Sneak Peak

Sneak Peek: The Billionaire’s Guide to The Marriage Deal by Piper Marlowe

If she’s all wrong for him, why does it feel so right?

The Billionaire’s Guide to The Marriage Deal, an all new fun and flirty, fake relationship romantic comedy filled with spice from debut author Piper Marlowe is coming April 28th, and we have your first look!

Sneak Peek



Realizing a bee stuck is in your jock strap as you’re stepping up to the plate. Very irritating.
Tying a girl to the bedpost with an Hermes tie and forgetting it when you leave in the morning. Irritating and also annoying.
But making a presentation to the board of directors, describing why the Taylor Corporation needs to get with the 21st century and how they—we— should do it, only to have your own grandmother murder you in front of the entire room and step over your dead body to state that nothing’s changing?
There isn’t a word in the English language to strong enough to describe this feeling.
Even two hours later, I step out of the glass-and-gold elevators of Murray Loft with an angry black squiggle over my head, stride across the plush velvet carpet, and throw myself into the corner booth like I want to break it.
As usual, I’m the first to arrive, because my two closest friends are degenerates.
That’s usually not a big deal, but today? It’s annoying.
Growing up in Manhattan and spending most of my adulthood in loft after penthouse after rooftop bar with similar scenery, the view’s become an old friend. The East River wants to know why I waste my time at Taylor. The increasingly infamous bridges ask if I’ll ever replace my grandmother as CEO of Taylor. Closer to hand, the Chrysler and Empire State buildings have nothing to say, because a throat-clear over my shoulder captures my attention.
I don’t recognize the brunette at attention beside me. I thought I knew all the waitstaff here by now. Then again, I’m usually not at Murray Loft on weekdays
—too busy squeezing in every hour of face time I can in the family offices in order to convince my grandmother that it’s time for me to take over and listening to her tell me it’s not. She thinks I’m a kid.
You’d think, given that she’s nearing a hundred, she would leap at the chance for some R&R. And yet, here I am. Annoyed.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the brunette asks. Unlike most servers at this club, her voice doesn’t have that cloying, faux-sweet customer service tone I’ve come to despise. In fact, if anything, she sounds gruff. Annoyed.
Like an actual New Yorker.
I suppress a smile. Murray Loft isn’t my first choice of hang, but Dylan and Max enjoy the rich asshole vibe. This poor girl won’t last long, but while she’s here, the annoyance in her tone soothes mine. “Just a Coke,” I say. It is only noon.
She arches an eyebrow, as though she doubts my plan to stay sober until a sane drinking hour. “Sure,” is her only comment, before she reaches for the menu laid face-down on the table.
I catch her wrist before she can whisk it away. “I’m waiting on a couple of friends.”
I shouldn’t touch her. Women either hate it or drop right into my lap, and the former often gives way to the latter. But the new waitress seems immune to my charms.
She drops the menu and pulls her hand free without so much as a flush or a stammer. “Be right back with your Coke.”
Then she strides across the floor—and I can’t lie, it takes effort not to stare too much. She has some serious curves. I’m trying to work out the mechanics of that—does she work out to get her ass that tight, or is it a genetics thing?—when a hand waves in front of my eyes. Two familiar barking laughs ring out in unison.

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When my grandparents founded the Taylor Corporation, it was to make life better for future generations of Taylors.
But Grandma Sofia doesn’t think said generations are trustworthy enough to take over.

“Get married and prove you have an eye to the future,” she said.
“It’ll be easy,” she said.

But “easy” is not exactly the word I’d use to describe the new Mrs. Easton Taylor. Phoebe isn’t exactly my type, which is the plan–easy to marry, easy to walk away from. She makes flashcards for fun. She’s mouthy, sexy, and uninhibited. Worst of all, I’m now stepfather to a cat named Roger.

Some would call it a marriage of convenience.
But what I got into is more of a convenience store arrangement… an overpriced, fast, knockoff version of the real thing.

So why do I actually like the cat? And why can’t I stop imagining something more real with my fake wife?

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About Piper Marlowe

Piper Marlowe is an absolute legend, if you know where to look. And trust us, you don’t.
For national security reasons, her identity is a secret. As a matter of fact, there’s a good chance that at this very moment, she’s undercover, speaking with a bad Lithuanian accent to a bunch of shady characters. She can neither confirm nor deny that she’s writing ultra-fun, uber-witty, hot-darn-sexy romance to distract from the stress of her current clandestine operation.
Or maybe romance writing is the cover for a cover?
She could tell you, but then she’d have to…you know. That.

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Sneak Peak

Falling Embers by Catherine Cowles

“Emotional, angsty, so romantic, and edge of your seat suspenseful! ALL THE STARS!!”
—Samantha Young, New York Times bestselling author

Falling Embers, an all-new emotional small town romance from bestselling author Catherine Cowles, is coming April 12th, and we have the first look!



“Hads, you know there’s no way she’s going to let you go.”

I leaned back against my bed and cradled the phone against my ear. “I think I can convince her.”

Jenna was silent for a moment before speaking. “I know you’ve got megapowers of persuasion, but your mom is on another level.”

I didn’t need my best friend to tell me that. I lived with my mother’s overprotectiveness every day. No, overprotective wasn’t the right word. It was paranoia.

“I’m going to go talk to her now. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”

“Okay.” Doubt dripped from Jenna’s tone. She’d watched me go down this road too many times before.

But I wouldn’t let her doubt get to me. I was holding on to hope. I pushed to standing and started for the door. I paused as I pulled it open, listening. I could hear voices wafting up from downstairs and moved in that direction.

