Blog Tour

A Perfect Lie

Secrets. Lies. A man. There’s always a man. And there’s always a truth to be told. 
I’m Hailey Anne Monroe. I’m twenty-eight years old. An artist, who found her muse on the canvas because I wasn’t allowed to have friends or even keep a journal. And yes, if you haven’t guessed by now, I’m that Hailey Anne Monroe, daughter to Thomas Frank Monroe, the man who was a half-percentage point from becoming President of the United States. If you were able to ask him, he’d probably tell you that I was the half point. But you can’t ask him, and he can’t tell you. He’s dead. They’re all dead and now I can speak.
“Can I join you?” he asks, motioning to the table. There’s interest in his eyes, the kind a man has for a woman, but who knows, maybe it’s real or maybe it’s not real. Maybe he knows who I am and sees a path to power and fame. The way Tobey wanted me for money and power, right up until the moment I’d called his number aka his agenda; thus, he has not called me since I left. Maybe Harvard will lie even better than Tobey did. Maybe Harvard will at least kiss better than he did, and the lies would taste like temptation rather than convenience. At least then, if I’m used, I’ll enjoy being used. Whatever the case, it’s clear I might actually be angry with Tobey and that aside, the interest that Harvard has shown in me, must be controlled before my Denver sanctuary is destroyed. “You can join me,” I say, “but only because I’m trying to save the rest of the place from the attorney in the house.” I am pleased when Harvard laughs, where Tobey would have scowled, proving that Harvard has a sense of humor, which is rare for those in my life. I’ve barely completed this thought when he moves forward and claims the seat next to me, not across from me, settling his briefcase on that chair instead. In the process, his leg brushes my leg and for the briefest of moments, I’m transported back to the place that I’m now trying to forget: to Austin, to Drew’s leg next to mine, his wink, and I do now what I did then. I jerk back. If Harvard notices he doesn’t react. “Since we haven’t been formally introduced,” he says, resting his naked hands on the table. “I’m Logan. Logan Casey.” “Logan Casey,” I repeat trying to ground myself in the present, at least for now, but some part of me is still swimming in that memory, which naturally has me wondering if this man is a shark in the water around me. “Two first names,” I add. “Sounds like your parents fought over who got to pick your first name. Did they draw straws for which choice became your middle name?” “You’re actually right on target,” he says, laughing again, and it’s a nice, masculine laugh, and oddly this thought feels familiar while Logan does not. “No one has ever guessed that,” he adds. “My mother won the name war. The women always win. Speaking of names. Do you have one?” “Hailey Anne Pitt,” I say, “and in my house, my father won the name war.” Because in my father’s world, I add silently, the women don’t win the wars. At least, not that he knows, not in an obvious way. I’ve learned this well. “Well then, Hailey Anne Pitt,” he says, “what’s a Stanford girl like you, doing in a place like this? You’re a long way from school.” I’m smacked in the face with a lesson I’ve long ago learned and forgotten with this man; strangers do not always remain strangers and all offhanded remarks can come back to haunt you. “That was a joke,” I say, shutting the door connected to my real life, and a path that leads to my father. “I hate attorneys, remember?” He narrows his eyes on me, and for no reason other than instinct, I believe he’s looking for a lie that he won’t find. I’m simply too well-taught from birth, too skilled at being more than one person to allow such a detection. Well that, and the fact that I really do hate attorneys, which is why I’ll be a good one. “That was a joke?” he confirms. “Yes,” I say. “Are you amused?” “Yes, actually. I am. What does a lawyer-hating smart ass like yourself do for a living?” “When not busy