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Doublr Dare by BL Mute


Double Dare by BL Mute is now LIVE!


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About Double Dare

Double dare. It started as an innocent game between my brother and I, but as we grew older, we wanted to push our limits. There are only two rules. You must agree to play, and you always have to follow through. It seemed simple enough when the dares only consisted of prank calling daddy’s business partners, or ordering pizza for our unexpecting neighbors, but it quickly grew to a new level neither of us expected. Putting our inheritance on the line, the dares got more malicious. Set a car on fire, steal from the convenient store on the corner. But when I dared him to leave town, I realized just how out of hand things had gotten. Now he’s back and ready to make me pay by throwing in a new player to our game. Adrian Youngblood. Mafia heir. Cold. Dangerous. Known as the boy with no heart. It should have been simple—easy— but nothing is ever black and white where he’s concerned. I never expected him to give me things I didn’t even know I craved, and suddenly, it isn’t a game anymore. The rules have changed and tables have turned. I had one job— make Adrian fall in love with me, but as it turns out, the joke is on me. DOUBLE DARE is a dark novella complete with a HEA. This book contains some situations and subjects that may be triggering. Recommended for 18+.


Meet BL Mute

BL is a USA Today Bestselling Author who lives in north Texas with her husband and three children. She enjoys writing different sub genres of romance, and building flawed and broken characters. You can most likely find her mommy-ing, watching her husband cook (because she is a horrible chef), getting tattoos, or walking into the pole you’ve told her to watch out for. She loves interacting with her readers and other authors in the community. Friends and family classify her as fierce, loyal and ditsy at times.

Author Links:

Release Blitz

A Mischievous Little Mardi Gras by Stella Moore & Golden Angel

A Mischievous Little Mardi Gras by Stella Moore and Golden Angel is now live!!!

Read it #free with #kindleunlimited!

When Connor invites his best friend and fellow Chef Saul to the Ranch to help with the annual Mardis Gras celebration, both men are elated for their Little girls to finally meet.

But old hurts and lingering insecurities have Hayleigh and Vicky on edge from the moment they’re introduced, and they both find themselves over their Daddies’ knees far more often than they’d like.

A wild misunderstanding finally pushes the girls past their breaking point. And if their Daddies can’t get to the bottom of things, the pressure might be more than one of the couples can take.

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About The Authors:

Stella is a USA Today Bestselling author of romance featuring irresistibly sassy heroines and the strict, dominant men who try to tame them. Her favorite place to write is on her deck, with a glass of wine, enjoying her fabulous view of the countryside. Aside from reading and writing, Stella’s favorite hobby is shopping. She is a fierce advocate for teaching women to love themselves, both in her writing and in the real world!

Angel is a USA Today best-selling author and self-described bibliophile with a “kinky” bent who loves to write stories for the characters in her head. If she didn’t get them out, she’s pretty sure she’d go just a little crazy. She is happily married, old enough to know better but still too young to care, and a big fan of happily-ever-afters, strong heroes and heroines, and sizzling chemistry. When she’s not writing, she can often be found on the couch reading, in front of her sewing machine making a new cosplay, hanging out with her friends, or wandering the Maryland Renaissance Fair.

Find them both at:

Release Blitz

A Hope for Us by L Summers


A Hope For Us by L Summers

Release date: 1st March

Cover Designer: Danielle Dickson Vixens Designs

Standalone second chance love story with a suspenseful twist

#AHopeForUs #LSummers #Romance #Suspense #NewRelease #Kindle #BareNakedWords


They thought their love was strong enough to last forever, But one letter was all it took to break them… Emily A letter for me. Excuses from him. My broken heart left behind. Ben was the love of my life, my best friend, my whole world. We had our entire future all planned out and I couldn’t wait. We were going to have the perfect life together. But then something changed. He left me. Leaving me to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart and get on with my life without him, I was determined to make my dreams come true alone. Ben A letter for her. Excuses from me. Two broken hearts shattered. She thought we had it all. But all it took was one letter from me to bring all our plans crashing down. I walked away and left her all alone. Whilst my career is taking off on the other side of the world, I can’t help but think, did she make her dreams come true without me? One day, I hope to explain everything to her. One day, I hope to make her mine once more. One day, I pray there will be a hope for us.