“It sounds like a herd of elephants is invading,” my dad called as I pounded down the stairs.

“Just one daughter,” I told him, rounding the corner.

He had a baseball game on mute as my mom worked on hand-stitching a quilt.

“Where’s Shiloh?” I asked.

Mom’s jaw tightened, and I knew I’d already made a misstep. I shouldn’t have asked. My dad gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The kind I’d seen far too many times during the past eight years. “She needed some air, I think. She’s in the barn with the horses.”

My sister practically lived out there these days. And every time she ran off, a muscle in my mom’s cheek fluttered, or her knuckles bleached white—as they were now.

I didn’t know what to say. Not when we were already starting here. Instead, I shuffled from foot to foot, rethinking my approach.

Dad patted the couch cushion next to him. “Take a seat and tell us what you’re working through in that big brain of yours.”

His words had my mom lifting her gaze from her stitching and eyeing me carefully. I swallowed as I sat, my throat seeming to catch on the movement. I tucked a leg under me. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Go ahead,” Dad said.

I toyed with a loose thread on the couch cushion. “Jenna is going to a party at Toby Jacob’s house tonight. I know you’re not crazy about parties, but I really want to go. I promise I won’t drink anything but sealed bottled water. You can breathalyze me if you want. And I’ll text you every thirty minutes, so you know I’m okay. I’ll stay with Jenna the whole time.”

Mom’s knuckles lost even more color. “Hadley—”

“Are his parents going to be home?” Dad cut her off.

“Um, no. But they know he’s having the party. They’re in Portland this weekend.”

My mom tossed her stitching onto the coffee table. “I can’t believe the Jacobs would be that irresponsible. Letting a bunch of kids run wild in their home while they’re away. Drinking. Probably drugs. Anything could happen.”

“Now, Julia,” my father began, but Mom cut him off with a glare.

“Anything, Gabe. Absolutely anything could happen.”

“But not to me. I’ll be so careful. I promise.”

Mom’s gaze shot to me. “You might be careful, but you could still get hurt because of someone else’s reckless decision. I won’t risk it.”

“Please, Mom,” I whispered. “Everyone in my class will be there. I don’t want to be the freak anymore.”

She stiffened. “You are not a freak simply because your parents want to make sure you’re safe.”

But I was. Everyone whispered. The girl whose sister had been kidnapped. The girl whose parents practically kept her locked in a bubble. The girl who never got invited to anything anymore because people had given up. Jenna was my only friend, but I could feel even that relationship waning. It was too hard for her.

I looked at both my parents. “I only have one friend because no one wants to put up with the insanity it takes. I have no life. It’s pathetic.”

“Hadley,” Dad warned. “You’re not pathetic. And you have a wonderful life. You ride horses, we go to the lake, go on hikes. That would be a pretty good life to some people.”

“But what about the life I want? To go to a party. God, maybe even on a date. To ride the bus to away games like everyone else. But, no. All of those things are too dangerous.”

“Stop it.” My mom’s voice lashed out like a whip. “How can you be so selfish? You know what we went through with your sister.”

“Newsflash, Shiloh’s fine. It’s awful what happened to her, but it was eight years ago. Please don’t steal my life because of it.”

“Go to your room, right now,” my mother barked.

I turned on my heel and ran. But not upstairs. I went out the front door. The house walls felt too claustrophobic, my parents bearing down, everything closing in around me. I tried to suck in air as the door slammed behind me. But I couldn’t seem to get my lungs to obey.

I started towards the paddocks as tears streamed down my cheeks, and I willed my lungs to cooperate. As I rounded the corner of the barn, I collided with a solid form.

Hands encircled my arms to steady me. “Shit, Hads. Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

I tried to get out my own apology, but no words came. The fact that I was struggling to find my voice only made it harder to breathe.

“Hads? What’s wrong?” There was a slight panic to Calder’s voice. “Want me to get your mom and dad? Hayes?”

I shook my head quickly, but the movement was jerky. I didn’t want my older brother, and I certainly didn’t want my parents. WANT MORE? Click here for the full sneak peek. >>>


I’ve loved Calder Cruz from the moment he taught me how to fly. Racing down a mountain and giving me the release I so desperately needed. My understanding. My safe space.

Hadley has fought for a life of her own ever since her sister’s kidnapping. When she was drowning in expectations and family pressures, Calder was always the one who understood her.

Until one night changed it all. From best friends to strangers in a single breath.

She’s like a fire that lives inside me. Even when I thought it was all burned out, there were still embers that lived in my bones.

Calder knows what it’s like to almost lose the people he loves most. He’ll never make that kind of mistake again. Working at the fire station and taking care of his daughters are the only things he needs.

All it takes is a single moment to make him realize how wrong he is. A split second of coming close to losing the woman he has always loved.

But as long-buried embers light anew, there are those who lurk in the shadows. And they’ll do whatever it takes to extinguish that flame for good…

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About Catherine Cowles
Writer of words. Drinker of Diet Cokes. Lover of all things cute and furry, especially her dog. Catherine has had her nose in a book since the time she could read and finally decided to write down some of her own stories. When she’s not writing she can be found exploring her home state of Oregon, listening to true crime podcasts, or searching for her next book boyfriend.

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Sneak Peak

Married by Sunday by Sarah Ready

When opposites attract love may be ignited.

Married by Sunday, an all-new, laugh-out-loud, romantic comedy standalone from Sarah Ready is coming March 22nd, and we have your first look!

