With my life on the line, will I risk it all once more to find safety in the arms of a filthy hot O’Donnelly?
Filthy Hot, an all-new opposites attract mafia romance from Serena Akeroyd, is available now!
The second our eyes meet, I feel it.
The ticking clock.
It’s only a matter of time before we come together.
Before the heat that arcs between us turns into a conflagration.
But he’s a mobster. An O’Donnelly. His notoriety is legendary.
I’m a journalist. I expose men like him, which is how I built my reputation.
Manipulating the truth is how the Five Points forged their name. It’s why he’s one of NYC’s most eligible bachelors, after all.
Whereas for me, the truth is my calling.
With my life on the line, will I risk it all once more to find safety in the arms of a filthy hot O’Donnelly?
Read our story in this opposites attract mafia romance, Filthy Hot, the fifth book in the Five Points’ Mob Collection.
Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3sH3auy
Her make-up was exquisite. Perfect. Utterly beautiful.
I wanted to wreck it.
I wanted to mar it, because the second we walked through those fucking doors, there’d be men there who’d see her. Who’d want her. Who’d want something that everything inside me screamed was mine.
My thumb twitched as I reached her lips. Bright red and glossy with it, they parted at the digit’s approach, and I let my gaze drift from the gleaming, pouting morsel and up to her eyes.
Nostrils flaring when I saw the challenge in hers, I growled under my breath and did as my instincts insisted.
I let my thumb slide through that gloss, dragging it aside and onto her cheek, smearing perfection. Sullying it.
“Feel better?” she rasped, no anger, more like amusement lacing her tone at my antics, as her hands came around my hips, lowering to my ass as she pressed harder, making sure that both of us were well aware I had a boner.
Much as she’d done, I threw that back at her: “Does it feel like I feel better?”
She shook her head, her eyes darkening as she rolled her hips.
“You’ll get burned,” I warned her.
“Maybe I want to. Maybe that’s exactly what I need.
I stared at the smeared lipstick, at the mess I’d made, then I leaned forward and pushed my cheek against her clean one. “There’ll come a time when you’ll push me too far and too fast.”
“I hope so. Where would be the fun in taking things slow?”
I had to smile, but before I pulled back, feeling the deceleration of the elevator, I darted forward, nipped her earlobe hard enough to make her squeal, then murmured, “Do not reapply the lipstick when you head to the restroom.” I saw her mutinous expression and warned, “Pick your battles, little one.”
A shaky sigh escaped her, and I knew why. It had nothing to do with my dictate, and everything to do with the term of endearment. It hadn’t slipped out by mistake. It just felt right. Seemed she agreed because it turned her to goo in my arms.
I’m a romance bookaholic and I won’t touch a book unless I know there’s a happy ending. This addiction is what made me craft stories that suit my voracious need for raunchy romance. I love twists and unexpected turns, and my novels all contain sexy guys, dark humor, and hot AF love scenes.
I write MF, Menage, and Reverse Harem (also known as Why Choose romance,) in both contemporary and paranormal. Some of my stories are darker than others, but I can promise you one thing, you will always get the happy ending your heart needs!
Connect with Serena
Join her reader group: https://bit.ly/32cbyHe
Stay up to date with Serena by joining her mailing list: https://bit.ly/3mMYWhI
My life. My rules.
That’s how it’s always been for me.
Well, since I did something that ripped apart the threads of my humanity.
After that, I let go of everything that left me exposed.
Relying on myself alone was the best option.
I can’t allow anything near me anymore, not even the one girl who somehow intoxicates my blood and proves she means more.
Sacrifices were made when I was young. Vital pieces of my vulnerability were stolen from me. It would have been far too easy if I hadn’t seen her again.
So, of course, the one girl I hate most is the constant reminder of my most painful past.
She thinks I’m still the weak one between us.
It’ll be my sweet revenge proving her otherwise.
Samantha Young has revealed the cover for There With You!
Releasing: August 23, 2021
Cover Design: Hang Le
For Regan Penhaligon, there’s no better place to run to than the exclusive Ardnoch Estate in the remote Scottish Highlands. Her impulsive behavior has finally caught up with her and Regan’s visit with her sister, Robyn, is an opportunity to hide from someone who has grown dangerously obsessed with her.
Determined to make amends for her mistakes, Regan plans to repair her relationship with Robyn by staying close. And when an offer of help comes from Thane Adair, Regan gratefully accepts.
Widower, Thane, needs a new nanny housekeeper for his two young children and when they bond with Regan Penhaligon, he offers her the job. But as the weeks pass and the complex American reveals who she really is, Thane struggles with his growing attraction to her.
