control his excitement.

The next knock was more subdued than the first, just a quick double knock.

“That’s here,” Jack said as he slid out of his chair and opened the door. Mateo was thirty-nine years old, tall, handsome, with striking gray eyes, long brown hair, and a thousand-dollar suit. He beamed at his old friend as he walked in, bumped fists, and moved into position behind Cruz, eyes trained on the computer screen.

Emilio Bragga placed his carry-on luggage on the couch as Dearling pulled a slim buffed metal briefcase from behind the table and snapped it open on the tabletop. Inside was a series of blue, red, silver, and gold flash drives, seated in foam cutouts next to three bound technical binders.

Bragga leafed quickly through one of the binders, visibly relaxed, and placed it back inside the case. He looked at Todd Dearling and nodded his head. Then he smiled.

“This is the money shot,” Jack said. “Make it the money shot.”

Emilio Bragga walked over to the couch, ceremoniously produced a key, and opened the lock. The sound of the zipper ratcheting around the circumference of the bag got everyone’s full attention. And then Bragga flipped open the canvas top.

Two hundred and fifty thousand, in crisp, banded hundred-dollar bills. Jack’s team could almost hear Dearling’s breath catch in his throat.

“You see those appetizers?” Bragga said, gesturing to the tray of crudités. “That is what this is.” He turned his gaze to the thick stacks of money like it was nothing. “Antipasto…before the meal.”

The two men shook hands. The deal was consummated. It was all gravy now, Jack thought. He would contact Lawrence Weller, CEO of NCI, who would have Bragga quietly arrested at the airport and Dearling picked up outside his condominium, thereby avoiding any negative publicity regarding the security breach that could affect the value of NCI’s stock.

“Start taking sick days as we get closer to the rollout date,” Bragga advised. “Then you’ll take a forced medical leave. I’ll set you up with a doctor in San Francisco who’s a friend. He’ll recommend you spend a month at a local clinic to recuperate while we launch and beat NCI to market. Six months later and with two million in your account, you’ll give notice and head up my division. Did I ever tell you how beautiful the women in Mendoza are?”

Bragga’s speech was interrupted by another knock on the door.

“Room service,” a muted voice said.

“We’re good,” Dearling shouted as he moved toward the door while Bragga instinctively closed the lid of his bag, covering the money.

Jack gave his team a What the hell? look. “Who are these jokers?”

“Complimentary champagne from the management of the Four Seasons,” intoned the muffled voice.

 “Don’t open the door,” Bragga hissed.

“Don’t open the door,” Jack said at the same time. But Dearling had already turned the handle.

Three men dressed in navy blue blazers with gold epaulettes pushed a service cart draped with a white cloth into the room with a bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket and a huge bouquet of flowers in a crystal vase. “Three men on one bottle,” Jack said as he pulled his Glock nine-millimeter out of his shoulder rig and headed for the door.

“We weren’t the only ones who hacked his computer,” Cruz intuited.

“Don’t leave the room,” Jack told him over his shoulder. He quickly exited the suite, followed by Mateo. Cruz nodded, but his wide eyes never left the computer screen.

The lead man pushed the cart toward Dearling, but instead of slowing down, he muscled the cart up against the timid man’s waist, picked up speed, and forced him to backpedal across the room. Dearling’s eyes bugged, his face a mask of terror. The flowers and champagne tumbled off the cart, and the crystal vase shattered on impact. The champagne bottle exploded. Flowers and glass and water and bubbly
flooded the slick stone floor. Dearling’s body slammed into the television set on the far wall; his head whipped back and splintered the flat screen. Glass rained down on the Judas as he slid to the floor behind the cart.

Bragga placed himself in front of his bag of cash and took a gun barrel to the side of his head. The gash spurted blood, drenched his shirt, turned his legs to rubber, and took him down onto one knee. The gunman made a fast reach past him for the bag, but Bragga grabbed the thug around one thigh and tried to bulldog him to the ground.

“I’m gonna shoot you, you dumb prick,” the gunman grunted, rapidly losing control of the situation.

“So much for keeping it on the QT,” Jack said to Mateo as he kicked the door open and followed his gun into the room.

