*BLOG TOUR*

TGITP- BT banner

 

Love is blind, but fate sees everything

the girl in the painting_FINALCOVER

 

 

The Girl in the Painting, an all-new standalone romance from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!
 
TGITP- AN IG
Synopsis

 

Ansel Bray, an artist known around the world for his tragic hiatus from the canvas.

Ansel Bray, a broody, handsome man not known by me, at all.

Long dark hair, blue eyes, and dimpled cheeks. I’ve never met her, but her image is imprinted in my mind. An angel muse who inspires me to paint again.

 

There is something about him. Something that spurs a need to be as close to him as possible. A need to find out why.

There is something about her. Something that draws me in. Something that urges me to find out what her presence means.

 

Why does the girl in his painting look so much like me?

Who is this girl, and why can I see her so vividly?

 

I shouldn’t fall in love with him.

I shouldn’t fall in love at all.

 

But fate plays her hand.

But fate has other plans.

 

The lines of my life will blur.

The needs of my heart will change.

 

What a beautiful mess we’ve made.

TGITP- AN

 

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

 

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2H5p2uQ

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/TheGirlinthePainting

Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2UbdiL1

 

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2HSvZS8

 

Excerpt:

Ansel

 

Three knocks rap against the closed door of my studio, and I sigh.

Apparently, my assistant doesn’t understand what no distractions means. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Lucy’s priorities have nothing to do with her role as my assistant. Half the time, people who come to my studio don’t even realize she works here. They probably just assume she’s some sort of social media influencer wasting time in my lobby by taking cleavage shots.

Another two knocks ring out, and I ignore whoever is on the other side and focus my gaze back on the half-painted canvas in front of me.

As if my hand is on autopilot, I watch as it gently creates the soft lines of her hair. Stroke after stroke, dark brown and honey-beige and gold combine to make the flowing locks that cascade down her back.

Eventually, though, the knocks grow so persistent that I can hardly follow the rhythm of the soft background music serving as a medium for my artistic exploration.

Fucking Lucy.

            “Go away!” I call over my shoulder, but the answering chuckle is not an annoyed feminine laugh. No. It’s husky and deep and rough around the edges.

“Ans, it’s Nigel,” the disturbance answers back.

Nigel Marx. We grew up together on the outskirts of the Bronx and found our way into the art world during our college years. Where I’ve always had an innate ability to create, Nigel has a natural talent for seeking out beauty.

If anyone can find art worth seeing, it’s Nigel. Or Nye, as I’ve grown to call him over the years.

Even though he’s one of my oldest friends, I groan and contemplate at least ten different ways to tell him to fuck off. I may not be as grumpy as I was before the surgery, but being interrupted during the creative process brings me as close to that level of aggravation as I come these days.

But even the bad-tempered side of my personality knows a verbal middle finger is unwarranted.

Technically speaking, it’s probably not even his fault. My assistant is undoubtedly too busy posting pictures of her new nose job on Instagram to follow my instructions and man the reception desk in the front.

So, eventually, I set my brush down beside my paints, move the canvas into the small, hidden nook near the windows, and tell him to come inside.

Dressed in a sharp black suit and tie, Nigel strides in as I head over to the sink to wash the dried paint off my hands.

“Did I interrupt?” he asks, and I glance at him over my shoulder.

“Yep.”

A big, hearty laugh escapes his throat. “You don’t even want to pretend I’m not being a huge inconvenience to you right now?”

“Pretty sure you know me better than that,” I say with a grin and swipe the extra moisture off my hands onto my jeans. “I’m not a beat-around-the-bush kind of guy, Nigel.”

He grins at that.

“What brought about this gloriously annoying visit of yours today?”

“Just want to make sure you’re ready for the big opening,” he says and slides his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. I don’t miss the way he takes it upon himself to peruse my studio, his eyes taking in all of the empty canvases stacked in the corner and the finished works scattered along the floor and the walls.

“By all means, please feel free to browse. You know how much I love that.”

He ignores my jab completely. “So, can I count on you to be there?”

“Be where?”

“You know where, you bastard.” He glares. “Does January 31st ring a bell? The big exhibition some of us have been working so hard on.”

“If I weren’t such a big person, I wouldn’t be able to ignore the fact that you’re insinuating I, the artist, haven’t done any work for the show.”

He rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant. Stop trying to distract me.”