Regan never expected to feel so intensely for Thane, but she can’t deny her passion for him or her love for his children. When someone from Thane’s past threatens his family, Regan wants to be his pillar of support. However, his continued inability to trust her might just destroy their chance at future happiness… and the person who drove Regan to Ardnoch might snuff out her chance for any future at all.
Pre-order your copy today!
Apple Books: https://apple.co/3nINBks
Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3vBdsO4
Samantha is the New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of over forty books, several of which have been nominated for Goodreads Choice Awards. She writes adult contemporary and paranormal romance, YA urban fantasy and YA contemporary fiction. Her books have been published in 28 languages in 30 countries. She resides in Scotland.
For more information visit http://authorsamanthayoung.com
Connect with Samantha
Website – http://authorsamanthayoung.com
Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/authorsamanthayoung/
Pinterest – https://www.pinterest.co.uk/samyoungauthor/
Amazon – http://amzn.to/2H47kEP
Goodreads – http://bit.ly/2FWgYdn
Bookbub – http://bit.ly/2D241eO
Lydia Michaels has revealed the cover
for Love Me Nots, Jasper Falls 3!
Releasing June 22, 2021
It started with a hammer…
Perrin is through with men. After dumping her cheating fiancé, she started a new career, and her life is finally on an upswing–until Gage comes into town.
Gage King, of King Construction, represents everything the small town of Jasper Falls is not. His big Texan upbringing disguises his secrets well and, at first glance, he appears all luxury and lavish sex appeal, but to a girl like Perrin Harris, he's just one big eye roll.
When Gage tries to buy the land Perrin has her heart set on, she puts a plan into action. She will stop at nothing to get what she wants, but so will Gage–and Gage wants her.
Pre-order your copy today!
Apple Books: https://apple.co/3fgsBPp
Google Play: https://bit.ly/3hQfKFA
Meet Lydia Michaels
Lydia Michaels is the author of over thirty-five novels and the consecutive winner of the 2018 & 2019 Author of the Year Award from Happenings Media, as well as the recipient of the 2014 Best Author Award from the Courier Times. She has been featured in USA Today, Romantic Times Magazine, Love & Lace, and more. As the host and founder of the East Coast Author Convention, the Behind the Keys Author Retreat, and Read Between the Wines, she continues to celebrate her growing love for readers and romance novels around the world.
Lydia is happily married to her childhood sweetheart. Some of her favorite things include the scent of paperback books, listening to her husband play piano, escaping to her coastal home at the Jersey Shore, cheap wine, 80's pop culture, coffee, and kilts. She hopes to meet you soon at one of her many upcoming events.
Connect with Lydia
Website | www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
Goodreads | https://bit.ly/39md1Pg
Amazon | http://bit.ly/LydiaMichaels_Amazon
Facebook | www.Facebook.com/LydiaMichaels%20
Facebook Group | https://bit.ly/3cetuac
Instagram | www.Instagram.com/lydia_michaels_books
TikTok | https://bit.ly/3prrejt
Twitter | https://bit.ly/39pzevX
Bookbub | https://bit.ly/3iWRNdZ
Pinterest | https://bit.ly/3prU57n
Newsletter | https://bit.ly/3ommZ7z
Title: A Moment Too Late Author: Rachel Brownell
Falling in love can happen in the blink of an eye.Falling in love can happen in the blink of an eye. I fell for Jay the moment I laid eyes on him. Was drawn to him in a way I’d never been drawn to a man before. He was everything I wanted. The man I dreamed about at night and looked for everywhere I turned just for a glimpse of his perfection. But I couldn’t have him. It was against the rules. Forbidden. He was my best friend’s boyfriend. I would never do that to her. Then she died. Looking at him became painful, bringing back memories of the reason we couldn’t be together. The reason I never pursued him. I had to move on and vowed never to look back in an attempt to escape him and the devastation in my heart. Yet here I stand, five years later, staring into the eyes of the man I still want. In the place I swore I’d never return to. With memories assaulting me from every angle. He’s still the picture of perfection in my eyes, making our attraction even more dangerous than it once was. The only difference… No one is standing in our way this time.