The third uniformed man spun as the door smashed against the jamb and Jack’s fist exploded into his face. The man’s head snapped back, and blood streamed out of his broken nose. His arms flailed, and his gun was suspended in midair for a split second before the man and the gun hit the floor.

The man who’d pushed the cart turned his weapon on Jack, who fired first, blasting the man in the shoulder. The force of Jack’s bullet propelled the gunman’s body backward onto the cart before he flopped to the stone floor, landed on his shoulder in the broken glass, and cried out in pain. The gun discharging in the close confines of the hotel suite stopped the action. The room smelled of cordite,
the only sounds heavy breathing and Todd Dearling’s whimpering. Mateo picked up the third man’s pistol and covered Jack’s back.

Jack turned his Glock on the second man. “Give me your gun or your friend’s going to bleed out,” he stated with extreme calm.

Before Jack could take control of the weapon, Bragga stripped it from the gunman’s hand and smashed him in the temple with surprising violence. Then he swung the confiscated Colt back and forth between Jack and Mateo, stopping them in their tracks.

“Nobody move and nobody follow,” Bragga said as he half-zippered the suitcase with one hand and picked up the carry-on bag.

“Drop your weapons,” he ordered Jack and Mateo through clenched teeth as blood continued to drip down the side of his face. They complied, knowing he wouldn’t make it as far as the lobby. Bragga walked around the couch on unsteady legs, muscling the heavy bag. His eyes bored into Mateo, the “driver” who had betrayed him, and ordered him to clear the doorway with a sharp wave of his gun barrel. Mateo took a half step to the side, gave the short man just enough room to pass, and pistoned with his full two hundred pounds of muscle, leading with his elbow and hitting Bragga in the back of the head, just above the neck. The Argentinean went down hard.

The overstuffed bag bounced on the floor, the luggage’s zipper split open, and a green wave of banded hundreds cascaded out onto the polished white Carrara marble. “That was a cluster fuck,” Jack said with disgust as he picked up his Glock and surveyed the carnage in the suite. Mateo collected the fallen weapons, grabbed a towel off the wet bar, and used it as a compress to stanch the first gunman’s bleeding wound. He was all business. “Call 911 and have them send an ambulance,” Jack said to Cruz, who he knew could hear him over one of the multiple microphones.

“That was insane.”

Jack turned around and found Cruz standing, wild eyed, in the hall directly behind him.

“Call 911 and lock the door. Did we get it all?”

“I copied Lawrence Weller and you on your cell, iPad, and laptop.”

“Good man,” Jack said.

“No, really, you, Mateo . . . man.” Cruz shuddered as he pulled out his cell and dialed the emergency phone line. Jack was not one normally given to second-guessing, but at the moment he found himself seriously questioning his new career choice as a private investigator.

Muttering a curse, Jack holstered his nine-millimeter, crossed the room, and proceeded to snap plastic flex-cuffs on the broken assembly of thieves.

Amazon link


AUTHOR:

John Lansing spent five years writing for TV hit Walker, Texas Ranger, and another three years studying the life of an NYPD Inspector. What emerged from his combined writing about a cop and time spent with an actual cop was Jack Bertolino—a fictional character with very real-life stories. Lansing was also a Co-Executive Producer for ABC's Scoundrels. John's first book was Good Cop, Bad Money, a true crime tome with former NYPD Inspector Glen Morisano.  The Devil's Necktie was his first novel. A native of Long Island, John now resides in Los Angeles.  Please visit his website for more information.




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A Last Goodbye
J.A. Jance
November 24, 2014
$0.99
An Ali Reynolds e-novella

SUMMARY:
Find out where fan favorite Ali Reynolds’ new adventure takes her in A Last Goodbye as New York Times bestselling author J.A. Jance brings her trademark breakneck pace to this fun and exciting e-novella, in which Ali Reynolds takes on double responsibilities as both sleuth and bride. 