Now it’s my turn to make a show of my new eyes’ ability to move. “We’ve already been through this, man. There’s no reason for me to be there.”

Unconvinced, Nye presses on. “It’s your opening, Ans. You need to be there.”

“I don’t need to be anywhere.”

“Tell me this…why wouldn’t you want to be there? This is your first exhibition in five years. Since before the accident. This is huge. If anything, you should be there to celebrate that you’re painting again. That you’re alive.”

And just like that, he’s answered his own question. He just doesn’t know it.

Circuslike fanfare and a giant spotlight on my tragic past are the last things I want. I just want to paint without all of the fucking hoopla.

“How about this? I’ll drink a glass of whiskey tonight to celebrate. I’ll even give myself a special toast.”

“If you drink that glass of whiskey inside my gallery, on the night of your opening, then we have a deal.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Not happening.”

“The press will be there. Your fans will be there. People want to see you. They want to talk to you. Interview you. Why don’t you want to be there?”

“For those exact fucking reasons, Nye,” I answer honestly. “While I’m thankful people still want to see my art, I don’t need the ego trip that comes with gallery openings and interviews. I don’t need fans kissing my ass, and I sure as fuck don’t need rich investors schmoozing me up because it makes them think they’ll have a better shot at getting their greedy hands on one of my paintings.”

Silence stretches between us, and I hope that means Nigel has finally come to terms with the reality of my absence at the opening.

Before the accident, I would’ve been there in a heartbeat. I would’ve been the guy with the big fucking ego and some random, superficially beautiful model attached to my arm. The douchebag looking at everyone inside that gallery and mentally giving myself a pat on the back.

But I’m not that guy anymore. I haven’t been that guy since the day I went blind.

Do I claim to be the world’s happiest, most-together guy? Fuck no. Like I said, on my best day, I’m still an asshole. But after living in the dark for what felt like an eternity, I’ve at least realized a few things.

For one, money, success—material shit—doesn’t mean a fucking thing.

You can’t buy happiness.

And, two? Friends are better to have than fans. Friends stick with you no matter what.

“Okay.” Nigel’s voice breaks our silence. “Fine. I won’t ask you again.”

I grin. “That sounds like a truly brilliant idea.”

“Why haven’t I seen this one?”

I follow his gaze to the far corner of my studio, and instantly, I know which painting he’s talking about. My chest tightens with unease. I can’t believe I left that one out in the open like this…

I run a hand through my hair and try to make myself sound at least somewhat disinterested. “Because it wasn’t a painting I wanted to put in the exhibition.”

My voice sounds slightly higher pitched, even to my own ears. Dammit.

About a year after my transplant, Dr. Smith cleared me to go back to my normal life—back to painting. I found myself inside this studio with a brush in my hand and a beautiful girl in my mind.

Crystal-blue eyes, dark, dimensional hair, and dimpled cheeks, every detail of her face and features vivid to the point of precision.

I couldn’t stop picturing her. The way her full lips appear when they’re curled into a smile. The way she looks mid-laugh. The way her eyes light up beneath the sun.

She was all I could see, this girl I’ve never met before, this girl I’ve never actually seen.

She was the first thing I painted after the transplant, and she’s been locked inside my mind ever since—for nearly three years, to be exact.

But who’s counting, right?

I nearly snort out loud. The truth is, my obsession is nearly pathetic and almost certainly unhealthy. But I can’t seem to stop myself.

“This is…stunning,” he says quietly as his eyes rake over the canvas. “She’s stunning.”

His words, while holding no harm or ill will, make me feel incredibly uncomfortable.

Like I need to shield her from his eyes. I feel too vulnerable. Too raw.

Nigel turns to meet my eyes. “Why didn’t you want to put this one in the exhibition?”

“I don’t know.” Because it’s too special to me.

            He looks at the painting for a long moment before moving his eyes back to mine. “Should I know who she is?”

“No.”

A figment of my imagination?

Some kind of angel muse?

I don’t know, but I can’t stop painting her.

“Is this the only one of her?”

“Yes,” I flat out lie. Besides the one he’s looking at, there are another four finished canvases hidden away and at least seven in progress. But I’m already pissed enough at myself for leaving this one out for him to see.

Strange and most likely fucking insane, I know, but it’s the reality.