Sneak Peek

“Sir?” the snack cart man says. “Coffee?”
The man next to me gives the snack cart vendor a distracted look and then a sharp nod. He holds up his finger to indicate he’d like one large coffee.
Well. He’s not very friendly, is he?
But he is getting coffee…
My stomach gives a tight hungry clench. I make my decision, because honestly, hunger is a great motivator. Plus, it’s fate.
“Devon, anything else?” I ask. I’ve decided that the man next to me is named Devon. He looks like a Devon.
Clearly, he doesn’t answer, because he’s on the phone, ignoring everyone but the crazy-in-love lady on the other end.
I turn back to the snack cart man and smile apologetically. “He’s on the phone with his sister, she’s causing him all sorts of trouble. You see, my husband and I are on our honeymoon and all we wanted was a little time to ourselves. But family…” I shrug. “You know how it is.”
“What does he want then?” asks the man impatiently. There are gobs of people waiting for snacks in the rows ahead of us.
I tilt my head and study the menu pasted to the side of the cart. I lick my lips. “He’ll have that coffee with cream and sugar. A ham and cheese croissant. A chocolate chip muffin. And, hmmm a bag of salt and vinegar chips.”
The snack vendor grunts and starts pulling out the food. I horde it, gathering it on my lap.
“Anything for you?”
I nod, my eyes going glassy from the food smells wafting up to me. “I’ll have a blueberry muffin. An apple. Another ham and cheese croissant. And a large coffee, no cream, but lots of sugar.”
My stomach twists again and I lick my lips.
I set the food in my lap, and then pull out the tray to put the coffee on. It’s steaming and smells so good that I almost start crying again.
The vendor uses an old blocky calculator to ring up the total.
“Twenty-six dollars,” he says.
I look at the vendor, then I look at Devon, then back at the vendor and shrug.
“Please. You can’t possibly get married Sunday. Fine. Bye. I’ll see you—” Devon sighs and clutches his head for a second then he turns to the vendor. It looks like his phone conversation is done. “How much?” he asks.
“Twenty-six dollars.”
Devon’s eyebrows scrunch down and he scowls at the vendor. “For a large? How much do you charge for a small?”
The large-nosed vendor rolls his eyes. “The coffees are four dollars. The croissants ten. The muffins, eight. The apple-”
“I don’t want all that, I just want coffee.”
“Your wife ordered for you,” the vendor says.
“What wife? I don’t have a wife.” Devon looks a little confused and a whole lot offended.
I give the vendor a sweet smile. “It’s a game we play. Being newlyweds. Devon thinks it’s funny.”
Devon gives me an appalled look, and I think he’s only just realized that I’m in the seat next to him. “Excuse me? We’re not married.”
I look back at the vendor. “See?” I open my eyes wide and flutter my lashes. “Come on Devon, don’t be that way.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but Devon becomes even more stiff-backed and starched looking. Want more? Continue reading here >>>>>


Opposites clash in this wild, unpredictable rom com, where two strangers team up to stop a wedding at all costs.

Nathaniel Barry is monochromatic, meticulous, and uptight. Izzy Harris is wild, unpredictable, and free-spirited. Nathaniel has a trendy apartment, a successful career, and a girlfriend he’s about to propose to. Izzy has no home, no career, and nobody special to hold her down.

They’re polar-opposites in every way.

So when they sit next to each other on the train to Romeo, New York they clash from the very start. Naturally, Nathaniel decides he wants nothing to do with Izzy. And Izzy…well, she has a different opinion.

No matter how much Nathaniel protests, Izzy knows it was fate that brought them together. Nathaniel’s girlfriend just ran off to marry another man, and Izzy swears she’ll help Nathaniel win her back. They have three days to stop the ill-advised wedding. It should be easy. It should be simple. But when two polar opposites team-up to stop a wedding, there’s only one guarantee – that nothing will go as planned.

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About Sarah Ready
Author Sarah Ready writes contemporary romance and romantic comedy. Her books have been described as “euphoric”, “heartwarming” and “laugh out loud”. Her debut novel The Fall in Love Checklist was hailed as “the unicorn read of 2020”. She loves to write fast-paced, emotionally compelling romances about quirky, smart women and the men who love them.

Before writing romance full-time Sarah had lots of fun teaching at an Ivy League. Then she realized she could have even more fun writing romance. Her favorite things after writing are adventuring and travel. You’ll frequently find her using her degree at a dino dig site, crawling into a cave, snorkeling, or on horseback riding through the jungle – all fodder for her next book. She’s lived in Scotland, Norway, Portugal, Switzerland and NYC. She currently lives in the Caribbean with her water-obsessed pup and her awesome family.
You can visit her online at

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Sneak Peak

Take Me by C.D. Reiss

Mafia King, Dario Lucari spent years planning his revenge.
Today, he executes it.

Take Me, an all-new sexy and addictive, dark mafia romance from New York Times bestselling author C.D. Reiss is releasing December 25th, and we have your first look!

