The soul of every restaurant is the kitchen, but at Belladonna, the heart is the front of the house.
Nessa and Adam have long reigned as the most-envied and most-aspired-to couple at Belladonna. And as warm and welcoming as they’ve made the restaurant experience for its customers, the queen and king of the front of the house want nothing more than to add a little patron of their own to nurture, as well.
When the long-deferred dream of having a child becomes the number one priority for the host and hostess with the mostest, Adam and Nessa must face the fact that putting their careers before family for so long might mean it’s too late for the one dream they still haven’t achieved.
We are IN LOVE with this excerpt from NEVER AGAIN by C.G. Blaine! Never Again is a second chance romance novella that will give you all the feels! #ComingMarch6th
When Emilia Evans told Hudson she never wanted to see him again, she thought never would last more than two years. Now he’s everywhere, determined to win her back. The more he reminds her of everything they once shared, the more she needs to hold on to the reason it all fell apart. Because Hudson St. James is a liar, and if she lets him, he’ll destroy her all over again.
Hudson screwed up when he let Emilia walk out of his life without fighting for her, and he refuses to make the same mistake again. He never lied. Never betrayed her. But since he can’t prove it, he’ll have to find another way to rebuild what they lost—even though he has no idea what really ruined them in the first place.
So this strange thing happens after high school. The memories, the students—they freeze in time. No matter how many years pass, it feels like it happened yesterday, and the people stay their teenage selves in your mind. Even if they develop rippling muscles and scruff on their jaw, beneath it all they’re the same asshole who weaseled their way into your life just to steal your scholarship and drop right back out like it never happened. At least, that’s the person I see when I swing open my door to Hudson St. James.It’s been over two and a half years since I told him I never wanted to see him again and left him standing on an empty graduation stage. And now he’s darkening my dorm room doorway.I’d stand and stare in shock if not for the two hundred pounds of dude that barrels in, desperate to reach my roommate on the other side of the room. Anika’s new boyfriend tackles her on her bed, growling and making her squeal while I regain my balance, eyes still locked with Hudson’s on the other side of the threshold.He looks far less surprised to see me than I do him. As unshakeable as ever. It irritates me, so when he opens his mouth to speak, I slam the door in his face.“What the hell, Emilia?” Anika crawls out from under her boyfriend and gives me her not in front of Luke look, which she’s perfected in the two weeks they’ve been dating. I hold up my hands in surrender and back away as she rushes to let Hudson in.Ready to make an escape, I grab my bag off the floor, but when I turn around, she’s waiting for me. So is he, his dark eyes set on me the way they used to be every time I entered a room. Except now, instead of sending my heart bouncing around in my chest, the attention makes me itchy.“Emilia,” Anika says, clinging to my ex’s arm, “this is Luke’s friend Hudson.”He lowers his head and looks up at me through thick black lashes. “Hey.”A Hudson St. James specialty: the sexy gaze and raspy voice. Screw itchy, I’ve practically broken out in a rash being this close to him.Since it’s unclear if he’s acknowledging we know each other, I give a noncommittal nod on my way around him. The urge to scratch his presence off my skin remains until I round the corner to the stairwell.The common area downstairs is empty per usual. Most people opt to hang out anywhere other than a musty basement last updated before they were born. I, however, enjoy the solitude and have claimed it as mine. Dropping onto the couch, I cover my face with a pillow and breathe in the combination of stale smells on the fabric. Once I’ve rid my nose of his cologne, I pull out my laptop to watch a film for psych. I slip in my earbuds, determined not to let his sudden reappearance in my life affect me.It works until twenty minutes in when a shadow casts over me. I glance up to see all six foot three of him in front of me, blocking the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. We stare at each other while Beethoven plays in my ears and Richard Gere directs a symphony on the screen between us.We’d gone to school together more than three years before we ever said a word to each other. Back then, I was quiet, shy and inconsequential. I was biding my time, working my ass off to earn our town’s coveted Everything Scholarship. Funded by an anonymous donor, it pays out exactly as promised to one senior every year. A student’s grades, extracurricular activities, volunteer work, and even driving record are taken into account, and once awarded, the scholarship covers tuition, books, living expenses—everything—for as long as the awardee continues their education. I had it locked down. Until Hudson and his broody lips and expressive stare.Yanking out my earbuds, I cut off Mr. Jones when I close my laptop. I slide the computer back into my bag and stand, once again preparing to flee. The space already fills with him. The air warmer from the addition of his body heat, the mint in his gum assaulting me.Hudson stays in place, not leaving me much room, but I maneuver around him without physical contact. I make it to the door before he says, “Emmy.”It all floods back. Months’ worth of taps on my bedroom window and lying in the grass in the dark and sweet moments on either side of the bell. Every word he spoke, whispered, and promised. And how he broke them all along with my trust and every part of my heart I’d stupidly let him infiltrate.I force myself forward, not looking back at him. Down the short hallway and up the cement stairwell with gritty black strips on each step for added traction, his footsteps scrape behind me, following but not chasing. He never chases, never needs to.