“You need to add this one to the exhibition.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Your other works are amazing, but this,it’s something else, Ans,” he says and glances back at the painting. “It belongs in the exhibition.”

Silence stretches between us, and I’m torn about what to say.

Fuck no seems inappropriately callous, but I’m having a hell of a time coming up with any other words.

The artist inside of me agrees with his assessment. That painting—and the other paintings of her—is special.

She draws the viewer in just as she’s done with me, like a mermaid luring sailors to their deaths.

But everything else inside me wants to keep her to myself.

“Ans, people need to see this painting,” Nye urges.

I let out a deep exhale. “I don’t know…”

“Ans, this one has to be in the show.” His gaze is steady, unwavering. “You and I both know it would be a fucking travesty if it weren’t in there.”

My back tenses, but for some reason, the word “Okay” slips from my lips.

My stomach churns and my mind races and I don’t know why I’m agreeing, but I am. I don’t know why I feel sick over the prospect of other people seeing this painting, but I do.

The way I’m feeling, the way my emotions intertwine with her paintings is a complete mystery to me.

Just like her.

 

 

About Max Monroe:

A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.

Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far. ​

 

Connect with Max Monroe:

Website: https://www.authormaxmonroe.com/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/max-monroe

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2ReoxkK

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormaxmonroe/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormaxmonroe/

Stay up to date with Max Monroe by joining their mailing list today: https://www.authormaxmonroe.com/newsletter

 

 

 

 

 

 

*BLOG TOUR*

Fearless-SBPR BT BANNER

 

Sarah’s life of rigid control is nearly shattered by two men—one who wishes to submit to her, the other who might break her.

 

Fearless-Ebook

 

Fearless, an all-new sexy standalone in the Elite Doms of Washington Series from Elizabeth SaFleur is available now!

 

Fearless - AN

 

Synopsis

 

Sarah Marillioux fled back to DC after a weekend of reckless, delicious, impetuous passion in London with another Dominant, Steffan Vidar. Two years later, Sarah has re-established her life of discipline and rigid control until Steffan reappears to threaten her status quo of relegating all romantic encounters to a dungeon. He’s moved to DC and, with him, is Laurent Chacon, Steffan’s angelic submissive—a mixture of masculine strength and aching vulnerability. Together they will bring her carefully constructed world crashing down around her. It would almost be worth it to have Laurent. The problem is, she’d have to take Steffan, too.

Fearless Teaser 2 AN

 

Download your copy today

Fearless - AN IG

 

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2Fv8Vpt

AppleBooks: https://apple.co/2M9Xrcu

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/FearlessES

Nook: http://bit.ly/2AKIQjf

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2DadGTW

 

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2TwghN9

 

Fearless-PRINT

Enter to win a gift basket and signed paperbacks of Fearless: https://geni.us/FearlessBasketBooks

 

Start the series of standalones FREE with Elite!

 

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2UCA66e

AppleBooks: https://apple.co/2WFvzSt

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/EliteES

Nook: http://bit.ly/2MNEsEK

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2tfzZSB

 

Excerpt:

 

On the way to Accendos, she’d given some thought to how she’d like to approach Laurent this first time. Sensory deprivation with some CBT would be the obvious choice. According to his records, his favourite type of play was having his cock and balls tortured. He liked to watch his Dom or Domme handle him, too, which meant only one thing. She’d blindfold him.

She cracked open the top of the chest, and two drawers lifted and separated to either side. She chose a black cotton blindfold along with a pair of thick leather cuffs. Laurent’s eyes glanced up and grew wide when she showed him what she held.

“Something wrong, Laurent?”

He shook his head and lowered his chin.

“Take off your trousers and your briefs. Fold them. Let Steffan hold them.” She winked at Steffan who smirked at her words, not looking the least bit bothered by being reduced to the role of valet.

Laurent complied, giving her a spectacular view of his backside when he strode over to Steffan. When he turned to her, she decided his front rivalled his back. Glossy, dark curls surrounded a long, thick cock that had already begun to harden. With the dusting of dark hair across his chest, visible ridges in his abdomen and a perfectly-defined Adonis belt, his masculine appeal grew tenfold. He could have modelled for the Greek masters, though they might be appalled at the size of his spectacular sexual anatomy.

“So beautiful, Laurent,” she whispered.

He flushed. Another honest moment that told her what she suspected—the man had no idea how beautiful he was.