Meet the Author

L Summers is a wife and mother to 3 crazy kids and one fur baby. Hailing from Oxford in the UK, she loves learning about local history. Layla has worked with children for over 15 years and is also an avid baker and cake decorator. Her love of reading stems from a very early age, but the amazing E L James kicked off her obsession with Contemporary Romance with the release of the Fifty Shades Trilogy. Having this love of romance is what has inspired her to create her own stories about love and friendship. She loves to frequent romance book signings as a reader, with her dream being to attend one day as an author.   Amazon Profile:  

Release Blitz

Howl Down the Moon

Title: Howl Down the Moon

Series: Comet Lake Chronicles, Book 2

Author: Layla Dorine

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 03/01/2022

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male, Male/Male Menage

Length: 96400

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, shifters, bonded mates, doctor, hurt-comfort, anger management, resentments, handling grief

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Luka knows he screwed up the night he tried to help Raine. He always gets things wrong—one of many reasons he steers clear of the rest of the pack. Besides, he doesn’t deserve the fellowship of other wolves, not with how badly he failed when it mattered most. Rand has seen a great deal during his time as pack physician, both good and bad. Helping others is his life’s calling, so when a wolf shows up with bitemarks from an altercation with another wolf, he’s quick to treat, but when he learns the name of the wolf bleeding on his clinic floor, he’s quick to judge, too. Too bad he fails to take the time to learn the whole story. Speaking of stories, there’s one Slade has refused to listen to for years—so much so, he’s relegated himself to the borderlands to avoid having anything to do with those who caused the tragedy that cost him his twin and the vengeance he knows will damn him for life if he carries it out. A series of decisions, good and bad, brings the lives of these three wolves crashing together. In Comet Lake, that’s called fate. The spark of a chance. Now it’s up to them to put stubbornness aside, stop answering questions with questions, and pause in their self-loathing long enough to listen to one another, put their pasts behind them, and learn how to love.


Where had the sun gone? Yes, it was fall, and the days had been growing shorter, but for it to be nighttime already, it had to be…well…damn. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dr. Randal Forrester realized he’d once again forgotten to take a dinner break or lock up at a reasonable time. Standing, the pang of pain that shot through his lower back was a reminder that he’d also been sitting too long. So much for following the instructions he gave his patients. Leaning back, he stretched until he felt something pull, then bent to touch his toes. A series of pops ran down his spine, providing instant relief. His stomach rumbled, so he shut down his computer and made sure a printed copy of tomorrow’s schedule was placed front and center on his desk. A light day. Provided there were no emergencies, maybe he could get some fishing in. A little sunlight, a little relaxation—it wouldn’t do for the pack’s only doctor to end up sick himself. Times like these, when he was restless and eager to spend time in the woods, he wished Doc Washington hadn’t retired. Not that the elder hadn’t deserved it—he’d devoted more than forty-seven years to healing and tending to his pack—but lack of another doctor, or even a nurse practitioner, made it difficult to take a break when he was always on call. One last walk through the offices, just to make sure he’d turned all the lights off. Moonlight streaming in through the window of his counseling space slashed across fur that didn’t belong there. Flipping on the light revealed a gray-and-white stuffed goose, which had been accidentally abandoned earlier in the day. Picking it up, he relocated it to his office before shooting Gabe a quick text message to let him know Raine’s goose was here. Knowing the wolf the way he was coming to, Gabe would beat him to the door in the morning to collect that goose for his mate. Honestly, he wasn’t surprised Raine had forgotten it. They’d had a tough session, with Raine slowly trusting him enough to open up and talk about the conflicting emotions he was currently struggling with. His secretary had left hours before, shutting down the front half of the clinic, which was why Doc was almost startled out of his skin to hear rustling coming from there. Irritation and outrage bubbled to the surface. He stalked toward the sound, intending to give some drug-seeking wolf a piece of his mind and an offer of counseling. Instead, he found Mister Meow batting around a crinkly cat toy, the fluffy orange cat fixing him a look like What? when Doc illuminated him with his phone. How many times, how many had he told Stephanie not to let that damned cat in, even if it was after office hours and all the exam rooms were closed? It didn’t matter that she vacuumed the carpet each morning either. A clinic was no place for a cat! Sighing, he knelt, clucking his tongue at the cat, intending to catch it and put it back out where it belonged, when several raps on the front door drew his attention. Grumbling, he threw up his hands and marched across the room, yanking the door open only to have the wolf on the other side spill over the threshold. They’d have hit the floor if he hadn’t reacted quickly and caught them. A low, rumbling groan escaped the dark-clad form as Doc carefully shifted them in his arms and carried them to the nearest exam room. Wavy strands of golden-brown hair, shot through with flaxen and white streaks, spilled out from beneath the black hood, half obscuring the wolf’s face. Doc brushed it back, the heat beneath his hand indicating a fever. Flushed and sweaty, their eyes were closed, their breathing heavy and labored. Doc ran a thermometer over their forehead, the instrument display reading 108.4. Dangerously high for a wolf, risking brain damage for a human, but the chances of it being human were near impossible. The eyes beneath the closed lids were hickory-gold and dilated when he shone a light into them. Their clothes smelled of cedar, pine, and rot, like an infection raging out of control. Doc gently unzipped the hoodie and peeled up the T-shirt beneath, gasping when he saw the red, swollen bite on the other wolf’s side, oozing pus from places where it wasn’t packed with the remains of some kind of poultice. The skin around the wound had rotted away, making it clear to him this wasn’t recent, but the wolf itself wasn’t known to him. Odd, but not necessarily alarming. In the six years he’d lived among the Pacific Northwest pack, he’d come to learn how spread out some members of the pack chose to live. It made sense that one who lived near the outskirts might not have had a need to seek him out until now. It was also quite possible that this was the new mate of a pack member, but a quick inspection of the wolf’s wrists revealed there were no bond marks on either one. So much for that theory.


NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Layla Dorine lives among the sprawling prairies of Midwestern America, in a house with more cats than people. She loves hiking, fishing, swimming, martial arts, camping out, photography, cooking, and dabbling with several artistic mediums. In addition, she loves to travel and visit museums, historic, and haunted places. Layla got hooked on writing as a child, starting with poetry and then branching out, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. Hard times, troubled times, the lives of her characters are never easy, but then what life is? The story is in the struggle, the journey, the triumphs and the falls. She writes about artists, musicians, loners, drifters, dreamers, hippies, bikers, truckers, hunters and all the other folks that she’s met and fallen in love with over the years. Sometimes she writes urban romance and sometimes its aliens crash landing near a roadside bar. When she isn’t writing, or wandering somewhere outdoors, she can often be found curled up with a good book and a kitty on her lap.

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Release Blitz

The Game

The Game by A.B. Wilson

Word Count: 82,950 Book Length: SUPER NOVEL Pages: 316



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Book Description

  He’s everything she hates, but exactly what she needs. What will it take to turn two rival players into teammates? Recover. That’s Abby’s entire plan when she suffers a potentially career-ending injury. But she needs financial support for her rehab now that she’s been dropped by her pro soccer team. Enter Matti, her unlikely, tatted-up savior with a man bun. The guy with everything she wants, a stellar career and the ability to get away with anything. When Matti’s fired by his team after yet another off-pitch scandal, he needs someone to help rehab his reputation. After a gossip column goes viral with a piece about their supposed engagement, the plan falls into place. A fake engagement to save Matti’s career, and access to the best rehab center for her. A new city, no friends, the only person they have to rely on is each other, and Abby’s grumpy cat, of course. As they play pretend day in and day out, their feelings start to shift from those of uncomfortable teammates to something a lot like love as the two find out each other’s deepest secrets. But when a new opportunity for Matti comes knocking, ready to pull them apart, will they take the risk of admitting the truth behind their feelings? Reader advisory: This book contains mention of child neglect, mental health struggles, and injuries sustained in a car accident.