taunting those who went to law school,” I say. “I’m an aspiring artist.” Both honest answers, if you put a “was” in front of the “aspiring artist” which I’d thought that I’d come to terms with, but the knot in my stomach says I have not. Logan motions toward the art room. “Your career explains why you ended up here.” “I guess it does,” I say, as this place serves me well to reconnecting to the Pitt part of my life, which is a place I really need to be right now, for all kinds of reasons. “Are you good?” Logan asks, as if he’s read my mind. My father’s words answer him in my head. Art is useless unless you’re famous, he used to say often, because of course, it was inconceivable that I might be good enough to be famous. “Art is like movies and food,” I say, shoving aside that bad memory. “Good is subjective.” I don’t give him time to reply. I ping the conversation back toward him. “What kind of law do you practice?” “Corporate,” he says, and this time he pings back to me. “Do you live in the neighborhood?” “Yes,” I say simply. “Do you?” “I bought a building a few years ago where I live and work which means this is my home turf, and why I know you’re new here.” “I am,” I say and since he’s clearly going to ask for details, I quickly preempt with an on-the-fly story. Actually, it’s the suggested story, Rudolf included in my file. “I came here for a job, and my new boss owns a house he’s rented to me for dirt cheap.” “And what does an artist do but create art for a living?” “I’m working for a private art acquisitions firm. I now hunt for treasures for a living.” This lie is actually my dream job that I’ve never been allowed to entertain. The horror flick loving waitress delivers my coffee and brownie. “Thank you,” I say, because every politician’s daughter has manners beaten into her. “No problem,” she says, “but if you come to your senses and want a better version of that coffee, just shout.” She eyes Logan. “I already know you want a crappy tasting coffee, on endless pour and a chocolate chip cookie. Coming right up.” “Thanks, Megan,” he says, giving her a wink that I don’t classify as flirtatious, just friendly, and Megan is gone. “Obviously you’re a regular,” I comment, “and they even like you.” “And they like me,” he confirms, “despite knowing I’m an attorney. “Because you’re good looking and use it to your advantage.” He arches a brow. “You think I’m good looking, do you?” “Oh, come on,” I say, crinkling my nose. “Everyone thinks you’re good looking. I’m simply stating a fact. We use what we have and those of us that are smart, know what we have.” I move on from what is really quite inconsequential. “Why work here, not at home, or in the office?” “I find I get a lot of work done with a cookie, coffee, and no access to streaming television,” he explains. No one in my D.C. crowd would make an admission of being human and distractible. Some people in my situation might take comfort in that fact, but I don’t. Logan’s an attorney, and my gut, which I’ll confirm with research, says he’s a powerful one, the kind that radiates toward my father. Maybe that’s a coincidence and maybe it’s not. Maybe he’s testing how well I execute my cover story. The possibilities are many. Though in all fairness to Logan, perhaps I’d lean toward his innocence, if not for the laundry list of recent events such as Tobey being gay and the FBI agent, who is likely working for my father, that I slept with to prove I was a) still desirable and b) not a killer.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series.
In addition to the success of Lisa’s INSIDE OUT series, she has published many successful titles. The TALL, DARK AND DEADLY series and THE SECRET LIFE OF AMY BENSEN series, both spent several months on a combination of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling lists. Lisa is also the author of the bestselling WHITE LIES and LILAH LOVE series.
Prior to publishing Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women’s Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.