She led him to the exact spot where she’d literally dreamed of taking him—a large frame in the centre of the room from which various hooks and chains hung. She encircled his neck with the blindfold and let the fabric hang and tease his mind with the promise of coming blindness. The cotton was light, but she sensed he’d feel it like a lead chain. She fastened a cuff around each of his thick wrists.

“Lift your arms over your head.”

She stepped up on one of the frame’s rungs and attached each cuffed wrist to a hook that hung from chains. She stepped down and took a long moment to run her hands down his forearms to his biceps, and then over his shoulders. She never trussed her submissives too tightly, preferring to see them move and sway as she worked them over—unless they required a more bound approach. She’d learn Laurent’s preferences and dole them out either as rewards or punishments over time.

He sucked in a breath when she pinched a nipple. “Laurent. I’m glad you’re here.”

He returned her stare with no hesitation. “Wherever, whenever you need me.”

The pretty words tumbled from his mouth with such ease, her knees weakened. His eyes sparked with desire, his breath running a little faster across those full lips. A submissive’s reactions could be a performance, a make-believe arousal meant to incite a Dom or Domme’s courage. She knew his response was genuine, and her sense of obligation to him heightened because of it.

She took more minutes to appreciate his flesh with her hands. God, she wanted to test every inch of that skin—feel, taste, and mark it. She’d wanted to play with Laurent the first day she’d laid eyes on him, which was dangerous. Her past led her to distrust desire, and that caution had paid dividends. Yet, there was much to explore with a man this transparent—the direct opposite of his current Dominant sitting in Alexander’s chair.

“I loved your file, Laurent. Loved reading about you. What you enjoy, what you don’t. I can’t wait to test some of those limits.” She showed him the ball stretcher and cock ring apparatus. “I understand your cock requires a Mistress’s discipline.”

One glance south and she realized she’d chosen well. He thickened further, which sent his cock dancing. That was the thing about male anatomy, unlike their mouths, their manhood never lied.

She smiled up at him. “It pleases me to see your responses. Don’t hold anything back, Laurent. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Safeword?”

“I won’t use it.”

“Speak it out loud for me.”

“Polyester.”

She laughed. “Oh, you already please me, you wonderful man.”

He gave her a flash of white teeth against that smooth tanned skin.

She then gently curled her fingers around his cock and forgot everything else—even Steffan.

 

 

About Elizabeth

 

Award-winning author of steamy contemporary romance, Elizabeth SaFleur promises all the “feels” in her emotional, plot-rich stories.

Experience luxurious, glamorous escapes in her Elite Doms of Washington series

Fall in love with her alpha men who always leave a woman satisfied

Meet the heroines who take charge in the Justice Series, her Femme Domme romance books

Join her burlesque & gangster book world in the Shakedown series debuting in 2019

 

Many of her books were inspired from her thirty years as a PR practitioner in and around Washington, DC. She writes, tweets and posts under a pseudonym since her business clients might be (WOULD be) shocked at her new career choice.

 

 

Connect with Elizabeth

 

Instagram: http://bit.ly/2Fmi709

Facebook: http://bit.ly/2Rnq6AA

Join her reader group, Elizabeth’s Playroom on Facebook:

http://bit.ly/2Fobpqu

Twitter: http://bit.ly/2QJWEzs

Pinterest: http://bit.ly/2SPnY13

GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2AGnOlI

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2RH5R0c

BookBub: http://bit.ly/2CicOLr

Stay up to date with Elizabeth by joining her mailing list: http://bit.ly/2QG2wKi

http://www.elizabethsafleur.com/

 

 

*BLOG TOUR*

Overture by Skye Warren is NOW AVAILABLE!

Overture-1600x2400

OVERTURE is the first novel in a brand new series from New York Times bestselling author Skye Warren.
Synopsis

Forbidden fruit never tasted this sweet…

The world knows Samantha Brooks as the violin prodigy. She guards her secret truth—the desire she harbours for her guardian.

Liam North got custody of her six years ago. She’s all grown up now, but he still treats her like a child. No matter how much he wants her.

No matter how bad he aches for one taste.

Her sweet overtures break down the ex-soldiers defences, but there’s more at stake than her body. Every touch, every kiss, every night. The closer she gets, the more exposed his darkest secret.

She’s one step away from finding out what happened the night she lost her family. One step away from leaving him forever.