Air horns, club songs and pile-ons from teammates. Confetti raining down in the drizzle, sticking to our hair and rain-spattered, grass-stained jerseys. I would never forget the moment that the F.C. Chelsea women’s soccer team won the Championship. Never, ever in my life had I felt the level of exhilaration that the men’s team must feel after the average game, because that’s how many people had jammed into Stamford Bridge stadium to watch us win—a sold-out crowd. All around me my teammates had torn off their jerseys to trade with our opponents and were battling tears with sloppy hugs. Something magical happens at the closing whistle of a hotly competitive match that the average person never feels. The way in which your direst enemy suddenly becomes your friend, happy for you in your happiness. There is that solidarity amongst female athletes where those congratulatory moments mean something, and I’d been dreaming of this one since I was five years old. Up in the manager’s box the entire men’s team was cheering us on. And there. Right in the middle of the crowd, if I could be bothered to look, would be my nemesis with his dirty-blond hair trapped in a messy top knot. His nice dress clothes most likely all rumpled and his sleeves rolled up to show off his massive, tattooed forearms. His electric-blue eyes would be crackling above his stubbly, chiseled cheekbones and jawline. He was probably waving his hands theatrically, acting the fool with everyone loving on him. If he were American instead of German, I’d have bet money on his tie being wrapped around his head. Matti Shellenberg, a man I’d wished a bad case of jock itch on more times than was probably healthy. Knowing he was up there was enough to make my blood boil. My eyes shot straight to him—like there was a magnetic force between the two of us—even at this distance. To my complete shock, he wasn’t in the mix with his teammates. Instead he was sitting all alone in a corner of the box—him, the man who was never still, never at rest, never less than one hundred percent positively on. The center of attention and master instigator. Now he sat slumped in his chair like a puppet with his strings cut, head in hands. He’s probably pissed we’re getting all the attention. One year later, I could still feel the mashed potatoes crusting in my eyebrows and long auburn hair, which I’d curled so carefully the night of the fundraiser for pediatric cancer patients. Those hyper-realistic plastic spiders he’d stuck on my chair that made me scream and flip my plate, launching a shower of food down on top of me and my tablemates. I could still see him in my mind’s eye, doubled over in laughter, wiping tears of hilarity off his flushed cheeks. Could still hear his delighted slow clap and taunt. “You gonna come after me with that steak knife, Stabby Abby?” I hated nicknames, but I had to admit that ‘Stabby Abby’ was one I could get behind. That clever jerk. The confetti storm had finally settled in colorful, sodden clumps and the team’s owner and head of operations strode through the tunnel and out onto the pitch for the trophy ceremony. I winced as I wound my way through the crowd. My bad knee was twinging like a motherfucker after a tackle from Porto’s defender that had knocked me awkwardly onto my ass. Hopefully I’d only twisted it, nothing more serious. My co-captain, Teresa, wrapped an arm around my shoulders and started tugging me toward the hastily erected podium at midfield. The team song was still blaring through the stadium speakers and the emotions of the day were catching me. I’d won a gold medal with the U.S. Women’s National Team, but this was somehow bigger. Better, because it was unexpected. Times like this reminded me that every sacrifice I’d made to play professionally was worth it. Tears pricked my eyes as Teresa hugged me close. “We did it, chica. Can you believe it?” I hugged her back and we wiped each other’s tears and laughed. “You get up there first,” I encouraged. She hopped up on the stage and pulled me up behind her. Together, we walked to the podium to accept the trophy. The owner and manager were tag-teaming a self-congratulatory speech about how delightful and historic the moment was. Teresa and I exchanged a Look. This moment would have come a lot sooner if the club had bothered to invest in its women’s side the way it did in the men’s. The owner handed us the trophy, almost bobbling it as he attempted to kiss our cheeks. The smell of whiskey flowed off of him as he leered at us. Teresa and I did our duty, ignoring the foul, smelly man as we smiled and raised that trophy high above our heads. Not even a lecher could rub the shine off of this one for us. I kissed the cool, damp metal that smelled like blood and fresh grass. That too-brief kiss was, without a doubt, the greatest in my entire history of kisses—not that that history was particularly long or interesting. I jumped down with the Cup, wincing again as my knee protested the action, and passed it off to my teammates. Teresa and I stood back from them, arm-in-arm as we watched the celebration continue. The men’s team would be rushing the field soon because they could never handle the women’s team having the lion’s share of attention. I had no interest in being out there when Ratty Matti showed and turned to Teresa. “I’m going to the locker room, need to hit the ice baths before we have to get ready for the party. Cover for me?” “You got it. Guess we all need some extra time to look our best tonight after this, huh?” She winked at me. “Ugh, totally. But if I don’t get in an ice bath soon, I’m not going to be able to stand in high heels.” My tone was rueful and she slugged me in the shoulder, jerking her head in the direction of the locker room. I took one last mental picture of my still-celebrating teammates, and the fans who hadn’t stopped singing our song, and started for the bench to scoop my kit. As I maneuvered around the celebrants and the men’s team clattering up from the tunnel, I glanced back at the owner’s box and got one hell of a shock. Matti was still there, not down with the rest of his team trying to steal our glory. No, he was still in his seat with his head in his hands. Curiouser and curiouser. The locker room was empty, but the training staff were there and ready with congratulations and help getting the tape off from the brace around my knee. I’d suffered an ACL tear not too long ago and coming back had been an excruciating journey. The physio helped me into the tub and one of his assistants started dumping in the ice. The cold burn of an ice bath was something that athletes supposedly got addicted to. Me, though, I was dreaming about tropical beaches and a solitary walk on white sand with the ocean curling in to tickle my toes as I shivered uncontrollably while buried in the tiny cubes. “McKinnon, your mobile’s ringin’, darlin’! Says ‘Sylvie’. That’s your agent, right?” The head physio shook my shoulder as he showed me the screen of my phone. I sank back into the tub and managed to get out through my chattering teeth, “It can wait till I’m done here, probably a congratulations.” “I dunno, darlin’, this is the third time she’s called in five minutes. You’re about done, let’s get you out of there and you can take the call.” He hadn’t even really congratulated me. Nor had he asked me if I was okay, given the slight limp I knew he’d seen with his laser-like focus on all of our working extremities. My stomach hollowed out and my shivers got bigger and stronger as I accepted his hand and let him haul me out of the tub. What does he know? I grabbed my phone and headed back to the locker room with a newfound sense of foreboding and sent a quick text to Sylvie that I’d call when I was out of