Ali Reynolds is finally getting married to her longtime love, B. Simpson. They wanted a simple Christmas Eve wedding, but nothing is ever simple with Ali. Even as a motley crew of her friends—Leland Brooks, Sister Anselm, and others—descend on Vegas, the bride-to-be finds herself juggling last-minute wedding plans and a mystery in the form of a stray miniature dachshund. Ali’s grandson rescues the little dog, but Ali’s not in the market for a new pet right before her honeymoon, and leaves no stone unturned in hunting for the dog’s owner. But what she finds is more than just a shaggy dog story…Bella’s elderly owner has vanished, and her son seems to be behind it. So it’s Ali and B. to the rescue—and still making it to the church on time!



EXCERPT:

Ali Reynolds leaned her head back against the pillow in the soaking tub and closed her eyes. With the help of the pummeling water jets, she let the rush of the past few days recede into the background.

She and B. had made it. They were finally in Las Vegas. The rest of the wedding party was there, too.

Back in November, when she and B. Simpson had first settled on a Christmas Eve wedding at the Four Seasons, it seemed entirely doable—a piece of cake. After all, how hard could it be?

Because Ali and B. had chosen to be married in a hotel, much of the planning was done by simply cruising through the wedding planning pages on the Four Seasons website. Arranging the time, date, flowers, type of ceremony—including their preferred verbiage in the vows—was just a matter of making a few mouse clicks on her computer. Ditto for the menus. One was for what they were calling the rehearsal dinner despite the fact that there would be no rehearsal until the morning of the wedding. She also used the website to choose separate menus for both the reception and the post-ceremony supper. Ali stepped away from her computer, thinking that she had most everything handled. Unfortunately, she had failed to take her mother’s reaction into consideration.

Preparations for Ali’s previous weddings had been well beyond Edie Larson’s geographic reach—Chicago for the first ceremony and Los Angeles for the second. Caught up in running the family business, the Sugarloaf Café in Sedona, Arizona, 363 days a year, all Ali’s parents had been able to do on the two previous occasions was arrive in time for the rehearsal dinners and depart immediately after the nuptials.

This time around, Ali wasn’t so lucky. Her parents, Bob and Edie Larson, were both retired now, having sold the restaurant. Bob had found plenty to do in retirement, but Edie, left with too much time on her hands, had hit the wedding planner ground at a dead run, a reaction for which Ali herself had been totally unprepared.

In the past, Ali had found the term “bridezilla” mildly amusing, but when it came to dealing with an Edie who had suddenly morphed into what could only be called the bride’s “momzilla”? That wasn’t amusing in the least. To Ali’s surprise, Edie had whipped out her long-unused Singer sewing machine and set about stitching up a storm. In keeping with the season, Edie’s mother-of-the-bride dress was a deep-green velvet and probably the most sophisticated attire Ali had ever seen in her mother’s wardrobe.

With her own dress safely in hand, Edie had gone on to tackle outfits for the twins, Ali’s grandchildren, Colleen and Colin, who would serve as flower girl and ring bearer respectively. Colleen’s dress was a ruby-red taffeta, and Colin’s tux, also homemade, came complete with a matching rubyred taffeta cummerbund. Once that was finished, Edie took it upon herself to sew identical cummerbunds for all the men in the wedding party.


Ali’s father, Bob, was not an official member because Ali’s son, Chris, would do the honor of walking her down the aisle. Even so, Edie had gone so far as to bully her husband into actually buying a tux as opposed to renting one so Bob would have one to wear to formal dinner nights on their next cruise. Edie had been in despair about Ali’s ever finding a suitable wedding dress, and her sense of dread deepened when her daughter abruptly removed herself from the wedding planning equation. For the better part of two weeks in early December, Ali avoided all the frenetic pre-wedding activity by, as Edie put it, “larking off” to England.


That’s what Ali and B. had both expected her trip to Bournemouth would be—a lark. She went along for the ride when her longtime majordomo, Leland Brooks, returned home to the British Isles after living in self-imposed exile in the U.S. for the better part of sixty years. The trip was actually a thank-you from B. and Ali for Leland’s years of loyal service, including his having saved Ali’s life a month earlier in a nighttime desert confrontation with a kidnapper.