How can I still be here? I clutch the sharp piece of pottery under my glove. It’s a safety blanket. A choice I can make in a situation where my decisions are meaningless.
Hovering in half consciousness, my eyes are closed when the door bangs open again and Dario enters, carrying a tall glass of water. He sets it on a dirty counter in front of me, then leans against the table, crossing one long leg over the other.
I get to my feet and approach the glass, wary but unable to stay away from it. I’ve never been this thirsty in my life; my eyeballs burn, and my tongue is cracked into layers of plaster.
Dario watches me silently, but as I reach out to take the glass, he slaps my hand away. I’m already weak and dizzy, and the force of the blow makes me stumble and spin.
“Please!” I cry. I realize I’m on my knees. I had intended to be strong, to refuse to let him see me suffer any more, but I am so, so thirsty.
“Take that stupid dress off.”
I shake my head. I’m past caring about modesty. I care about the dress. It’s ruined, but it’s mine. I worked on it for months, my fingers numb from stitching, my eyes and back aching as I labored into the night. It may be the only piece of home left to me besides my own body, and I will not take it off.
He shrugs and picks up the glass of water.
I remain defiant.
He turns to go.
And when I feel the triangle of clay inside the wrist of my glove, I think, with blinding clarity, I cannot die here.
“Okay,” I say.
He stops, turns around, but does not put down the glass.
I slip the dress off slowly, regretfully, because as awful as it looks, the fabric is still fine, soft and sweet, a reminder of who I was and what I expected so few sunrises ago. The gloves stay and so do the undergarments I wore to please Sergio because Dario just said to take off the dress and I’m weak but not dead. I’m not giving him anything he doesn’t ask for.
He places the glass back on the table. Then he sweeps a hand through the dust and dirt on its surface and sprinkles them into the water. I watch helplessly as it clouds over in the sunlight.
“Down to the skin,” he says. “Show me every inch.”
The suggestion in his command floods my dry veins with resistance.
“You said the dress.” I hold out my left hand—the one without the distorting piece of pottery under the glove. “Give it to me.”
This time, he takes a discarded nursery container and pinches out white-flecked potting soil. He drops it in the water like a chef seasoning too heavily.
“It’s going to be mud soon,” he says. “If you aren’t naked.”
“Where’s my father?” I squeak without spit. “Did he give you what you want?”
“Haven’t spoken to him since the car.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“We tried. He won’t negotiate with outsiders . . . so . . . take off all your fucking clothes.”
I do everything I can not to keep from crying as I lower my white lace underpants and slip out of my matching bra, hands shaking the entire time. I leave the gloves and garter, hoping they’re beside the point.
“I know what you’re hiding in your glove. You’re not going to kill me with a broken flower pot.”
“It wasn’t for you.”
He nods with understanding but not compassion, as if knowing suicide is on the table adds to a data point and no more, then flicks his finger at me. I peel off the gloves. The shard clatters to the floor. I am now naked except for one thing.
“The garter.”
“Not that.” I ball my hands into fists and look at the floor. “Please.”
He says nothing. I can’t see him, so I let myself hope that he’s considering letting me keep this one strip of fabric and elastic that’s tying me to this earth, to my identity, to the one person who loved me like no other. Maybe he’ll find it arousing.
I’ll risk it, even embrace it, for that glass of cloudy water.
The sound of a plop and a splash catches my attention, and I look up to see him slowly pouring a thin line of water onto the tile.
With a gasp, thoughts of my mother are gone, and I rip off the garter before I lose another precious drop, throwing it at his feet.
“There,” I say, finally bare before him, exposed as I have never been before a man.
My breath skips, and I finally cry, but I don’t have enough water in my body to make tears or snot over this destroyed moment—the first time a man’s eyes see my skin, my nipples, my utter vulnerability.
The moment I took that dress off was supposed to be one of the most beautiful of my life. Instead, it is a violation.
He isn’t satisfied yet though.
“Stay still,” he commands.
He walks behind me, hovering for a moment before grabbing my hair and yanking it back so that I’m gazing up into the camera’s merciless eye.
“Can you imagine how good it will feel,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck, “when I let you drink?” He lays his other hand under my chin and slides it down as he speaks. “That cold, sweet water sliding down your throat?”
I nod helplessly, gulping what feels like a lump of garden pebbles.
“Even with a little dirt, a little dust, you’ll take it all down, won’t you? You’re just about ready to beg for it.”
“I’ll beg,” I agree with a voice I don’t recognize. “I’ll do it.”
“You need it,” he says, and I can feel the cruelty of the smile in his voice.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please… please…”
“Say it for the camera.”
Who’s on the other side? His boss? My family? The entire world?
“Please give it to me.”
“Let me swallow it,” he whispers thickly. “Beg.”
“Let . . . let me swallow it all. Please.”
“I know what your body needs. And what you’ll do to get it.”
And then, just as abruptly as he’d grabbed me, he spins me around so that I’m facing him and he pushes me to my knees.
“This will go much easier for you if you play along,” he murmurs.
I’m so weak and dizzy I almost tip over before he pulls me up by the hair on top of my head.
“Steady, principessa.” With his free hand, he opens the fly of his pants, exposing the thick bulge beneath cotton underwear.
He’s going to take it out and force me to taste his cock. Take it down my throat. Swallow his come.
I’ve spent my life waiting for this, and I don’t want it this way . . . but I want it. My body aches to just give up, taste whatever he puts on my tongue. I look up at him, offering whatever he’s willing to take as long as he gives me something to drink.
But he does not release his erection.
Instead, he pulls my head into his crotch. The fabric is damp on my lips, heavy and musty on my nose as he grinds into my face. And he’s hard. So hard. He forces the shape of his shaft along the opening between my lips, and I taste no more than an essence of him . . . but it’s enough. My clit fills and drops, weighted by a constant, brutal pulse of arousal that’s timed to the way he pushes into my face, holding my head still.
My hands steady me against his thighs, then pull him closer.
I want it.
I surrender.
I’ll suck him for water or a glass of sand.
Why is he keeping it behind his clothes?
“Yes,” he growls, putting both hands behind my head and pushing me into his crotch so hard his erection feels like stone on my chin.
I put out my tongue, licking the damp fabric. He stops for a moment. His growl turns into a gasp, and the clothed organ against me pulses. A warm wetness gathers at my cheek.
Then he lets me go, and I fall back on my hands, gasping as I notice the thick wet stain where he came as I licked him.
“Okay,” he says, zipping up. He’s bored again, casual as he hands the glass to me by the top. “You can drink now.”
I do. I am shameless and desperate. I hold it with both hands and savor every drop, dirt and all.
He leaves before I finish, apparently not interested in watching me debase myself further.
I lie naked where he left me, legs in the letter K, bare skin on cold tile, the empty glass a few inches from my hand, watching the clouds form in the grid above me.
The door clicks and whooshes open. The room spins when I bolt to a sitting position. A tray of food, accompanied by a whole pitcher of water, is pushed across the threshold.
The door claps shut again, and the deadbolt smacked home.
I glance at the camera. He’s watching. He has to be.
I should stand up and walk like a human, but by the time I finish making that decision, I’m already crawling on my hands and knees like an animal.
The tray contains a plastic clamshell with a sandwich inside—pink meat spills from a circle of bread split into a pocket. Hushing the raging hunger for a moment, I peek into the pocket and find cheese and the familiarity of mayonnaise. A pink container of yogurt proudly proclaims—next to a bulbous strawberry—that it has REAL FRUIT inside.
I rip it open, ready to suck it down, but I stop.
I stand carefully, my head still swimming not just from my hunger and thirst and poor night’s sleep, but from what just happened. I walk over to my discarded pile of garments and put them on again: the underwear and bra, the ruined dress, my shoes—one close by and one under the camera. I slide the garter up my leg.
I leave the gloves and shard.
Then I put the tray on the counter, right a white plastic chair that matches the one on the roof, and—dressed in silk garments that were once a hopeful symbol of my purity but are now nothing more than a painful, ridiculous reminder of everything I have lost—I hydrate and nourish myself, dreaming of the day I escape the man named Dario with shadow eyes and an empty heart.