pre-order now for the special release price of $2.99 available June 11. read for FREE with KindleUnlimitedMy phone has vibrated in the pocket of my dress no less than ten times since class started thirty minutes ago. If I were in a lecture hall with five hundred other people, I’d risk checking to see who was calling at this early hour, but this professor is an asshole. The sight of my phone will set him off. On the first day of class, he made his stance on phones perfectly clear. If he sees one, we all suffer. In our second class, we found out exactly what suffering meant when someone walked in texting. The class hadn’t even started. We weren’t on his time yet. Still, he issued a ten-page paper and only gave us three days to do it. Not a single person has been seen on their phone since. Message received. Loud and clear. My phone starts up again, and instantly the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, a chill running down my spine. Whoever keeps calling, it must be important which worries me. All my friends know all about this professor. I’ve complained about him on more than one occasion, so they know never to call during class. Not to mention they’re probably sound asleep. I’m the only idiot who signed up for classes that start before noon in my final semester of college. I didn’t have much of a choice. This class is required to graduate, and this was the only time it was offered. Sighing, I brush off my concerns and attempt to concentrate on the lecture my professor is droning on about. I’m barely able to keep my eyes open as I listen to his monotone voice go on and on about our final project, due in less than four weeks. I didn’t get back in town until after ten last night, then I overslept, having to forgo stopping for coffee on the way to class so I wasn’t late. Another one of the professor’s pet peeves. Graduation is just around the corner, though. No more early classes. No more asshole professors. Four years of hard work and dedication all come down to the next few weeks. This semester has been mentally challenging. Both on a personal and professional level if you count being a college student by day and waitress by night a profession. My days are long, the nights even longer. The much-needed rest and relaxation I was hoping for while vacationing last week never happened. Sleep eluded me most of spring break. I should have been sunbathing and sipping fruity drinks with little umbrellas in them. I was in paradise with no responsibilities. My days were my own, but they were lonely. That’s not a new concept it seems. I could be in a room surrounded by all my favorite people and I’d still feel lonely these days. I spent the first day crying my eyes out behind large, black sunglasses while my parents went on a day excursion. It was beautiful outside, the water was clear, the light breeze keeping me from overheating. The view was breathtaking. I should have been enjoying it with a smile on my face. Or at the very least, taking a nap and working on my tan. What did I do instead? Once I knew my parents were gone, I went back to my room and curled up under the covers. My eyes were puffy and red. It hurt to keep them open. I was exhausted from my early flight, but aside from being physically tired, I was emotionally drained. My heart was splintering in my chest. Every time I thought about that night, I felt a new fault line appear. It wouldn’t be long before it shattered and there would be nothing left. Because I gave him my heart two years ago. Willingly. Without asking for anything in return. I expected him to treat it with care. To guard it. To keep it safe. What did he do with it? Nothing. That was only my first mistake, though. My second? I didn’t ask if he wanted it. Nope. I ripped it from my chest, shoved it in his hands, and smiled. It happened so fast I didn’t give it a second thought. There was no time to overthink what I was doing because it was over before I knew it even happened. Why was I so reckless? Because there was something there. The moment I saw him I felt it, the connection. It was magnetic, the pull I felt toward him. The way he held me in his arms was heavenly, as if I was meant to be held by him and only him. Love at first sight. I was crazy, right? That never happens in real life. Sure, you read about it in romance novels, but I’ve never heard about it happening to anyone I know. Hell, my mother said it took her two years to get my dad to open his eyes. He says he was just waiting to see if she was worth the effort. Great role models, right? But after twenty-five years of marriage, two petitions for divorce that were eventually withdrawn, and one affair on my father’s part, they seem to be doing okay. That’s a lie. My parents tolerate each other at best. Neither of them are getting any younger, and I think they’re afraid of dying alone. My father turns sixty-one this year, and my mother will be sixty. At that age, who wants to start over? I’d be scared, too. Hell, I’m scared right now. Of the way I feel for him. Of the power he has over me. The power to destroy my heart. Power I gave him without a second though. You’re an idiot, Andrea. Yup. Even my subconscious knows what a big mistake I made. Four more weeks. Then I can leave here and start over. I’ll take what’s left of my heart and pray there’s someone out there who can mend the broken pieces. Someone who’s meant just for me. Shaking away the thoughts, I turn my attention back to my professor. He’s walking my way, his eyes locked on mine. Either I’ve been busted for zoning out or he’s just having a bad day. The scowl on his face gives nothing away. It’s the same expression he’s worn since day one. “You have ten minutes to decide your topic. Please turn them in to Ms. Morris.” He motions to me, and I wave enthusiastically. It’s more for show than anything. Maybe if I smile and pretend to be excited he’ll think I was paying attention