the shower. I resolutely ignored the immediate buzz of a reply and the repeated chimes that indicated an incoming call. All I needed was one more moment to bask in the feeling of winning, of being a winner, of finally, finally achieving my dream before the real world could intrude again. The water speared into me and I could barely hear the shouts and laughter of my teammates finally coming off the pitch over its spray. Our ancient locker room was about to turn into a pre-party while we all got ready for the huge end-of-season shindig thrown by the club’s owners. A bunch of us—me included—wanted nothing more than to go home, but one simply did not skip this event. No matter how tired, no matter how injured. You went, you gladhanded the shit out of everyone, and you pretended to have the best time. Every year, I dreaded it. This year, though, things would be different. We were winners and I was trying to shake my salty reputation—my contract was up for renewal in the off-season. I cranked the water to cold to rinse out the last of my conditioner and practiced my biggest, most pleasant smile. My cheeks hurt already. With my team all around me, their chatter echoing off the cinderblocks that needed a new coat of paint, I felt like I was in my safe space. Safe enough, at any rate, to call Sylvie back. The insulation of their enthusiasm made a little bubble around me as I waited for her to pick up. I snorted when her voicemail kicked in. That was so Sylvie, harass me for hours, then pout when I finally did what she wanted—probably thought she was teaching me a lesson. Joke was on her, though. I’d grown up in the most passively aggressive toxic home with a mother who knew how to wield silence as a weapon as easily as a backhanded compliment. In a small Midwestern town in southern Wisconsin where everyone knew you and your business. Shoving thoughts of Sylvie aside, I forced my attention to making myself up to appear as photogenic and approachable as possible. Most of the other girls had completed their transition from sweaty athlete to debutante and were starting to file out to the hired cars that would take us to the Fairmont Hotel for the celebration while I was still winding a final section of hair around my curling iron. “Want me to make sure there’s a car for you when you finally finish?” Teresa asked with a small smile as she appeared in the mirror behind me. She knew how much I hated the schmoozing that went along with our captain’s badges. I waved my curling iron at her and pointed at my freshly made-up face. “Nah, no big deal. Just need to make sure Sam’s makeover wasn’t in vain. If I miss the last car, I’ll cab it.” Teresa shrugged and gave me a tiny finger wave as she pushed through the swinging doors. “Your funeral if you miss it.” “I’ll be there, don’t worry.” After much overspraying, the last section of my stick-straight dark-auburn hair was obediently wrapped around the hot iron. The big pin curls were fantastic in contrast with my pale, freckled skin and gray eyes. I looked like a dolled-up gladiator in my dark green dress with the black lace overlay and admired the way it hugged the smooth muscles I’d sacrificed so much to build and hone. I was taking a last dab at a slightly overcolored spot on my top lip when my phone finally rang. And like every time it rang without me immediately being able to see who was calling, my brain shouted hopefully, “Mom?” I castigated myself for still believing in the impossible. She hadn’t come around to my profession or my love for the game in twenty-three years. There was no starting now. I flipped my phone over and saw my agent’s face with her badass shark grin and tapped the screen. “Sylvie,” I said without further greeting. Sylvie hated what she called “perfunctory nonsense.” “Abigail Jean,” she returned grandly. Never mind that that wasn’t my middle name. First- and middle-naming me was the way she showed her affection and Sylvie changed it up every time. I rolled my eyes. “What’s up?” “Did I feel you rolling your eyes at me, young lady? Because I got a distinct vibe from that—” “Sylvie, cut the crap. What’s going on that you had to blow me up like this tonight of all nights?” I asked impatiently. “My dear, I know. I know. While I would love to let you rest on your laurels, I unfortunately can’t.” She sighed and my stomach knotted again as she continued, laying it out bluntly and with no sugary sweetness to cushion the blow. “The team has decided that they’d like to go a different direction next season. They have some kid from South Korea on scout who is basically you pre-ACL tear on performance-enhancing drugs.” I couldn’t speak or breathe. Now? After six years and a championship. Had they seen me limp around after my knee got torqued to hell? “I know, dear, this is a lot to take in and it feels like it’s out of nowhere,” she said with no small amount of sympathy. “I was shocked too. Completely taken by surprise. Between you and Matti, Chelsea is—” “Matti? What happened to Matti?” I asked, my voice higher-pitched than I would have thought possible. Sylvie managed both of us and he was a recent sign for her after his last agent cut him loose. And that had gone down in a spectacular, flaming ball of shame when yet another of his infamous house parties had turned into a drug-and-alcohol-fueled orgy. Management hadn’t been fond of those photos when they appeared online. “He’s being cut. Only the team had the grace to actually tell him in person, unlike this fiasco.” “When did you find out about us?” I asked, wondering if they’d already decided they wanted someone else before they’d seen me win the game for the team, before they might have spotted the slight limp. “Well,” she prevaricated. “Here’s the thing, they called me right at kick-off. Matti was told at your half-time. I don’t want you to worry. There are going to be a lot of teams interested in you after today’s win and Matti is always bankable. I’ve already had a few calls for each of you.” She paused and I could tell she’d popped in a square of nicotine gum as I heard the aggressive chewing noise. “I know how you feel about him, but I need you to do me a favor and keep an eye on him tonight. He’s not answering his phone and when he drinks, bad things tend to follow. I need you two to be on your best behavior while I negotiate.” “Sylvie, I’m not his keeper and tonight’s going to be crappy enough. You know how badly he embarrassed me back at that fundraiser,” I responded through a clenched jaw. “You don’t have to talk to him—although maybe it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing if you could pull that stick out of your ass and drop the grudge. I’ve always thought the two of you would make such a cute couple.” She muttered the last part and sighed heavily, like I was the one who made her life difficult and not the eternal man-child. Who, yes, was super hot, but oh my god was he an awful person. “Please, Abby, get him in a cab if he gets too unruly, I’ll text you his address,” she begged. I groaned and felt a headache start to form behind my eyes. “Fine, but I want a cut from his signing bonus for doing you this favor.” Sylvie ignored my sarcastic comment. “I’m flying out from La Guardia tonight, will be at Heathrow tomorrow morning. We’ll meet then and can start talking about your options.” I sighed and slumped back onto the bench, feeling completely unmoored. My options. Six years, the peak of my career as an athlete, and they’d “decided to go a different direction.” The pendulum had swung back and the price I’d already paid to play the sport that I loved, the only thing that had ever mattered to me, now seemed indecently high. Fuck this beautiful fucking game. Who even am I without soccer to define me?