Ali had expected that her responsibilities would entail providing backup in case any of Leland’s long-lost relatives decided to go off the rails. She was also there as the designated driver, since most car rental agencies didn’t allow octogenarians to rent vehicles.


In a role-reversal variation on Driving Miss Daisy, Ali had taken the wheel of their “hired” Range Rover and driven Leland through the snowy English countryside from London to Bournemouth, Leland’s hometown, on the south coast of England. Together they even took a sentimental side trip to one of Leland’s favorite childhood haunts: Stonehenge.

In a small fashion boutique in Bournemouth, Leland had helped Ali find the perfect dress for her third and, as she put it, hopefully last wedding. Even now, her lovely lace-adorned ivory silk knee-length sheath was hanging in its original clear plastic wrap in the closet here at the Four Seasons. Needless to say, Edie was greatly relieved to know that the wedding dress issue had at last been handled even if she hadn’t been allowed to make it or choose it.



AUTHOR:
J.A. Jance is the New York Times bestselling author of the Ali Reynolds series, the J.P. Beaumont series, the Joanna Brady series, as well as four interrelated Southwestern thrillers featuring the Walker family. Born in South Dakota and brought up in Brisbee, Arizona, Jance and her husband live in Seattle, Washington, and Tucson, Arizona. Please visit http://www.jajance.com/.

Monday, November 24, 2014

Bob by Tegon Maus (c/o Lucy Felthouse)




It is my pleasure to share a few words from author Tegon Maus:



Are you a SLIder ?     Do you have H.V.S.  ?       

In my Sci-Fi Series… The Eve Project… Ben Harris is and does.  He destroys any unshielded electronics, sets fire to ATMs, coffee machines and unwittingly sends devastating arcs of electricity to anything metal.   He suffers from B.C.E.D.  He has spent his entire life trying to hide his ailment from prying eyes.   

What many readers are unaware of is the fact that his condition is a real one.  In my book I called it B.C.E.D.  or Bio-Chemical Electric Discharge to make it sound more… interesting and official.

As it turns out, depending on the severity of the condition it has two names.  The first and less life transforming is S.L.I.  or Streetlight Interference. These poor souls are often called SLIders.  

As you might expect, they affect streetlights, turning them off  simply by walking under them only to have them reignite after they pass.  In addition they frequently do not wear watches or jewelry because their bodies generate enough electricity to destroy them within a matter of days, making cameras and cell phones out of the question. Research into the phenomena has been slow but the little that has been done shows women hold a much higher static level than men. Their bodies absorb more external electric charges. This is usually caused by an Alkali-Acid imbalance.  How is this possible you ask ??  It is the by-product of eating fresh fruit and vegetables! Who Knew ?

For those that have passed the line of humdrum static electricity there is H.V.S. or High Voltage Syndrome.  This condition has ruined many a life, ranging from starting fires shocking those that come to close and destroying any metal object. Computers, microwaves, televisions, radios, light bulbs, and the rest don’t stand a chance. They are completely destroyed without desire or intention.  And worse, many of the people who are afflicted with this condition become magnetized.  Metal objects cling to their body unwanted as if they themselves have become a magnet. Others are able to push objects like heavy furniture away from themselves with but a touch. Others are blamed for haunting like experiences, making lights and appliances turn on and off by themselves, things floating through mid-air with no desire intended. It has been tied to a heightened  psychic or telekinetic ability. 

So if you thought you had problems in your life that made you feel like you didn’t fit in or like an outsider; consider these people and the lives they lead…   do you have H.V.S. ??  Are you a SLIder ?  Thank God everyday if you can say no !

Here are some sites with more info…
H.V.S. – High Voltage Syndrome /  SLI – Streetlight Interference
 http://paranormal.about.com/od/telekinesispsychokinesis/a/aa052508.htm
 http://amasci.com/weird/unusual/wots050399.html
http://theparanormal411.blogspot.com/2010/12/high-voltage-syndrome-caroline-clare.html
http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1309&dat=19850608&id=2udLAAAAIBAJ&sjid=yY0DAAAAIBAJ&pg=6826,2027732





Bob

Blurb :
The first time I heard it, I thought nothing of it at all... nothing.  I've been in the newspaper game for more than twenty-seven years and that kind of experience gave a guy an edge but even that didn't prepare me.