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A dark and twisted mafia romance from New York Times bestselling author CD Reiss.
Mafia King, Dario Lucari spent years planning his revenge. Today, he executes it.
Kidnapped on my wedding day.
Held by a monster who wants vengeance on my father.
Married to him against my will.
Suddenly thrust into a world of betrayal, lies and deviance, all I have to do to escape is destroy everything I’ve ever loved, and love the man I must destroy.

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About CD Reiss
CD Reiss is a New York Times bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up she’s at the well hauling buckets.
Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels.
She’s frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut which is flattering but hasn’t ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood.
If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.

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Sneak Peak

The Girl in the Mist

From New York Times bestselling author Kristen Ashley comes an all new thrilling romantic suspense guaranteed to have pulses rise, and readers begging for more.

The Girl in the Mist releases January 4th and we have the drop dead gorgeous cover!

Renowned author Delphine Larue needs a haven. A crazed fan has gone over the deep end, and she’s not safe. Her security team has suggested a house by a lake. Secluded. Private. Far away. In a beautiful area of the Northwest close to the sleepy town of Misted Pines. It’s perfect. So perfect, Delphine has just moved in, and she’s thinking she’ll stay there forever.

Until she sees the girl in the mist.

After that, everything changes.

Delphine quickly learns that Misted Pines isn’t so sleepy. A little girl has gone missing, and the town is in the grips of terror and tragedy. The local sheriff isn’t up for the job. The citizens are up in arms. And as the case unfolds, the seedy underbelly of a quiet community is exposed, layer by layer.

But most importantly, girls are dying.

There seems to be only one man they trust to find out what’s happening.

The mysterious Cade Bohannan.

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About Kristen Ashley
Kristen Ashley is the New York Times bestselling author of over sixty romance novels including the Rock Chick, Colorado Mountain, Dream Man, Chaos, Unfinished Hero, The ’Burg, Magdalene, Fantasyland, The Three, Ghost and Reincarnation, Moonlight and Motor Oil and Honey series along with several standalone novels. She’s a hybrid author, publishing titles both independently and traditionally, her books have been translated in fourteen languages and she’s sold over three million books.

Kristen’s novel, Law Man, won the RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice Award for best Romantic Suspense. Her independently published title Hold On was nominated for RT Book Reviews best Independent Contemporary Romance and her traditionally published title Breathe was nominated for best Contemporary Romance. Kristen’s titles Motorcycle Man, The Will, Ride Steady (which won the Reader’s Choice award from Romance Reviews) and The Hookup all made the final rounds for Goodreads Choice Awards in the Romance category.

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Sneak Peak

Josh and Gemma Make A Baby by Sarah Ready

They have nothing in common, except their agreement to make a baby and their desire to keep things businesslike.

Josh and Gemma Make a Baby, an all-new opposites attract, romantic comedy from Sarah Ready is coming January 25th, and we have your first look!

Chapter 1

When I was a little kid, I worshiped Josh Lewenthal, now, I couldn’t care less about him, I just need his sperm.

I’ll be the first to admit, I have no idea how to go about getting it, but as my obscenely sexy boss, famed self-help guru Ian Fortune, always says, “anything is possible if you put your mind to it.”

That’s my motto for this year. Starting today, January first, I’m going to believe that anything is possible—that magic can happen. And after thirty-two years of being average in nearly every way, magic will be a welcome change.