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About the Author

A.B. Wilson

Amanda (A.B.) Wilson is the pen name for a heat-seeking librarian from the upper Midwest. Long after her sassy five year old and long-suffering husband go to bed, she writes steamy, escapist contemporary romances about celebrities, athletes, and billionaires—with a twist. Amanda loves connecting with readers, so hit her up on her website for newsletter sign-up, blog posts, general contacts, and social media. You can also follow Amanda on Instagram.


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Troy by Tasha Black

Troy by Tasha Black is available now!
– Alien Adoption Agency Standalone Romance –
Available on All Platforms

Is his heart the mirror she needs to finally see her true beauty?

A terrible accident left Eliza with a troubled heart and an unsightly scar. No Terran man wants a woman with a disfigured face, no matter how kind or hardworking. So when Eliza receives the opportunity to adopt a baby and move to a remote frontier moon, she jumps at the chance. She falls in love with baby Clementine the moment she holds the little one in her arms.

But her feelings for Clem’s tall, dark and handsome guard are much more complicated.

Troy’s active duty as a member of the elite Invicta dragon force ended the day he found out he was assigned to protect an Imberian baby. The tiny creature is helpless, smelly, sticky, and the absolute light of his life – though he doesn’t like to say so in so many words. After all, a brutal dragon warrior would never make a fool of himself over a small whelp. But the moment he lays eyes on Clementine’s new adoptive mother, he knows he is in a whole new world of trouble.

He can’t stop thinking about the small, fierce Terran. But his dedication to duty has him desperate to keep his thoughts, and his hands, to himself.

When a local man comes to court Eliza, she feels compelled to consider his suit. After all, what other prospects does she have? But before she can answer, a neighbor asks for help in the form of a wagon trip all the way out to the mines and back. Many ships have lost their navigations systems and wrecked in Han-2’s Bermuda Triangle-like atmosphere, and the lush planet is now littered with hundreds of wrecked crafts, grown through with trees and occupied by animals. And the animals aren’t the only things lurking.

But Eliza’s got a big dragon warrior with her. What could possibly go wrong?