I'd been beaten, shot at, even stabbed a couple of times over the years but I always got the story... always.  But this one... this one was big... too big perhaps...  Maybe we were ready, maybe not.

Either way, it wasn't my call.

None of which filled me with the fear, the trepidation... the anguish of five little words that still haunted me today... 

             "Is okay.  I have cousin." 



Excerpt

I blinked in disbelief, too stunned to speak.

Standing in front of me, dressed in black jeans, a dark blue tee shirt with a picture of Bob Marley and a backward baseball cap was a small, no more than 5' 2", twenty something, black man.

"Hi.  I'm Pete," I said, offering my hand.

"Ahh, is sad story.  Bob's cousin not speak English," Bob said pushing my hand away.

"Awhhh," the little man breathed hoarsely, turning away, his arms swung loosely in response.

"Bob, he just said dude to me when he came in," I said, pointing an insistent finger at the little man.

"He tries, broken English not so good.  Is Fred," he answered, spinning his hand playfully in the air, pointing, draping a large, affectionate arm over the man's shoulder.

"Fred... your Russian cousin?"

"Da," he answered simply without blinking.

"Bob... he just spoke to me and it wasn't Russian," I protested.

"Ahh, Bob's friend generous, not make Bob's cousin self-conscious.  You good man, but Fred speaks no English," he argued, folding his arms.

"Ahhh, damn it, Bob.  You promised me... you said I could talk this time.  Shit man," Fred cursed in a raspy whisper, stomping his foot, turning away.

"Nyet, nyet," Bob scolded, grabbing Fred.  He began to speak Russian, shaking his finger in the other man's face.

Fred's shoulders slumped.  His head swung loosely from side to side, avoiding Bob's gaze.

"Da," he said dully, turning in my direction once more.

"His English not so good," Bob added, wiggling his hands dismissively.

"Sounded damn good to me," I said honestly.

"Bob understands.  Bob's friend speak Spanish?" he asked with a little annoyance in his voice, threading his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Nope.  Can't say as I do," I answered, folding my arms.

"How you say... no speak Spanish?" he asked, folding his arms as well.

"No habla Hispano."

"AAAHHH, to Bob, Bob's friend sound like native.  Bob thought he smelled burritos, heard waves on beach.  Very impressed.  Bob's friend has gift for language.  Sure not speak Spanish?"

"Fred," I said flatly, stepping directly in front of the little man.  "Do you speak English?"

"Da. Fred speak no English," he responded dully, tilting his head from side to side, his arms hung slack, swinging loosely as he spoke.

"Very sad, like Bob say.  Fred's parents live too close to nuclear plant.  Sure, sure, rent very cheap but Fred... no brain for English," Bob said, closing his eyes, shaking his head in a pretentious, melancholy way.

"Bob," I started.

"Very late.  No time for Fred's story.  Bob's friend want to see house tonight or no?" he asked, pushing himself to stand between me and Fred.

"Alright, have it your way.  Let's go," I demanded now irritated, angrily grabbing my coat off the back of the chair.

"Nyet, nyet.  Bob's friend almost forget," he said, turning his back quickly, wriggling his fingers.

"Dear God.  Money?  Now?"  I said, throwing my coat across the back of the chair again.

"Business before pleasure... makes good fences."

"The saying is, 'good fences make good neighbors' not..."

"Bob's friend knows what Bob say.  Not want money to be sticky bug between us."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it.  How much this time?" I asked aggravated, removing my wallet.

"Bob not know about such things.  Must speak with cousin," he said, wrapping a huge arm around the tiny man, pulling him to the other side of the room.

"Bob, you gave me your word," Fred whispered forcefully, sending a pointed finger into Bob's chest.

"Fred say, must think about it.  Fred likes Bob's friend Peter, wants give good price," he said, smiling in my direction and then began to speak rapidly in Russian.

"Damn it, Bob.  You promised me," Fred whispered disappointedly.

"Fred say, four hundred dollars," Bob said, holding up four fingers of his right hand, all the while maintaining his grip on Fred's shoulder. 