Josh and I grew up in a small river town a few hours north of New York City. It’s the type of town that has a Christmas tree in the square, a pumpkin carving contest in the fall, and an ice cream social in the summer. The houses are cookie-cutter cute, the yards are golf course green, and everybody waves hello. It’s a kid-friendly, all-American paradise. My family fit right in.

Josh moved to town with his dad when he was eight. Within days my mom warned me to stay away from him.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because he’s not the sort of boy that nice girls play with.”

“Why?” I asked again. I was in that “why” phase that all kids go through.

“Because I said so.”


My mom was right. I was a nice girl. She dressed me in pink poufy dresses and pigtails to prove it. But instead of listening to my mom I snuck out of the house and went and found Josh Lewenthal. I guess there’s a lesson there. Even when I was little I couldn’t take “because I said so” as an answer.

I found Josh kicking a ball in his backyard. He told me the reason nice girls couldn’t play with him was because he knew how girls got babies in their bellies. To prove it, he smacked a kiss on my mouth. I was terrified for weeks that I was going to blow up like a balloon and pop out a baby. After a month I realized that Josh Lewenthal was full of crap and that my mom had been right.

But that didn’t stop me from idolizing him. My brother Dylan and Josh became best friends. And like little sisters around the world I wanted to do everything they did and be everywhere they were.

When I was sixteen my big sister Leah came home from college for Christmas break. Within days she told me to stop ogling Josh.

“Why?” I asked. I was still in the “why” phase.

“Because if he catches you looking he’ll steal your underwear.”

I didn’t know what she meant. “Why?”

“Because he collects underwear for a hobby and pins them on his bedroom wall. He has almost every girl’s undies in this whole town. He’ll tear them off you and then do things.”

Leah lowered her voice to a whisper. “Marie Johnson said his hands are like an octopus’s. Everywhere at once.”

I was appalled and then intrigued. But, “I don’t think he’ll want my underwear. Dylan is his best friend. Plus, I’m not really into that kind of thing.” You know, being a nice girl and all.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Leah, full of big sister knowledge. “He just has to look at you and you’ll rip your undies off for him. He’s that good. An octopus, Gemma. You better stop ogling him.”

I was skeptical, to say the least.

But six months later, while I was cleaning up my parents’ garage after Josh and Dylan’s joint high school graduation party, Josh told me he’d miss me while he was in New York for college. Then, lo and behold, he stole my panties. Metaphorically, of course.

For the second time in my life, I spent another few weeks terrified that I was going to blow up like a birthday balloon and pop out a baby.

After weeks of toe-numbing worry followed by my period and sweet sagging relief, I realized that Josh Lewenthal was not worth my fascination/worship/idolization, that he was in fact an immature/emotionally constipated user.

I didn’t see him again for six years.

By the time he came back to town I’d been married, divorced, and was long past mooning over fantasies.

I had an apartment in the city and my current (amazing) job, social media marketing coordinator for acclaimed self-help guru Ian Fortune. And I had goals. Lots of goals.

I mean…today I have goals.

Okay. A goal.

And Josh Lewenthal, the man who knows how to make a baby, is integral to my success.

Want more? Continue reading here >>>>>


New Year’s Resolution:
Have a baby
Preferably with Josh Lewenthal

Meet Gemma Jacobs. She’s driven, energetic, and a positive thinker. She has a great career working for famed self-help guru Ian Fortune, she lives in a cute studio apartment in Manhattan, and her family is supportive and loving (albeit a little kooky). Her life is perfect. Absolutely wonderful.

Except for one tiny little thing.

After a decade of disastrous relationships and an infertility diagnosis, Gemma doesn’t want a Mr. Right (or even a Mr. Right Now), she just wants a baby.

And all she needs is an egg, some sperm, and IVF.

So Gemma makes a New Year’s resolution: have a baby.

Josh Lewenthal is a laid back, relaxed, find-the-humor-in-life kind of guy. The polar opposite of Gemma. He’s also her brother’s best friend. For the past twenty years Josh has attended every Jacobs’ family birthday, holiday, and event – he’s always around.

Gemma knows him. He’s nice (enough), he’s funny (-ish), he’s healthy (she thinks) and he didn’t burn any ants with a magnifying glass as a kid. Which, in Gemma’s mind, makes him the perfect option for a sperm donor.

So Gemma wants to make a deal. An unemotional, business-like arrangement. No commitments, just a baby.

To Gemma’s surprise, Josh agrees.

They have nothing in common, except their agreement to make a baby and their desire to keep things businesslike.

But the thing about baby-making…it’s hard to keep it businesslike, it’s nearly impossible to keep it unemotional, and it’s definitely impossible to keep your heart out of the mix. Because when you’re making a baby together, things have a way of starting to feel like you’re making other things too – like a life, and a family, and love. And when the baby-making ends, you wish that everything else didn’t have to end too.

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About Sarah Ready
Author Sarah Ready writes contemporary romance and romantic comedy. Her books have been described as “euphoric”, “heartwarming” and “laugh out loud”. Her debut novel The Fall in Love Checklist was hailed as “the unicorn read of 2020”. She loves to write fast-paced, emotionally compelling romances about quirky, smart women and the men who love them.