If you like strong women, hunky aliens, wild adventures, steamy sensual scenes, and happily-ever-afters, then you’ll love the Alien Adoption Agency!

About the Author:

Tasha Black is a USA Today bestselling author of Paranormal, SciFi & Fantasy romance. She lives in a big old Victorian in a tiny college town. She loves reading anything she can get her hands on, making up stories, and sipping pumpkin spice lattes.

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(Un)Loved by Katy Hunter

General Release Date: 1st March 2022

Word Count: 54,338 Book Length: NOVEL Pages: 217



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Book Description

  Falling in love with Gil was never Sophie’s plan, but the French mountain air, the grumpiest llama ever and her boyfriend’s loving—if liberated—family might just change her mind. Sophie Smith—actress, influencer, in a close personal relationship with her blender—finds herself on a French mountain with a grumpy llama, a boyfriend with a bad case of commitment phobia and his sexually liberated parents. In between getting chased around the farm by angry goats, dealing with his beautiful ex-girlfriend and fending off a Frenchman, she’s also having an existential crisis. All she needs to do is get her boyfriend to stop quivering in fear at the L word, teach that llama to snuggle and work out what she actually wants to do with her life, then everything will be fine. Right?


I throw the last of my stuff into my bag, check around to see if I’ve forgotten anything, and head for the door. This film is done, and with it, my life here. Not my actual life—I’m not going to die or anything—just the person I’ve become over the last few months. The lovesick teenager. The grown woman. The friend. The colleague. All that gets packed up in a box and reinvented for the next shoot. Time to get drunk, get my party on and maybe make a few terrible sexual decisions before going home. I walk out of my work trailer—about to tick off the first thing on that to-do list—when my co-star, all-around hot guy and quencher of thirsts, Gil Carter, completely throws me by being on the other side of the door, stopping me dead in my tracks. This is not part of the plan. Damn it, G. “Shee.” He glances down at the bags in my hands. “Oh, you’re already leaving?” “Yeah, I wanted to get a head start on packing up.” And moving on. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding my regard, like he’s pissed at me. “I…uh…I got you something.” He reaches into the battered canvas messenger bag that he totes everywhere—the one which makes him look like a hot history professor, or at least how I imagine a hot history professor. In my mind he’s wearing one of those tweed jackets with the elbow patches, tight button-up jeans and suede shoes. He’s rushing to a lecture, in the rain, holding that scruffy old bag over his head to protect his unruly curls. I open the door for him, my hair held up in a messy bun by a well-placed pencil, my glasses sliding off my nose. “Oh, Professor…” Sigh. That man does impeccably good hair. He has a mass of curls softer than a kitten’s belly. They tumble into this perfect crown that I, oh, I want to run my fingers through and maybe tug at a little when the need arises. I’ve had dreams about that hair. Anyway…I digress. After rummaging around for a couple of minutes, he pulls out the most beautiful brown leather journal. “This is for your private thoughts, if you need to talk but there’s nobody around. And you can write shit about people, and they’ll never know.” He runs his fingers through that infamous head of hair, still avoiding my gaze. “What if they read it, though?” I reply, earning me a smile. “Promise I won’t. If you promise to only write nice stuff about me.” He glances up at me and ruffles those curls again, sending my lady-parts into meltdown. I look down at the journal. The only things running through my mind right now are the really, really dirty things that I’m going to write about him in this thing. “Thanks, G.” I smile, then, no word of a lie, I punch him in the fucking arm. Not hard. Just enough to show that we’re only friends. Just good buddies. Pals. “You’re welcome.” He shrugs and shuffles his feet again. The silence is painfully awkward as we stand there, avoiding each other’s gazes. My mind is racing. Why did I punch him in the arm? Who does that? It’s lucky he didn’t get down on one knee and offer me a diamond ring. I might have knocked some teeth out. Ask him out to dinner. Offer to buy him a drink. Say something… Anything. Reaching down to open my bag, I unzip it, pop the journal in and look up. “Would you—” But he’s already gone. Why am I like this? I should have said, “Maybe I’ll write about all the fun things we’re going to do together.” Then I could have batted my eyelashes flirtatiously, thrown back my head, giggling in a sexy way. He would have pulled me into his arms… But no. I went in for the buddy punch. It’s not my fault. No, really, I don’t do flirting. Dr. K calls it “intimacy issues”. She leans back into her brown leather armchair and says things like, “Did you bond? Are you connecting with people?” My fist connected with his arm. Does that count? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a virgin or anything. It’s just that I don’t like touching people, or, more to the point, I don’t like them touching me. Grandma was the only person who ever gave me hugs, and she’s gone now. They were earned when I did good at an audition or won a pageant. There is one kind of flirty thing that we’ve done. Gil’s always loved that I call him G—pronounced ‘Jee’. Like it’s our little inside joke or something. He also gave me a nickname right off the bat. It’s our thing—or it was. It’s over now. When I call him G, he sort of lights up, like it makes him happy. That’s the kind of nice that counts, the kind that gives a girl that fuzzy feeling inside. There’s something very intimate about nicknames. People call me Soph—as if they can’t even be bothered to say my whole name— but when someone you’re close to creates a new, private name for you, that’s another thing entirely. Especially when the man in question is Gil Carter—the deep-thinker, the philosopher, the person who’s kept me sane since the beginning of production. The object of my carnal desires. Admittedly, if you were one to judge someone by their appearance, and you were unaware of the grubby bag, you might not know what to make of him—Italian leather shoes, tailored trousers and the crispest of shirts. Even on his days off, he looks more like he’s just stepped off a Parisian catwalk than a Canadian sound stage. G’s clothes are a whole mood, and that mood is ‘best man at a wedding in The Hamptons’. He always has his nose in a book, and when he doesn’t, he’s napping, more often than not in my trailer. I’ve lost count of the number of times he has nodded off on my shoulder while we’ve been going over our lines, his hair tickling my nose. I don’t mind that kind of intimacy—pure and uncomplicated. He keeps me warm and smells like bergamot—or whatever they put in men’s fragrances these days. Manly and a little sweaty. It’s a good thing. Trust me. Like me, he’s not a people person. Except the difference is that he’s totally okay with it. I’m out here trying to be friendly and ‘normal’, and he’s just doing his thing—and totally pulling it off. There’s nothing more attractive than a man who knows what he wants and doesn’t care what anybody else thinks. I’d give anything for a spoonful of that confidence. Our nicknames mean more to me than just words. They’re a sign of our friendship, and I count on that far more than I’ve ever counted on us getting together.