C.G. Blaine writes contemporary romance and new adult novels. At one time, she was cool. Now she lives in the middle of nowhere with her husband and plays pillow to a forever-hangry, blind cat. She’s terrible at texting back, and if she’s overly nice to you, chances are she’s not a fan.
FIVE DAYS until The Ruthless Knight by Jeana E. Mann releases! Are you ready for Sir Nikolay Reznik Tarnovsky? He’s coming for YOU! #ComingFeb17th
She stole my wallet, my car, and my favorite oil painting. I never expected her to steal my heart.
This complicated, beautiful, annoying woman doesn’t know that I’m a thief too. Only, I don’t steal things. I steal secrets and sometimes people. And her name is next on my list.
The problem? I admire her. Like her. Love her. So many wasted feelings because we aren’t meant to be. Years ago, I sold my soul and body to the devil. Now, my back is against the wall. If I want to save my precious niece from death, I’ll have to turn my sexy little thief over to my enemy.
She captivates me. Soothes me. Makes my life a living hell. And I love every minute of it.
Check out this excerpt from One Day Guy, Book One:
“Rachel?”
Joe Silver looked directly at me for the first time in over a decade, astonishment written all over his older, more chiseled face.
“Hi, Joe.” My voice wavered slightly. More than slightly. The two words I said came out sounding like they had eight syllables each.
God, he was tall. When I knew him, he’d been lanky, but now, in his thirties, he’d filled out in all the right places. For just a moment, I let myself take him in. His dark hair was freshly cut, giving him an almost boyish look. But he was no boy. His face was a contrast of sharp angles and soft places. His wide mouth was plush, and his grey-blue eyes were still so easy to fall into.
He was stunning.
I was stunned.
I scanned up and down the sidewalk for Frannie, but that rat must have already scurried to her car. She was in big trouble for putting me in this situation.
Joe stepped forward, his familiar eyes roaming my face. Then he blasted me with a wide smile, making my knees weak from the sheer force of it.
“Rachel,” he repeated, this time a statement instead of a question.
He laughed, and before I knew what was happening, he threw his tattooed arms around me. Moving of their own volition, my arms circled his narrow waist and I laid my head on his chest. I had no earthly explanation for my actions. Sure, he was my teenage crush, but this man was a stranger to me now, and I was basically snuggling with him.
We stood like that for a few seconds—not nearly long enough—before I pulled back, feeling untethered and tongue-tied. He ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you’re here, just standing on the sidewalk.”
I glanced in the direction Frannie had gone. “I was hiking with my friend. I…I’m heading home now.” I nodded as though I agreed with what I was saying. My body screamed, No, what are you doing? Why are you trying to leave this beautiful man? But my heart yelled, Run, Rachel, get out while I’m still mostly intact!
He touched my arm. “Hey, wait. You’re really leaving?”
I tried my hardest to act indifferent, my battered heart having won the fight today. “It was so great seeing you!” I sounded a hell of a lot more cheerful than I felt. “Maybe we’ll run into each other around town again.”