Before writing romance full-time Sarah had lots of fun teaching at an Ivy League. Then she realized she could have even more fun writing romance. Her favorite things after writing are adventuring and travel. You’ll frequently find her using her degree at a dino dig site, crawling into a cave, snorkeling, or on horseback riding through the jungle – all fodder for her next book. She’s lived in Scotland, Norway, Portugal, Switzerland and NYC. She currently lives in the Caribbean with her water-obsessed pup and her awesome family.
You can visit her online at

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Sneak Peak



🍯SNEAK PEEK: For Love Or Honey 🍯

Early readers are saying this is their FAVORITE Staci Hart book EVER. Which means I need this. In my hands. NOW. Especially after reading Chapter One!! Check out a snip!

All I heard wasblah, blah, blah and hiss, hiss, hiss with a little nom, nom, nom from undeniably skillful lips that made me salivate just enough to piss me off. Poppy pressed an egg into my hand with a wicked smile on her face as tall, dark, and slithery went on about how committed Flexion was to the environment in what was probably a ten-thousand-dollar Italian suit.

I hesitated for a second—I was still a woman with manners and a mother to make proud—but when he started talking about Flexion’s clean diesel, all ability to maintain executive functions went out the window.Lizard brain—activate.

So I did what any hippie bee farmer would do.

I wound up, took a breath, and yelled,“Frack you!” before letting her rip.

The egg sailed in slow motion over the crowd as his face swiveled to the sound of my voice, those dagger-eyes running me through seconds before the egg popped him smack between them.

A laugh shot out of Bettie before she hollered, “Farm fresh, bitch!”

Yolk slid down his nose. His eyes stayed closed for a protracted moment that I suspected he needed to school himself.

When they opened, they locked on mine.

Find out what happens next! Read chapter one:

🐝PREORDER SALE! Get it while it’s cheap!🐝






#comingsoon #needtoreaditnow #readmoreromance #wildfiremarketingsolutions
Sneak Peak

Wild North by JB Salsbury

Wild North, an all-new standalone romance with a broody and swoon-worthy mountain man from New York Times bestselling author JB Salsbury, is coming May 18th and we have the first look!


I’m warm. 

The temperature is the first thing I recognize as I wake up in a strange place. I blink open my eyes, grateful to see more clearly as I stare at the horizontal logs of a ceiling. Heat blazes from my left side. I cautiously turn my head to see a fire through the soot-stained glass of a woodstove. Everything is quiet except for the distant sound of wind and rain. Heavy weight presses down on me from my toes to my throat, and the musky scent of wet animal hangs heavy in the air. I wiggle my fingers on my stomach and realize I’m wearing nothing but my long underwear. I tilt my chin to see layers of weighted blankets covering me—no, not blankets. Animal hides. 

I work my mouth and clear my dry throat. My lips are rough and cracked as I lick them with a parched tongue. I try to think back. To remember how I ended up here. Did I manage to crawl here on my own? Is this heaven? Hell?

I try to swivel my head slowly, taking in as much of the space as I can with only the muted light from the fire to expose my surroundings. Everything outside the fire’s glow is black. I need to sit up and get to my feet. As I take a deep breath to gather my strength, my ribcage roars in protest. 

“Ow, fuck.” A moan works its way up my throat as I lie helplessly on my back. Tears spring to my eyes. Shallowly breathing, I lift my head then try to wedge my elbow underneath. I cry out in pain and drop my head back. 

Don’t move.” The deep, booming command comes from somewhere in the dark.

“Who are you?” My voice is weak and shaky and doesn’t sound like my own. A rush of energy fuels my muscles, and I attempt to move again. Gritting my teeth through the pain, I roll to my side toward the heat source. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” the masculine voice says in a tone so deep it’s almost hard to hear. 

Sweat breaks on my brow. My teeth clench until my jaw aches. I breathe through my nose, waiting for the pain to subside. That’s when I see a large mason jar filled with what looks like water sitting within arm’s reach. I scramble for it and slosh some over the rim while sloppily bringing it to my mouth. With greedy gulps, I down the glass, and water streams down my neck to my chest because of the odd angle. With a blissful sigh, I ease to my back with relief. 

“Can I have more water, please?” My voice already sounds better, stronger. 

He doesn’t answer. 

“Hello?” I stare blindly at the roof of what I’ve gathered to be a log cabin. “Did you bring me here?”


“Where am I?” 

He’s so quiet in the dark, I wonder if he’s disappeared. 

“Do you have a phone? A car? I need a hospital. I slipped and fell. I remember tumbling and—” I gingerly reach up and touch my shoulder, moving my fingers over it, and press on the tender muscles. “I think I landed in a ditch or something. I blacked out. I don’t remember how long…” Was I lying there, dying, for days? “What day is it?” 

My questions are met with more silence. 

“Are you there—”

The sound of wood scraping on wood echoes around me, and I feel the air in the room shift. We must be in a small space because I can hear every step he takes. Wood creaks under his weight, and in the dim light of the fire, I see the faint outline of a large man, the yellow light glinting off his tan, bare torso as he climbs a ladder and disappears into more darkness. 


The rustling of blankets is my only response. 

“Why won’t you answer me—”

Go to sleep.” Another growled, irritated command. 

A flutter of panic works its way to my chest. Who is this guy? And what does he plan to do with me?

The question sends a ripple of fear through me. I’m completely helpless at the mercy of what could be a deranged outsider living like a wild animal in the mountains. 

Not exactly the kind of thoughts that usher in sleep. 


A woman. 

A woman in my fucking space. And the only person I have to blame for this royal shitstorm is myself. 

But what should I have done? Left her out there to die? And she would surely have died. She was nearly hypothermic when I found her, and that was before the temperature dropped and the storm rolled in. 