"Three hundred," I countered, folding my arms, returning my wallet to my hip pocket.

"Oooh, Bob's friend breaks Bob's feelings.  Bob's friend would steal bread from Fred very mouth?"

"It's not in Fred's mouth just yet... three hundred," I insisted.


Author Bio:
            I was raised pretty much the same as everyone else... devoted mother, strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I wasn't friendly, I just wasn't "people orientated". Maybe I lived in my head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than people, at least I did until I met my wife.

        The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can't remember what it was about... something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.
         It wasn't a deliberate conscious thought, it was more of a stepping stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. "Be as detailed as you can," we were told.

         I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it's making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an outright lie mine you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn't be sure if it were true or not.  When I write, I always write with the effort of "it could happen" very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.


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Sunday, November 23, 2014

WTRAFSOG Book 8 (ADULT titles) Spotlight

                                        



These are ADULT titles

*11 Bestselling Authors, 11 HOT books, 1 Incredible Savings* 


Featuring

Whipped
By Sabrina York
Available Now!


Dane Coulter is mourning the loss of his best friend, fellow Special Ops buddy, Cody. Oh, Cody didn’t die. It’s worse. He’s getting married. Cody is, in Dane’s opinion, whipped. Dane swears he will never suffer the same fate. But when he meets a woman who can take all his dominant loving and beg for more, he realizes he may have met his match. It’s a damn shame she’s the one woman in the world his man-code deems untouchable…his best friend’s sister.

Excerpt
He was bigger than he’d been in high school. Bigger, taller and just…more. His muscles, lacquered by a tight black tee shirt, bulged. Tattoos danced over his biceps. The planes of his face were angled. High cheekbones, dark brows, long blade of a nose all the same, but sharper. His eyes hadn’t had those shadows back then either, that predatory glint. His hair—his thick mop of curls—was gone, shaved off, revealing the perfect shape of his head. His chin, however, wasn’t shaved. It was covered by a smattering of dark fuzz. A scar on his cheek, rather than detracting from his looks, made him even more fascinating, dangerous.

And he smelled…delicious. As he moved, his cologne, a clean enticing scent, enveloped her in a cloud.

Oh, he was dangerous all right.

She didn’t care.

The slight buzz from the margaritas at the bachelorette party, the sexual sizzle ignited by the strippers who’d burst in on their party wearing camo fatigues with rip-away crotches, all contributed to her bravado.

In real life she would never hook arms with some random guy and sashay by his side to his room. But hell. This was Dane. The man of her fantasies. And, judging from the hunger in his expression as he looked down at her, the heat that passed between them where they touched, he wanted her.

Thank God she wasn’t still the dorky teen with braces she’d been when they’d last met.

She looked amazing tonight. He happened to wander by and notice her. No one else was around. And he wanted her.

It was as though, somehow, magically, all the stars had aligned.

There was no way—no way—she would miss this opportunity.

Excitement danced low in her gut as he swiped his room key and led her into his suite. It was a nice suite—not as sumptuous as Angie’s, but nice all the same—with a small sitting area and an enormous king bed. The windows looked out on the sparkling lights of the City that Never Slept. Or one of them.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, taking off his watch and dropping it on the table by the door. It drew her attention to his forearms, thick and muscled and sprinkled with dark hairs. They were roped with thick veins. She’d always had a thing for bulky forearms. And she’d always had a thing for Dane. The combination was irresistible.

She tipped her head to the side and blew a bubble with her gum. “Margarita?”

He waved at the glossy wood armoire against the wall. “I have a mini bar. It’ll have to be shots. What’s your poison?”

“Tequila then.” Might as well keep a good thing going.

He hunkered down and searched through the fridge, pulling out a tiny bottle of tequila for her and whiskey for him. He cracked them open and dumped them unceremoniously into two glasses and handed her hers. No ice or anything.

Good thing it didn’t matter to her, or she’d be pissed at his cavalier attitude. The drink was lubricant, a time filler. They were dancing around a seduction, and they both knew it.

Or…not.

Apparently seduction was not necessary. Because Dane took a swig of his drink and said, with no preface whatsoever, “So do you have any no-nos?”