I didn’t think of myself as a coward—not until that moment. When I took off down the hill at full speed, away from Joe, away from my salon, and far, far away from the house I’d always dreamed of, I wasn’t proud. I was good at sticking things out even when I shouldn’t, good at making things work even when they were beyond repair, but today, I had taken the easy way out and made a run for it to spare my heart from any more bruises.
As a little girl, I watched my mom read her Harlequin romance novels and always wondered what was so fascinating about them. When I grew up and finally read my first romance, my first reaction was “Oh!” followed by a “Ooooooh!”. A romance reader was born!
And now I create my own love stories. I like taking the everyday and injecting a whole lot of swoon into it. Who doesn’t want that?
Most of my books take place in and around Baltimore. It’s what i know, and it’s an area I love. I like to mix in a little bit of big city with my small town.
When I’m not writing, I’m momming my three crazy, beautiful kids. Although according to them, I’m always writing!
Genre: Contemporary Romance Release Date: February 12, 2020
Blurb
I didn’t know I was
that person. You know—the one who gets the kids. But that’s what the will said.
June Lawler: Legal Guardian.
My niece and nephew are 6 and 9, and all they’ve ever known is San Francisco. I
arrive the day after the wreck, pack up my sister’s mansion, and fly them back
to Georgia.
The small-town farm where their mom and I grew up isn’t what it once was, but
it’s home. That’s all they really need.
*
I was courting an investor when it happened. Tromped all up and down the
Himalayas, and he didn’t even buy in. It was a week before I found out what I’d
lost. My little brother meant the world to me. Now even his kids are gone.
Spirited away to Heat Springs, Georgia—population 298.
They’re living on a farm that’s half a breath from bank foreclosure with a
26-year-old who didn’t finish high school. Nowhereville is not the place for
little Mastersons. But I’ll get them back. It’s the money she must want, and
I’ve got lots of that.
“June Bug” Lawler is poorer than that red dirt she comes from. I can make her
dreams come true—and do one last thing for my brother.
I hate him. She makes me crazy. He thinks he can buy me off! I’ve never met a man so arrogant. There’s no woman anywhere more stubborn. I wish I had never met him. But that’s not the story.
Ella James is the USA Today and Amazon Top 10 bestselling
author of more than twenty novels. She writes emotional, hard-won love stories
with steam, suspense, and Kindle-throwing twists. She lives in Colorado with
her husband, three young children, and hyperactive dog.
After finding out the family was under investigation, all eyes were on my not so good ways.For the family’s sake, I laid low, drank less, and avoided trouble. At least until trouble crashed into my life, spilling a full tray of drinks on my expensive suit, and stirring my heart alive.
Isabella was my stranger, my trouble, my addiction. Her eyes captivated me from the very first moment. They stripped me of power, money, and mafia, and only saw a man. She didn’t fear me, or the things I could do to her, but it was like we knew each other from somewhere. Little did I know, Isabella had been studying me long before she walked into the club. She had hours upon hours of learning about my family—about me.
The girl with the familiar eyes was an undercover cop, looking to take my family down. Now, my family is on me for welcoming her into my world. Yet I’m still blinded by my love for her, and the secrets her family left behind.
My name is Kristy Gibs and I live in New Jersey with my husband and 3 kids. I spend my days crunching numbers and creating budgets and my nights typing away vigorously on my computer. I have been writing since I was in highschool with a dream to someday publish. It wasn’t until I was introduced to Amazon and their self-publishing, that I was able to make my dream a reality. When I am not working, writing, or running all of NJ with my kids you can find me curled up on the couch with my kindle in one hand a glass of wine in another and getting lost in whatever new book I found. I am a hopeless romantic so most, if not all, of my current books and WIPs have a HEA.
My first book Broken Angel, was released in October 2016! Since Broken Angel I have released two additional books, Broken Angel: Wes, which is Broken Angel from hero Wes’ POV and The Moretti Brothers: Santino which is book 1 of the Moretti Family Series.
I am ecstatic to announce the release of book 2, The Moretti Brothers:Carmine. This book has taken me over two years to complete and I am absolutely in love with it.