Goddammit, how unlucky can one son of a bitch be?

My answer lies in the form of a woman injured and obnoxiously curious on my cabin floor. 

After a sleepless night, I feel her eyes on me before my foot hits the last rung of the ladder from my sleeping platform. My grip on the wood tightens, and I rein in my frustration at her intrusion. When I turn around, I’m surprised to see her sitting up, her back to the wall, still mostly covered in deer hides. Her fiery gray eyes are unflinching as I scowl back at her. 

Yeah, I can ask questions, too. Like, how the hell is she sitting up with what I’m guessing is at least one broken rib? And how utterly stupid does a person have to be to wonder the Adirondack Mountains alone and untrained in survival? And furthermore, why the hell is she looking at me like I’m the one who pushed her off that ridge rather than the man who saved her life?

I rip my gaze from hers, not because she wins, but because my guess is she’ll be glaring at me all day, and I have more important shit to do than play the blinking game with this unwelcome pain in the ass. 

After tossing more wood into the fire, I pull back the rustic shutters on the window to check the weather. “Shit,” I mumble to myself as I become aware of the grim truth.

An ice storm holds me prisoner inside my own cabin with a woman who irritates the fuck out of me by simply breathing. And it’s my fault she’s still breathing.

I go about making my breakfast, uncomfortably aware of her watching my every move. The kettle on the woodstove is already steaming, and I pull out my single bowl as well as a mason jar and add instant oatmeal. I pull out my instant coffee and grind my molars when I consider having to share my limited resources with my unwanted guest. 

“Hello,” she says behind me. “Can you at least look at me when I’m talking to you?” 

My hands freeze on the mason jar. An old memory nips at my nerves, causing an internal storm to simmer with a threat to rage. Abandoning breakfast, I grab my coat, slip on my boots, and throw open the front door, sending a gust of freezing ice inside.

“Where are you go—”

Her words are silenced by the door clanging behind me and the roar of the wind in my ears. I push through the waves of stinging ice to the outhouse, where I close myself inside, grateful for the slice of privacy.

If only the weather were clear, I’d have a shot at getting her out of here and back to wherever she came from. But neither of us is going anywhere until the storm moves through.

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To me, he was Grizzly.
To the world, I would learn, he’s someone else completely.

I should have died on that mountain.
But he rescued me.

More animal than man, he’s cold, distant, and fiercely territorial. He seems to hate me for simply breathing, and yet, he brought me back to life.

After my return to the city, I can’t stop thinking about him. His rough hands, intense glare, and the way he cared for me as if I meant something to him.

He tells me he’s dangerous. That I’m not safe around him. I would eventually understand why he warned me away. But by then it’s too late. My heart is his.

About JB Salsbury
JB Salsbury, New York Times Best Selling author of The Fighting Series, lives in Phoenix, Arizona, with her husband and two kids. She spends the majority of her day lost in a world of battling alphas, budding romance, and impossible obstacles as stories claw away at her subconscious, begging to be released to the page.

Her love of good storytelling led her to earn a degree in Media Communications. With her journalistic background, writing has always been at the forefront, and her love of romance prompted her to write her first novel.

Since 2013 she has published six bestselling novels in The Fighting Series and won a RONE Award.

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Sneak Peak

Hard Checked by Stacey Lynn

Hard Checked, an all-new sexy and emotional second chance at love sports romance from Stacey Lynn is releasing September 15th, and we have the first sneak peek!

“Hey you.” I’m already grinning, raising my head to look at Sebastian while I place the drinks on the tray. The expression I see on his face wipes the smile off mine. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“Can we talk a minute in private?”
I scan the bar on instinct. “I’m kind of busy. Can it wait a little while?” Or tomorrow, with the way this crowd is going.
“Not really.”
I swear, beneath his beard his jaw is clenched. “One minute. Won’t take long.”
“I’ve got this,” Dom says, grabbing the tray from the bar. “Take your minute.” His dark brown eyes flicker between the two of us. I know he recognizes Sebastian. Hard not to when I’ve had the televisions constantly on hockey games.
“You sure?”

Want more, continue reading here →

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Getting served divorce papers was not how I planned spending New Years Day.

I probably shouldn’t have gone to my favorite bar and gotten wasted trying to drown my sorrows.
I definitely shouldn’t have spent the night passed out in the bed of the bartender’s daughter, Gigi.

And the absolute last thing I should have done was let my guard down and start having fun. Now I’m thinking of her all the time… fantasizing about the things I want to do to Gigi.

I’m in the middle of the best hockey season of my life. I need my head in the game and my focus on the playoffs – not playing house with the gorgeous bartender who makes me feel more alive than I have in years.

Finding someone new so soon after a failed marriage isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.

But it just might be too late. I’ve been checked hard into the boards, right off my skates, and I’m not only spinning out of control…

I might just be falling in love all over again.

Meet Stacey Lynn

Stacey Lynn likes her coffee with a dash of sugar, her heroes with a side of bossy, and her wine a deep shade of red.

The author of over thirty romance novels, many of which have been best-selling titles on Amazon, AppleBooks, and Barnes & Noble, she loves being able to turn her vivid imagination into a career that brings entertainment and joy to her readers. Focused on sports romance and emotional, small-town romance, she also loves stretching herself in different genres.

Born in Texas and raised in the Midwest, she now makes her home in North Carolina and loves all things Southern. Together with her ultimate tall, dark, and handsome hero, she has four children. Her life is a chaotic mess that fights with her Type-A, list-making, neurotically organized preferences and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

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