after all. “She’ll bring them to my office after class.” Or not. He’s definitely aware I zoned out. This is my punishment. I get to run across campus to drop off topics to him and sprint back in less than fifteen minutes for my next class. It won’t be easy, especially considering I chose to wear a dress and heeled sandals today, but I’ll make it work. At least my next professor isn’t a dick. He probably won’t even notice if I slip in late. Taking the large, manila envelope he’s extended in my direction, I nod in understanding and avert my eyes quickly. I still have to come up with my own topic, and I’ve spent the last forty minutes mentally beating myself up. Didn’t I just do that for the last seven days? Sure did, and it ruined what should have been a perfect vacation in paradise. It’s about time I stop. That’s the thing about guilt. It refuses to let go of the grip it has on your soul. It wraps itself around you and holds on for the ride, laughing the entire time. Look at the wrong person, guilt smacks you across the face. Think about them, guilt’s there to remind you why you shouldn’t. Get close enough to smell their woodsy scent? Throat punch. Guilt is a bitch. The only way to get rid of it is to clear your conscience. Like you have the balls to do that. She’s right. I don’t. Because telling my truth would destroy more lives than my own. And if I’m going to hell, I don’t find it necessary to bring company. Four more weeks. I can survive that long. I’ll just lock myself in my apartment. I’ve been doing it all semester, what’s a few more weeks? Everything is going to be fine. I’ll suffer so she doesn’t have to. I’ll pretend I’m not miserable, that my heart’s not broken, the way I have been the last two years. My heart for hers. By keeping what happened a secret, I’m saving her from the heartbreak. That’s what friends do. They jump in front of a moving car to push you out of the way. They sacrifice themselves, their own happiness, so you can find yours. As soon as the professor is out the door, students crowd my desk, thrusting papers in my face. I slide them all in the envelope one by one and stare down at my blank form. I’m the last one left. Alone. Again. You would think I’d be used to the silence by now. I live alone. Spend my nights locked in my apartment. I’ve pushed my friends away and barely answer my phone. I’m the reason I’m isolated. I’m the one responsible for feeling lonely. I’ve done this to myself and I have no one else to blame. Well, I could start pointing fingers, but at this point, why bother? It won’t change what happened two years ago or three months ago. No one can erase the past. We either learn from it, try to be better, overcome the obstacles, and grow as a person. Or we wallow, allowing ourselves to suffer in silence. It feels like I’m constantly teetering somewhere in the middle. I’d love to say I’ve learned my lesson, but I find myself wallowing more often than not. Attempting to focus, I’m feverishly scribbling when another chill washes over me, this one more pronounced than the last. Goosebumps pebble my exposed legs, a shiver making it’s way up my spine. I’m rubbing them with my free hand when I hear the soft click of the door, followed by the vibration of my phone again. Finally removing it from the confines of my pocket, I find Summer’s face smiling at me. My second mom. The one who adopted me into her family the first day I met her. Who’s shown me more love in the two years I’ve known her than my parents have in my twenty-two years of life. Sliding my finger across the screen to answer, I greet her warmly, a huge smile on my face. I missed seeing her this morning at the Java Bean. Not only did I need the caffeine, but her hugs make everything better. Not feeling well? Get a hug from Summer. Fail an exam? Summer’s hug will make you forget about it. There is no limit to the power of her hugs. Summer’s heart is so big you can feel her love when she hugs you. The way she says my name has alarm bells sounding in my head. I can almost hear the tears streaming down her cheeks, her big, beautiful heart breaking in her chest. And when she finally tells me why she’s calling, I feel the remnants of my already fragile heart shatter. Her words bring tears to my eyes, clouding my vision, my smile fading as the phone falls from my hands. The screen cracks as it hits the floor, but I barely register the sound. Suddenly I’m being pulled out of my chair, my legs wobbling slightly, and into his warm embrace. He’s fresh from a shower, the woodsy scent enveloping me, causing my heart to studder. Home. That’s what it feels like to be wrapped in his arms. But right now, not even he can calm the frantic beat of my heart as it pounds against my rib cage. The thump, thump, thump rattling in my ears is the only indication I’m not dreaming. This can’t be happening. “I’ve got you,” he whispers as his hand runs up and down my back. My fists are tightly gripping the front of his soft T-shirt. I can feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath my hands, whereas mine suddenly feels like it’s come to a complete stop. When my legs give out, he scoops me up and sits with me in his lap. I can’t even bring myself to fight him. Tension and guilt are swirling around me, taunting me, but it’s no match for the devastation that’s pressing on my chest. “Breathe, Drea,” I hear him say as he tucks a piece of stray hair behind my ear. “Just breathe.” In. Out. In. Out. Easy, right? Yet I can’t seem to catch my breath. I’ve never been able to with him this close. “I have to go,” I say, scrambling off his lap, gathering all my things and shoving them in my messenger bag. I’m out the door, his protests cut off when it closes behind me. Four weeks. I can survive four more weeks. Then I’m gone. I’ll leave this place behind me and never look back. There’s nothing left here for me now anyway.
Sign up for Rachael’s Newsletter