That’s right—I’m a banshee. And I’m locked up in Nightmare Penitentiary with no hope of escape. I don’t expect to be rescued by handsome Fae princes, either, since the last ones I had a crush on put me here.
Now, the princes are here to rattle my cage, and they’re just as handsome and judgmental as I remember. I’d tell them exactly what I think about them, but in addition to stealing my freedom, they’ve taken my voice.
**Stolen Song is a paranormal prison reverse harem romance.
Add It To Your Bookshelf! Goodreads | BookBub (*Link Coming Soon*)
Celebration Giveaway
To celebrate the preorder of STOLEN SONG by Autumn Reed & Ripley Proserpina, we’re giving away a paperback copy of Touch of Regret by Autumn Reed to one lucky winner!
GIVEAWAY TERMS & CONDITIONS: Open to US shipping addresses only. One winner will receive a paperback copy of Touch of Regret by Autumn Reed. This giveaway is administered by Pure Textuality PR on behalf of Autumn Reed. Giveaway ends 4/30/2020 @ 11:59pm EST. CLICK HERE TO ENTER!
About Autumn Reed
AUTUMN REED is a lifelong bookworm with a penchant for sarcasm. She loves cloudy days, fluffy dogs, and murdering succulents. When she isn’t bringing daydreams to life on the page, she can be found behind the lens of a digital camera or binge-watching Veronica Mars.
RIPLEY PROSERPINA spends her days huddled near a fire in the frozen northern wilds of Vermont. She lives with her family, three magnificent cats, and one dog she doesn’t deserve. She is the author of the reverse harem series, The Searchers, Midnight’s Crown, and the young adult/fantasy duet, Wishes and Curses.
The BEAUTIFUL cover for Catch Twenty-Two is here! This is book 2 in the Westover Prep series by Marie James. Catch Twenty-Two is releasing on March 23rd… Get ready for Frankie and Zeke’s story! Enjoy a sneak peek into the book below.
I don’t know a dang thing about farms or crops or smelly animals. Westover isn’t exactly urban, but since it’s in the center of Colorado, we have mountains and steep upgrades rather than mooing cows and clucking chickens running around.Looking out the window only increases my annoyance. Other than a small house about a quarter of a mile away, there’s nothing but fields dotted with cattle as far as I can see. I can only imagine what it’s going to smell like around here when the temperatures increase.I’m supposed to be up here resting, per Nan’s instructions, but sleep is the last thing on my mind. I’ve been here less than two hours, and I’m already bored out of my mind. An entire summer of doing nothing is going to be the death of me. I cringe with the thought, knowing just how lucky Piper is to have survived the crash. Tears sting the back of my eyes as a heavy sense of helplessness settles in my bones.I’m considering taking a nap just to pass the time when an old pickup truck turns into Nan’s front gate, making its way down the winding dirt drive. Kicking up dust as it nears the house, the truck turns toward the barn rather than pulling up directly in front of the house.“Thank God for small favors,” I mutter.The last thing I’m in the mood for is meeting people. I know it’s going to happen sooner or later because Nan mentioned introducing me to a hoard of folks on the drive back from the airport. The entire town has been awaiting my arrival if I go by her excitement of me being here. Clearly, she’s been anticipating my visit and telling everyone who will listen.My jaw practically unhinges when the passenger door opens.“What do we have here?” I mumble, taking a step closer to the window for a better look.The hottest guy we have at Westover Prep is Dalton Payne, but he’s the biggest jerk that walks the earth, hateful and vicious in his dislike of Piper and me.Dalton has nothing on the dark-haired, boot-wearing stranger climbing out of the truck. Even from fifty yards away, his strong jaw and wide shoulders are the stuff fantasies are made of. Maybe my forced visit to Utah won’t be so bad. If I can’t go home to be with my best friend, at least I’ll have this guy to look at in the interim.As if he can feel my eyes on him, the stranger turns his head, finding me standing in the window gawking at him. My first instinct is to dart away and hide behind the thick curtains, but his eyes are on me before I manage to move. I’m locked in his stare, unable to pull my eyes from his.Like a bumbling idiot, I raise my hand and give him a quick wave. It’s something