She gaped at him. “No-nos?”

“Anything you won’t do? Because I’ll be frank. I like a little kink.”

Holy God.

First of all, the heat scorching her was mind-numbing. Literally. Mind. Numbing. Those brash words from Dane’s gorgeous lips and she nearly lost her balance.

Second of all—he liked kink.

So, in fact, did she. Nothing super dark, but a little slap and tickle for sure.

“Um…” She took a sip of her drink. She shuddered as the harsh bite of liquor burned through her. It clashed with the flavor of her gum. “What kind of kink are we talking about?”

He strode to his suitcase and fished around, pulling out a long leather strap with two loops on the ends. Her eyes fixated on it. She shuddered.

“I want to tie you up,” he said, his voice low, taunting, as though he expected her to squeak like a mouse and scuttle from the room.

The. Fuck.

“Hmm. I think I can handle that.”

“I’ll probably smack your bottom.”

Also good. She tried not to flinch in anticipation. His hand on her ass? Gawd.

“I won’t hurt you, though. I’m not into that. And of course, I’ll use protection.” He held up a pack of condoms.

Well da-ham. He’d come prepared. A smile curled on her lips.

“Billy said your fee’s been paid.” His brow quirked.

The smile froze on Tina’s face. A combination of horror and rage and something else altogether snarled through her, as she realized how right she’d been. Not only did he not recognize her—after knowing her her entire life, for pity sake—he thought she was a hooker.

Granted, she did kind of look like a hooker, with makeup plastered on as if with a trowel. But still…

She glanced at him from beneath the impossibly long lashes The Master had glued to her lids. Not her style, but she liked the way they looked. The way they made her feel…like someone else. Someone sultry and daring. Someone Dane would want.

To tie up and spank.

Aside from that, the temptation to have him, taste him, fuck him, ran rampant in her. For years she’d fantasized about her older brother’s best friend. All through puberty and long after that. Every man she’d met, dated or been with had been gauged against Dane Coulter. None of them had measured up.

Ah yes, the temptation to have him was overwhelming.

Not to mention how much fun it would be watching him shit a brick tomorrow, when he realized who she really was.

Too delicious to pass up, really. The whole package.

He stood there in the middle of the room, holding the strap in one hand and the condoms in the other, waiting for her reply. Though he was all Dom, she couldn’t help but notice a hint of tension in him, as though he was, on some level, afraid she’d say no and waltz away.

He wanted her. And he wanted her bad. It was the heat in his eyes that gave him away, the way they flicked over her and burned with hunger. Yeah. Irresistible.

Sure. She could be a hooker for the evening.

What people are saying about WHIPPED:
"5 Stars—Whipped by Sabrina York was so good, LOVED all the sexy scenes and then how she mixed in some humor parts. I know she's super busy but I'm really hoping she makes this one into a series because its that good :)"—Read More Romance

"5 Stars—Oh my goodness! I loved, loved, loved this story! The sex was off-the-charts hot! And I mean HOT! The characters were witty and so entertaining. As always, Ms. York's humor and witty writing is on full display. I honestly don't think she could not write a story that doesn't leave me in awe of her slightly sarcastic, yet always smartly written style. I bow to the master."— Coffee and Books

"5 Stars—This was a great read that kept me glued to the events. Loved the epilogue!"—Ms Romantic Reads
Oh and here is some inspiration for Dane & his buddies:  http://www.pinterest.com/sabrinayork/boys-in-uniformor-not/

What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 8)

*11 Bestselling Authors, 11 HOT books, 1 Incredible Savings* 

What to Read After Fifty Shades of Grey (#WTRAFSOG) began as a Facebook page created by Summer Daniels dedicated to helping book lovers discover great reads after FSoG. The page has grown in popularity and now has over 90,000 followers! 