Overture-v40

EXCERPT FROM OVERTURE

Rest, Liam told me.

He’s right about a lot of things. Maybe he’s right about this. I climb onto the cool pink sheets, hoping that a nap will suddenly make me content with this quiet little life.

Even though I know it won’t.

Besides, I’m too wired to actually sleep. The white lace coverlet is both delicate and comfy. It’s actually what I would have picked out for myself, except I didn’t pick it out. I’ve been incapable of picking anything, of choosing anything, of deciding anything as part of some deep-seated fear that I’ll be abandoned.

The coverlet, like everything else in my life, simply appeared.

And the person responsible for its appearance? Liam North.

I climb under the blanket and stare at the ceiling. My body feels overly warm, but it still feels good to be tucked into the blankets. The blankets he picked out for me.

It’s really so wrong to think of him in a sexual way. He’s my guardian, literally. Legally. And he has never done anything to make me think he sees me in a sexual way.

This is it. This is the answer.

I don’t need to go skinny dipping in the lake down the hill. Thinking about Liam North in a sexual way is my fast car. My parachute out of a plane.

My eyes squeeze shut.

That’s all it takes to see Liam’s stern expression, those fathomless green eyes and the glint of dark blond whiskers that are always there by late afternoon. And then there’s the way he touched me. My forehead, sure, but it’s more than he’s done before. That broad palm on my sensitive skin.

My thighs press together. They want something between them, and I give them a pillow. Even the way I masturbate is small and timid, never making a sound, barely moving at all, but I can’t change it now. I can’t moan or throw back my head even for the sake of rebellion.

But I can push my hips against the pillow, rocking my whole body as I imagine Liam doing more than touching my forehead. He would trail his hand down my cheek, my neck, my shoulder.

Repressed. I’m so repressed it’s hard to imagine more than that.

I make myself do it, make myself trail my hand down between my breasts, where it’s warm and velvety soft, where I imagine Liam would know exactly how to touch me.

You’re so beautiful, he would say. Your breasts are perfect.

Because Imaginary Liam wouldn’t care about big breasts. He would like them small and soft with pale nipples. That would be the absolute perfect pair of breasts for him.

And he would probably do something obscene and rude. Like, lick them.

My hips press against the pillow, almost pushing it down to the mattress, rocking and rocking. There’s not anything sexy or graceful about what I’m doing. It’s pure instinct. Pure need.

The beginning of a climax wraps itself around me. Claws sink into my skin. There’s almost certain death, and I’m fighting, fighting, fighting for it with the pillow clenched hard.

“Oh fuck.”

The words come soft enough someone else might not hear them. They’re more exhalation of breath, the consonants a faint break in the sound. I have excellent hearing. Ridiculous, crazy good hearing that had me tuning instruments before I could ride a bike.

My eyes snap open, and there’s Liam, standing there, frozen. Those green eyes locked on mine. His body clenched tight only three feet away from me. He doesn’t come closer, but he doesn’t leave.

Orgasm breaks me apart, and I cry out in surprise and denial and relief. “Liam.

It goes on and on, the terrible pleasure of it. The wrenching embarrassment of coming while looking into the eyes of the man who raised me for the past six years.

Buy Links:

Amazon: http://bit.ly/2MK76XA
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2Qtt15z
Apple Books: https://apple.co/2QuX6le
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2QvZ6ts
Google Play: http://bit.ly/2QAJ9Co

Giveaway:

Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/5440a3541670/

About the Author

Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dark romance such as Wanderlust and Prisoner. Praised as a “true mistress of dark erotica”, her books have been featured in Jezebel, Buzzfeed, USA Today Happily Ever After, Glamour, and Elle Magazine. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, four dogs, and one evil cat.

Website: http://www.skyewarren.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/skyewarren
Twitter: https://twitter.com/skye_warren
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/skyewarren
Instagram: https://instagram.com/skyewarrenbooks
Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/user/SkyeWarrenBooks

RELEASE BLITZ

RELEASE BLITZ

Motion (Law of Physics, #1); (Hypothesis, #2.1) by PENNY REID

Motion, the first in the all-new Laws of Physics Trilogy from Wall Street Journal and New York Times bestselling author Penny Reid, is available now!

 

LOP_MOTION

SYNOPSIS

One week.

Home alone.

Girl genius.

Unrepentant slacker.