I’d never do back home, but Utah is different from Colorado. Nan assured me the people who live around here are hardworking, gracious, and kind. I’ve never found much of that back in Westover, especially not walking down the hallways of school.This guy mustn’t have gotten that memo because instead of waving back or tossing a simple smile my way, his lips turn down in a sneer. He’s all the way across the yard, and I can still feel the hatred rolling off of him as he glares at me.In return, I narrow my own eyes. I’m no stranger to hate-filled stares. I’ve spent the better part of my life hiding in the shadows, keeping to myself, and doing my best to stay off the radar of the spiteful people I go to school with, but it’s unnerving that even hundreds of miles away, this stranger seems to feel exactly the same way about me.He doesn’t pull his eyes from me until the man driving the truck yells to get his attention. When he turns his face away, only then can I move, as if some connection has been broken.I’m not one to focus on the bad things in life, having a defeatist attitude is a waste of time, but the malicious look that guy just gave me is making me want to reconsider my stance.Anger and agitation settle inside of me. I haven’t been here long, but I don’t imagine there will be many people around that are close to my age, yet I’m not surprised. Of course the handsome guy helping on the farm would hate me at first sight. From experience, I know my tiny, pixie-like frame isn’t exactly what guys are looking for. Guys want girls with big breasts, tiny waists, and hips they can grip when—I clear my throat as I turn from the window, refusing to let self-deprecating thoughts back into my head. I promised myself I’d be different this summer, and I’m sticking to it. Who cares if one guy on this stupid farm doesn’t like me? That doesn’t mean there aren’t other people I can make friends with. Nan mentioned a sweet boy named Ezekiel that she wanted to introduce me to, and I bet he’s even better to look at than the jerk at the barn. Besides, looks aren’t everything. Kindness and common decency go a long way in making someone appealing, and in reverse, a bad attitude and lack of compassion can make the most gorgeous guy hideous.Refusing to let one stupid boy make me feel bad about myself, I lie down on the bed, taking Nan up on her suggestion for a nap. With any luck, when I wake up, he’ll be gone, and I’ll never have to look at him again.
The author is giving away a $10 Amazon GC on her Facebook page. Please direct readers here to enter —> http://bit.ly/MarieJamesFacebook
Marie James is a USA Today Bestselling Author of contemporary romance. She’s book boyfriend crazy, the mother of two rowdy boys, and a wife of 15+ years. She’s obsessed with tacos, otters, and FunCo Pops figures. Born, raised, and still living in central Texas, Marie spends most of her time locked away writing and reading.
Title: Emerald A Dark Mafia Romance Series: Colors of Crime #5
Author: Sophie Lark
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: February 12, 2020
Blurb
She Tried To
Kill Me…
She crept into my room with a syringe full of poison.
Now she’s my prisoner.
She refuses to tell me who sent her or why.
But I’ll get every last secret out of her. Through pleasure or through
punishment.
I captured her
and now she belongs to me…
“Emerald” is a
dark and dominating mafia romance, Book 5 in the Colors of Crime series. It’s a
stand-alone novel, full of intrigue, danger, and sexy bedroom scenes. Contains
spanking, so if such material offends you, do not read.
I was only six years old the first time I fired a gun. Eight
when my father forced me to hold my breath again and again in a bathtub full of
ice water. Twelve when he made me survive three nights alone in northern Maine
in the winter.
I know my father wasn’t right in the head. The problem is
that when you work for the CIA most of your adult life, it’s hard to
distinguish between paranoia and actual threats.
It took me longer than it should have to figure out
something was wrong. That some of the things my father was seeing weren’t
actually there. The cars “following” us. The “messages” he was being sent.
I had no frame of reference. I’d never attended a normal
school. I had no friends. My father was my whole world. He was the smartest,
most capable person I knew. The idea that he might be crazy was just . . . too
horrible to accept.