Cover Reveal

Courageous & Ferocious

Title: Courageous & Ferocious
Author: Jennifer Ann
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Cover Designer: Najla Qamber
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR
Courageous: 
As the daughter of a dangerous criminal wanted by virtually everyone on the South Side and despised by his own family, Andie Kennison never thought she’d know real freedom. Then her savior arrives in the form of a stranger with pale blue eyes, a beautiful body, and a hot temper.
Life tried to destroy Camden Stone more times than he could count, making him leery of human connections. Until her.
Together they’ll fight the demons of their past, putting their future on the line.
Ferocious: 
In Sasha Green’s first assignment as a detective, her job is to infiltrate the heavy metal band Blood Hands. Having grown up with her brother’s band, it’s the role she was born to play. But she wasn’t expecting to enjoy being part of a band more than her job protecting the city, or to empathize with the wrong side of the law.
As far as Trent Risotto is concerned, his band is no place for a woman, especially one as seemingly innocent as the blonde drummer who nails her audition. Although he’s unable to resist her sexy charm, his darkness would ruin someone like her.
She can’t afford to fall for the prime suspect.
He can’t afford any distractions that could get him killed.
Jennifer Ann is an award-winning and bestselling author of contemporary romance and romantic suspense with darkly complex plots. Much like her characters, she’s in love with the city of New York, trips on airplanes or the back of her husband’s Harley, and everything rock and roll.
Author Links:
Buy Links:
Excerpt from Courageous:
Heavy, slow footsteps beat against the wooden floorboards leading up the stairway. With my heart leaping from my chest, I scramble behind one of the couches, breath held as I attempt to make myself smaller. For all I know, my father’s goons were following me all this time. They love to toy with me whenever my father’s not around, sometimes even seeing what it takes to make me cry.
“The fuck you doin’ here?” a deep voice growls from around the corner. Next thing I know, my thigh’s kicked by a booted foot. Cigarette smoke pollutes the air. “Hey, moron, I’m talkin’ to you. Your skinny ass is trespassin’.”
Pulling my hood down, I drag my gaze up a pair of dirty jeans and an intimidatingly thick torso covered with a leather coat until I’m met with chillingly beautiful eyes. They’re the same pale blue as a cloudless sky on a warm day.
But there’s a disturbing darkness behind the man’s hard stare, sucking all the air from my lungs. Chin-length hair the color of straw slicked back, strong jaw set, he’s fiercely good looking and older than me—maybe even out of high school. Most importantly, he’s an enormous, scary dude. Worst of all, he reminds me of my father’s men. The type who wouldn’t bat an eye at beating a woman.
If he decides to hurt me, there won’t be a damn thing I can do to stop him.
His beautiful eyes widen at the same time a smirk pulls at his thick lips. He seems to either be surprised that I’m a girl, or amused I’m not running in fear. “You speak English, lil’ mouse?” he sniggers in a voice that’s so deep and rough it rumbles through my chest.
Heat spreads through my cheeks. My belly tingles. “The door was open.”
“By open, you mean boarded shut?” As he puffs on his cigarette, pale blue eyes drag across my body. I cower beneath my bag, feeling exposed under his threatening stare. I’m feeling all kinds of things, some I don’t know how to describe. He’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time, sending a wave of shivers down my back. “What’re you doin’ here, anyway?”
I hold his stare, refusing to be rattled. “I just need a place to camp out for a few nights.”
“You took this as a free-for-all shelter?” He lets out a cold, heartless laugh. “Sweetheart, that place is down the road.”
My stomach tightens when he says “sweetheart,” making it hard to speak. To him, I probably look like a little girl, but under his potent gaze, I feel like a grown woman. “I can give you money…if you’ll let me stay,” I wheeze out.
He snarls like a wolf. “Go home to your daddy, princess. Girls like you have no business in a place like this.”
Rage thickens through my throat. “Girls like me?” I spit out, rising to my feet. He towers over me like a skyscraper. And there’s so much danger in his gaze that part of me wants to run. But even after he blows a stream of smoke in my face, I refuse to back down. “You have no idea who I am, or what I’ve been through!”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re outta your element.”
He bends down to my level, stopping just before our noses touch. A cold chill of fear spikes my veins, making it hard to breathe in his masculine scent. Rather than being sweaty or gross like with boys my age, it’s as dark and mysterious as the man it belongs to.
More tingles invade my belly when I wonder what it would be like to be kissed by this big, angry man. I haven’t been kissed by anyone, but I imagine those wide, soft lips could wreck me in an instant. When they move again, I almost sigh.
“Go. The fuck. Home.”
Shaking my head, I hold my chin higher, determined not to let him win. Whatever this guy decides to do with me can’t be any worse than what my father will do once he discovers I’ve left. “I can’t go home.”
Tension between us breaks with the sound of more footsteps. A handful of seconds later, I’m ready to cry a thousand gallons of tears of relief when a teenage girl walks in, dark eyes widening on me.
“Andie?” she asks, lips wavering with an unsure smile. “Oh my god, what’re you doing here? I haven’t seen you in forever!”
It only takes a second to recognize the big, beautiful mocha eyes belonging to Sasha Green. We’ve been close since elementary school, having bonded during a recess when Lucas Reynolds yanked me to the ground by my hair. Sasha marched right up to him and threatened to have her big brother and his friends kick his ass. I didn’t know anything about her brother or his friends at the time, but I guessed they must’ve been scary, because Lucas looked ready to piss himself with the warning, and never bothered me again.
Pretty much no one bothered me after I became friends with Sasha. We ate lunch together every day, and hung out whenever we had a chance. I wasn’t allowed to have friends outside of school, and never knew much about her home life, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t understand why I’m running away. She always seemed close with her brother, and she was laid back the few times I saw her interact with his friends. I figured she had the kind of normal parents who read her bedtime stories when she was little, and tucked her in with a kiss.
The big scary guy turns to Sasha, upper lip curled. “You know this chick?”
“Yeah, she’s a friend…from way back.” Sasha’s eyes narrow on him as she sets a hand on her hip. The guy must not be too dangerous the way she’s throwing him attitude. “Why? What’d you say? I swear to god, Stone, if you were a dick to her—”
“Tell your little friend she can’t stay here.” Stone drops the cigarette on the floor and crushes it with a boot before his beautiful blues lock on me. “Stay the fuck outta this neighborhood.”
As he saunters back to the stairway, my heart flips several times in my chest. Why’d he have to be so mean? He acted like he hates my guts, and I’ve never even met him before.
What kind of name is “Stone” anyway? Maybe it has something to do with his cold, stony heart. I’d never met anyone so cranky and gorgeous at the same time. The second he’s out of sight, the darkness brought on by his surly mood vanishes and I’m finally able to breathe.
<div class=" a Rafflecopter giveaway