What’s the worst that could happen?

Mona is a smart girl and had everything figured out a long time ago. She had to. She didn’t have a choice. When your parents are uber-celebrities and you graduate from high school at thirteen, finish college at seventeen, and start your PhD program at eighteen, you don’t have time for distractions outside of your foci. Even fun is scheduled.

Which is why Abram, her brother’s best friend, is such an irritant.

Abram is a talented guy, a supremely gifted musician, and has absolutely nothing figured out, nor does he seem to care. He does what he feels when he feels, and—in Mona’s opinion—he makes her feel entirely too much.

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2U1pnSv

Laws of Physics is the second trilogy in the Hypothesis series; Laws of Physics parts 1 (MOTION) & 2 (SPACE) end with a cliffhanger.

 

my-review

I knew this book was going to end with a cliffhanger, but what surprised me was how fast the end of the book seemed to creep up on me.
I was so engaged in the story and loving Mona (Lisa) and Abram’s chemistry and bantering, that time flew and then… BAM!
End of story.

(I am truly grateful that there is only a month between books. (Thank you, Penny!))

I finished the book thinking:
So many questions!
So many possibilities!
What will happen?
Who will happen?
When will happen?

it's true

YIKES!
THE FEELS!

the feels

Another great, SMART story by Penny Reid!
I CANNOT WAIT TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT!

“I voluntarily read an ARC of this book which was provided by the author.
All graphics have been provided by SocialButterflyPR.”

LIVE01

Download your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2T5iZto

AppleBooks: https://apple.co/2QYvTaB

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/Motion

Nook: http://bit.ly/2R1mpvn

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2ASuOfq

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2DoH8pv

Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2T4ebo9

 

image2

 

Pre-order the rest of the series today!

Space

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2SL7P09

AppleBooks: https://apple.co/2WOXsrj

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/SpacePR

Nook: http://bit.ly/2I1Rekw

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2GzSvwS

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2RRny94

Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2tfBT5C

 

Time

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2Gk59Aq

AppleBooks: https://apple.co/2MYQ73J

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/TimePR

Nook: http://bit.ly/2TFwsIH

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2RTODZD

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2Sm1Zmu

Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2WSQbXe

 

Meet Penny Reid:

image1

 

Penny Reid is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Best Selling Author of the Winston Brothers, Knitting in the City, Rugby, and Hypothesis series. She used to spend her days writing federal grant proposals as a biomedical researcher, but now she just writes books. She’s also a full-time mom to three diminutive adults, wife, daughter, knitter, crocheter, sewer, general crafter, and thought ninja.

 

Connect with Penny:

Facebook: http://bit.ly/2AXQQxj

GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2sCQ1pi

Instagram: http://bit.ly/2W67eow

BookBub: http://bit.ly/2U3dKdW

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2lakzsD

Twitter: http://bit.ly/2FDLziw

Pinterest: http://bit.ly/2sDBr0u

Stay up to day with Penny by joining her mailing list: http://bit.ly/2szN34G

www.pennyreid.ninja

 

 

 

 

Blog Tour

Catastrophe Queen by Emma Hart

cq-cover3.3

One hot mess. One hot boss. One too many hot encounters…

Catastrophe Queen, an all-new hilarious office romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Emma Hart is available now!

cq-live2

Synopsis

It’s not you. It’s me.

No, seriously. It is me. Not only does my name literally mean “unfortunate,” but that’s the story of my life.

Everything I touch turns to cr*p. An apartment fire—that I swear I was not responsible for—means I’m living back at home with my s*x-mad parents. Yay, me!

Which is why I need my new job as personal assistant to Cameron Reid to get back on my feet. Three months in this job and I can move back out and, hopefully, remember to turn off my flat iron once in a while.

Ahem.

On paper, my job is easy. Make coffee. Book Appointments. Keep everything in order.

Until I walk in on my boss, half-naked, wearing nothing but the kind of tiny white towel that dreams are made of.

Now, nothing is easy—except our mutual attraction. But he’s my boss, and you know what they say about mixing work and pleasure: unless you do p*rn, it’s just not worth it.

Or is it?

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2CRIskS

 

 

cq-teaserlive3-1

 

Download your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2SzEyCn

AppleBooks: https://apple.co/2Jtpp1m

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/CatastropheQueen

Nook: http://bit.ly/2OmHHT2

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2RrrzkN

 

Excerpt

“I took my coffee from the counter and scanned the room for an empty table. There wasn’t one, which killed my chances of wasting more time before I went home.