I push those memories to the back of my mind. I can’t get
distracted.
I’ve cleared the ground floor of the west wing. If Ivan
Petrov’s rooms are on this side of the house, they must be upstairs.
I climb the stairs, entering a hallway that seems to lead to
several bedrooms. All the closed doors are identical. Which one is Ivan’s?
As I keep walking, there’s a break between the doors, with a
library on the left, and what looks like an office on the right. And then
beyond that, at the end of the hallway, a set of double doors.
Bingo.
If there’s a master suite beyond those doors, it surely
belongs to Ivan Petrov.
Does he lock his doors at night?
I carefully test the old-fashioned handles. They move easily
beneath my hand.
With aching slowness, I crack the right-hand door.
It’s dark inside the suite, the blinds drawn. I slip through
the door, closing it silently behind me. I stand still, letting my eyes adjust
to the gloom.
I believe I’m in a sitting room, with the bedroom somewhere
beyond.
Holding my own breath, I think I can hear the slow inhale
and exhale of someone sleeping close by. It’s the breathing of a large man,
broad in the chest. Large lungs, a vast, slumbering body.
Ivan Petrov. I know it.
I’ve watched him from a distance. I’ve seen his intensity,
his ferocity. The way his men snap to attention when he comes close, the way
they obey his orders without question. I’ve seen his vigi- lance, the look of
intelligence on his face. And, of course, I’ve seen his massive, powerful body.
He wears a suit every day, but I’ve seen the round muscles of his shoulders and
biceps even beneath the thick material of the suit jacket.
I don’t want to get in a scuffle with this man. Nor do I
want to risk firing a gun in a house stuffed full of his soldiers, not even
with a silencer and a pillow wrapped round it.
So I’ve brewed up a special cocktail for Ivan Petrov. I take
it out of my pocket now.
A single syringe of clear amber fluid. Once I drive it into
his neck, he’ll be immobilized in moments. It will flood through his
bloodstream, turning his limbs to stone. His chest will seize up until he won’t
be able to draw a single breath. Remembering his mass, I’ve used enough
paralytic to freeze a racehorse in its tracks.
It won’t look like an accident, but that wasn’t a
requirement of the job. I just have to kill him and get out without getting
caught.
I move through the sitting room, into the bedroom beyond.
With the minute amount of light coming through the cracks in the blinds, I can
just barely see Ivan’s vast form, laying on the bed. He’s sprawled out on his
back, one thick arm flung up over his head. His heavily muscled and tattooed
chest is bare. There’s a patch of dark hair in the center of his chest, and a
thin line trailing down the center of his stomach, disappearing under the
sheet.
I suspect he’s completely naked under there, without even a
pair of boxer shorts. I can’t help glancing toward the bulge under the thin
sheet. It’s a shame to kill a specimen like this, right in his prime.
But there’s half a million dollars on the line. And if I
don’t kill Ivan Petrov, someone else will.
So I might as well get my money.
I approach the bed. Nothing could be more silent than my
feet, taking step after step across the thick oriental rug. I wear the same
kind of shoes that rock-climbers wear—thin, flexible, grippy. Little more than
leather slippers, and quiet as bare feet.
Petrov’s head is thrown back on the pillow, his throat
exposed. His dark hair tumbles across his eyes. His lips are slightly parted.
His breathing hasn’t changed—it’s still a steady metronome. But I’m about to
put a stop to it.
I slip the cap off the needle. I grip the syringe in my
fist, my thumb above the depressor.
As I raise my right hand in the air, above his neck, I can’t
help glancing one more time at Ivan’s face.
Sophie lives with
her husband, two boys, and baby girl in the Rocky Mountain west. She writes
intense, intelligent romance, with heroines who are strong and capable, and men
who will do anything to capture their hearts.
She has a slight
obsession with hiking, bodybuilding, and live comedy shows. Her perfect
day would be taking the kids to Harry Potter World, going dancing with Mr.
Lark, then relaxing with a good book and a monster bag of salt and vinegar
chips.
My voice doesn’t charm forest animals…
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