Check out our previous WTRAFSOG Box Sets here: http://amzn.to/XWaILq 

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CHECK OUT THE STORIES IN THIS STEAMY COLLECTION:

Dane Coulter is mourning the loss of his best friend, fellow Special Ops buddy, Cody. Oh, Cody didn’t die. It’s worse. He’s getting married. Cody is, in Dane’s opinion, whipped. Dane swears he will never suffer the same fate. 
Whipped by Sabrina York 

Emily arrives at Westbury Hall to clean and conserve all of the books in their impressive library. Not long into her stay at the house, she bumps into the night guard, George. She’d expected an old, balding guy with a comb over, so the hunky chap she actually meets is a very pleasant surprise. 
Timeless Desire by Lucy Felthouse 

A submissive once, a submissive forever? Two people, horribly scarred by the excesses of the BDSM lifestyle and hiding from their true selves, meet across a desk over a simple contract. All bets are off. 
Shut Out by Liz Crowe 

The exotic dancers and employees of the Queen of Clubs walk a fine line, with only wits, beauty, and market savvy to keep them from toppling into the shark pit. Ride shotgun through lapdances, romance, and sexual awakenings. Don't worry, these girls won't ask what your hands are doing under the tip rail. 
Queen of Clubs: Malia by Katie de Long 

Billionaire oil heiress Elle Anderton is desperate to protect her heart—and her trust fund. Darren Phillips is equally desperate to prove that his love for her is real. In 
Kiki Wellington's Unusual, their love tests turn kinky and take them both to sexual places they’ve never gone before. 

Caris just wants to get her daughter back when she starts working as the nanny. She doesn’t expect to fall in love with Dom, the brother of the man who stole her baby and will stop at nothing to hurt her. 
Undercover Mother by Kit Tunstall 

Harshly dumped by her fiancé, and spending her Caribbean honeymoon alone, Laurie decides to chill out and make the best of things. Sex and romance are all around her and soon she's not only watching other lovers at play, she's sharing sensual pleasure with not one man, but two. At the same time! 
Power of Three by Portia Da Costa 

She has a proposition…to win their attention, passion, hearts. For over a year, Mercy’s had her eye on Travis and Dutch, two of the hottest guys on the Oregon coast. Dark and dangerously virile, Travis owns a saloon that caters to bikers. Dutch looks like one, right down to his impressive tats, and operates a motorcycle repair shop on the premises. 
Make Me Surrender by Tina Donahue 

One woman’s journey into the contemporary kink underworld, 
Perilous Play is an explosive personal account of Suz de Mello's experiences with BDSM. Engaging and honest, this groundbreaking memoir will grab you and never let you go. 

Shunned by her family back home, Kelly Cavenaugh follows her best friend to New York with aspirations to start over. Kelly may be a lot of things: intelligent, sexy, vivacious, and a great friend, but the one thing she’s determined to prove to herself and others is that she’s not promiscuous. So why do a spoiled rich boy with a dark past and a former Marine with a high-powered job have to come along and try to break her resolve? 
Kelly's Quest by Jennifer Ann 

Join Summer on her journey of sexual self-discovery; a well written, intelligent and sexy series about the beginning of her sensual, sultry love affair with life, and all the joys of being a woman. 
Summer's Journey by WTRAFSOG founder Summer Daniels 


Hurry, it's only $0.99 as of the time of this posting!






About Sabrina York
Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories for smart and sexy readers. Her titles range from sweet & sexy to scorching erotic romance.  Connect with her on twitter @sabrina_york, on Facebook or on Pintrest. Check out Sabrina’s books and read an excerpt on Amazon or wherever e-books are sold. Visit her webpage at www.sabrinayork.com to check out her books, excerpts and contests. Free Teaser Book: http://sabrinayork.com/home-2/sabrina-yorks-teaser-book/ And don’t forget to enter to win the royal tiara!

Follow me on Twitter @sabrina_york 
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Books by Sabrina York

COMING SOON!



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Wired Series—Erotic Contemporary Romance  (Ellora's Cave)

         


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Noble Passions Series—Erotic Regency  (Ellora's Cave)


                   

Folly Book 1
Dark Fancy Book 2
Brigand Book 4
Defiant Book 5


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Tryst Island Series—Erotic Contemporary Romance 

                       

Rebound Book 1
Smoking Holt Book 3
Heart of Ash Book 4


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Anthologies and Collections

Short Stories/Novellas

Fantasy