With a sigh, I checked my phone for the time and headed for the door. I was going to end up at home earlier than I’d planned, and I needed to check with my mom to make sure there wasn’t anything kinky happening somewhere in the house.

I’d considered bleaching my eyes enough in the last few weeks, thank you.

I was fairly sure I was safe because my grandfather and great aunt were coming to stay to celebrate Grandpa’s eightieth birthday. It was still a miracle my exhibitionist mother shared DNA with either of them. Unlike her, they were reserved, polite, and didn’t flash their flesh in the hopes of getting out of a speeding ticket.

Really, it was no wonder I was a walking disaster.

I pulled up my messages and clicked on my mom’s name. My thumb was poised to type the burning question of whether or not it was safe to come home when I glanced up.

And saw the car screeching to a stop, mere inches from me.

I screamed and stepped back. My heel caught on the curb, sending me toppling backwards, and both my coffee and phone went flying. My cup slammed against the sidewalk, splattering hot liquid everywhere right as I managed to save my phone from certain death by concrete.

My heart was beating so fast it should have exploded, and adrenaline raced through my veins. I gripped my phone against me so tightly that the edges pressed painfully into my skin.

Oh my God.

I’d just almost died.

Maybe slightly dramatic, but I probably wasn’t far wrong. I didn’t even know I’d stepped into the road. When had that happened? Had I really been in that deep into my own little world that I hadn’t even checked for traffic?

Dear God.

How was I still alive?

The back door to the sleek, black car that somehow hadn’t run me over swung open. From my vantage position on the sidewalk, the first thing I saw was a pair of shiny, black shoes attached to legs wearing perfectly-pressed, light grey dress pants.

I dragged my gaze up from the feet, over the door of the perfectly clean car, and stared at the most beautiful man known to humankind.

Thick, dark, wavy hair covered his head, curling over his ears. Lashes the same dark shade of brown framed impossibly bright-blue eyes that regarded me with a mixture of shock and concern, and my ovaries about exploded when he rubbed a large hand over full pink lips and a stubbled, strong jaw.

“Miss—I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Scrambling to my feet as he approached me, I tugged down the leg of my pants and grabbed my purse. “Yes. I mean—it was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry.”

He let go of the car door, showing broad shoulders and just how well that grey suit was tailored to him and picked up my coffee cup. “All the same, I think we can share the blame. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Just my dignity, and by this point, I was running low on it anyway.

I shifted, taking a step back. “I’m fine, really. Thank you.”

“Can I replace your coffee? Give you a ride anyway to apologize?” His expression was so earnest, his concern so genuine that I almost gave in.

Almost.

I had almost walked into the front of his car, then proceeded to embarrass myself in front of everyone on the street.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m not far from home.” I clutched my phone and purse straps a little harder. “Again, thank you, but I should be going.”

He nodded as if he understood. “Uh, miss? Did you drop something there?”

My eyes followed the direction Mr. Dreamboat was pointing. On the side of the road, tucked against the curb, was a pair of white, cotton panties with flamingos on them.

My white, cotton panties with flamingos on them.

Swallowing, I met his bright eyes and shook my head. Dear God, please don’t let me blush. “No. I’ve never seen them before.” I backed up a little more. “Thank you for not running me over.”

Mr. Dreamboat grinned, his eyes brightening with his smile. “I’d never be able to forgive myself if I’d been responsible for running over someone as beautiful as you.” He glanced toward my panties, then winked at me.

There was no doubting that I was blushing this time around.

You could fry eggs on my cheeks.

So I did the only thing any self-respecting, twenty-five-year-old woman who’d just almost been run over, tripped, and dropped her dirty panties could do.

I ran.

But only like two blocks, because I was in heels, and I had the fitness levels of a hippo.

Then I grabbed a cab.”

 

About Emma Hart

emmahart

Emma Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels and has been translated into several different languages.

​She is a mother, wife, lover of wine, Pink Goddess, and valiant rescuer of wild baby hedgehogs.

​Emma prides herself on her realistic, snarky smut, with comebacks that would make a PMS-ing teenage girl proud.

​Yes, really. She’s that sarcastic.