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About the Author

Katherine E Hunt

Katy Hunter lives on a mountain in France with her husband, kids and two dogs. When she’s not writing you can find her curled up in front of the fire, book in one hand and a glass of chardonnay in the other. Follow Katy on Instagram and sign up to her Facebook reader’s group. You can also find her on Facebook and follow her on Twitter


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Release Blitz

Unholy Desire by Lynn Burke

Title: Unholy Desire
Series: Sinful Natures #3
Author: Lynn Burke
Genre: Forbidden Gay Romance
Release Date: March 1, 2022


As an overseas missionary who leads lost souls toward salvation, it’s imperative I live a godly existence, even in the midst of life-shattering grief.

Returning to the States brings about a trial worse than the loss of love, and I’m faced with desire for someone forbidden to me by my church and the word of God.

Aaron Weston.

My best friend’s son who is no longer a gangly teen. He makes me want things no newly widowed man should.

His presence fills the emptiness in my life, but my sinful nature longs for more. Every inch of him—in my heart, in my body, making me feel whole again.

Giving into the hunger of the flesh will take us down a path of immorality, one that goes against my strive for holiness.

I lost my wife from focusing on promised riches in glory.

And if I make the same mistake, I fear responsibility for the ruination of another soul.







Releasing April 19



Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of hot romance books. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

Release Blitz

Bad Best Friend by Elise Faber

Bad Best Friend by Elise Faber is now available!
Available Now On All Platforms

Six overprotective older brothers.
One hopelessly single younger sister.

She was talking about herself.
Cora was the hopelessly single younger sister.

Because, God, she loved her brothers. But, hell, they were ANNOYING. And good at scaring off every single man she’d ever dated.


She just…wanted the happy ending, the man who’d love her and her flaws. The one who wouldn’t be scared off by her six scary—even to her, as much as she hated to admit that particular truth—older brothers.

But—another sigh—there didn’t actually appear to be a man on the planet who met those criteria.

So…circling back to the fact that she was hopelessly single and destined to remain that way.

Until one day there was a knock at the door.

And Rafe showed up, moved in, and—

Proved that her brothers’ best friend was the one man on the planet who wasn’t scared.

About the Author:

USA Today bestselling author, Elise Faber, loves chocolate, Star Wars, Harry Potter, and hockey (the order depending on the day and how well her team—the Sharks!—are playing). She and her husband also play as much hockey as they can squeeze into their schedules, so much so that their typical date night is spent on the ice. Elise changes her hair color more often than some people change their socks, loves sparkly things, and is the mom to two exuberant boys.

She lives in Northern California. Connect with her in her Facebook group, the Fabinators or email her at
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