Connect with Emma

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EmmaHartBooks/

BookBub: http://bit.ly/2Dr0atq

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2Dq42ez

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2EBbZNe

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2D91d3T

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/emmahartauthor/

Stay up to date with Emma by joining her mailing list: https://www.emmahart.org/newsletter

Website: https://www.emmahart.org/home

 

 

 

 

Release Blitz

Second Chance:  A Romance for over 40 (Sexy Silver Foxes) by L.B. Dunbar

secondchance-amazon

Cover Designer: Shanoff Designs

Second Chance, an all-new sexy, silver fox standalone from L.B. Dunbar is available now!

 

sc_available now

Synopsis

Her.

A widow at forty-four, her husband left her a letter.

Contact Denton.

Once upon a time, the three of them had been best friends.

Mati Rath isn’t sure she should look back.

Her heart isn’t ready, or so she thinks.

 

Him.

A pleading phone call forces him to make a decision.

I’ll be there.

Yet, he hasn’t been home in twenty-seven years.

Denton Chance isn’t sure he should return.

The past still haunts his heart.

A desire that never left them, along with circumstances beyond their control, brings the past to the present.

Can one sexy silver fox face the woman he once left behind but never let go?

Sometimes love deserves a second chance.

 

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2zPTqEX

 

secondchanceteaser

 

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

 

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2RTydoE

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/SecondChanceLBD

 

About L.B. Dunbar

lbdunbar

 

I’ve been accused of having an over-active imagination. To my benefit, this imagination has created over twenty novels, including the creation of a small-town world (Sensations Collection), rock star mayhem (Legendary Rock Star series), MMA chaos (Paradise Stories), rom-com for the over forty (The Sex Education of M.E.), and a suspenseful island for redemption (The Island Duet). My alter ego, Elda lore, creates magical romance through mythological retellings (Modern Descendants). My life revolves around a deep love of reading about fairy tales, medieval knights, regency debauchery, and strong alpha males. I love a deep belly laugh, a strong hug, and an occasional margarita. My other loves include being a mother to four grown children and wife to the one and only.

 

Connected with L.B. Dunbar

Amazon: http://bit.ly/2ROZGHu

Instagram: http://bit.ly/2DeXoct

BookBub: http://bit.ly/2De62b8

Pinterest: http://bit.ly/2VYwUmI

Twitter: http://bit.ly/2DeXrVH

Stay up to date with L.B. by joining her mailing list: http://bit.ly/2SW11JD

Website: https://www.lbdunbar.com

 

 

 

 

Release Blitz

Release Blitz

Work in Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition, #3) by Staci Hart

insta-feed-post

 

Her fake husband is a Work In Progress…

Work in Progress, an all-new romantic comedy from Staci Hart, is available now!

wip-cover-sm

 

Synopsis

I never thought my first kiss would be on my wedding day.

But here I stand, clutching a bouquet of pale pink roses behind the doors of a Las Vegas chapel, and at the end of the aisle is the absolute last man I imagined would be waiting for me.

fb_img_1547555883067

Thomas Bane.

Bestselling author. Notorious bad boy. Savagely handsome, dark as sin, chiselled as stone. And somehow, my soon-to-be husband.

Marry him, and I’ll land my dream job. Save him, and I’ll walk away with everything I’ve ever wanted. All I have to do is remember it’s all for a show.

None of it is real, no matter how real it feels.

But first, I have to survive the kiss.

And with lips like his, my heart doesn’t stand a chance.

fb_img_1547170868151

 

fb_img_1547661655620

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2QvdaTV

 

fb_img_1548275888592

 

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

wip - an

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2DmTuOU

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/WorkinProgress

Teasers

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

 

About the Author

stacihart

Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life — a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom, with three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, though she’s certainly not the cleanest or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey.

 

From roots in Houston to a seven-year stint in Southern California, Staci and her family ended up settling somewhere in between and equally north, in Denver. They are new enough that snow is still magical. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, sleeping, gaming, or designing graphics.

 

Connect with Staci:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2hv5OA5

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/stacihartnovels

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/quirkybird/?hl=en

Twitter: https://twitter.com/imaquirkybird

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/imaquirkybird/

Website: http://stacihartnovels.com

Stay up to date with Staci by joining her mailing list: http://stacihartnovels.com/get-the-newsletter/

Join Her Reader Group Here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/stacihart/