Rogue by Katy Evans: Release Day Blitz
Code Name: PBA Release Day Event
Kink by Nikki Sex: Book Blitz
No Regrets by Heather Allen: Release Day Blitz
Series: Real #4
Author: Katy Evans
Publication Date: July 29, 2014
HE SAYS HE’S NO GOOD FOR HER.
SHE HATES THAT HE MIGHT BE RIGHT.
Brook Dumas found Remington Tate in REAL, and now it’s her best friend Melanie’s turn to find the man who makes her heart sing. After years of searching, one night in the rain, the strong and mysterious Greyson King comes to her rescue. He’s bold, and maybe just the lover, friend, and protector she’s been searching for. When they make love, he says her name like it means something. Like she means something—and that’s everything she’s ever wanted.
He disappears for days without a word, and when he’s around, he says he’ll only hurt her. Buy when he’s away, her heart hurts more.
Then Melanie uncovers the dark world he’d been determined to keep hidden, and suspects that their random first meeting might have not been so random after all.
Caught in a free fall of emotions, Melanie has no one to catch her but the man she should be running from. . .
But what do you do when your Prince Charming has gone Rogue?
“Bastard,” I mumble. “You ruined my whole week, you fucking bastard. I bet you’re fucking some triple-D blonde right now and her triplets all at the same time, aren’t you? You’re not even a two-timer, you’re like a three-timer, liar, feeding me an I’ll-take-you-to-the-movies fucking line. I swear I was fine until you came back like you “got” me, like you “got” me even if I looked like a hungover mess. God, I can’t believe myself!”
I kick the tub as if it’s the tub’s fault, then yell, “OUCH!”
Scowling, I walk into the bedroom, grab my sleep clothes, pad outside to my living room/kitchen combo to grab some ice cream, slide on my Princess Bride DVD and turn on the TV. A couple of pounds of fat, here we go. I plop down and a vibration buzzes across the couch. I scowl and feel around for my phone. I find it way in between the two couch cushions, pull it out, and set it aside for a scoop of ice cream. I almost choke on it when I see a text I hadn’t noticed before.
Be home tonight.
What? My stomach vaults. I read who the text is from and suddenly I want to throw my phone into a WALL. Greyson. I scowl at it and throw it down to the couch and start pacing. I’m not going to answer him. Why would I? He seemed in no hurry to talk to me before, and now he orders me? Like an all mighty king? No thanks. I’ll pass on our second date, thank you.
But I check and notice the text was sent hours ago. I tell myself I am not going to respond, I will wait a gazillion days like he did. I set the phone aside and put a big spoonful of ice cream in my mouth, letting it melt on my tongue, but my stomach is squirming and now I can’t watch the TV, I can only stare at my phone and suck on the spoon. Then I bury the spoon in the tub and grab my phone, squeeze my eyes shut and type.
I’m home but that doesn’t mean I’m staying home. Just depends . . .
On? comes the reply, and quickly.
Whoa, was he waiting, with phone in hand, to answer? It seems like he was.
I wait one full minute. Trembling. Type: On who’s visiting
I don’t mean that as an invite. I mean it as in: I’d hightail it out of here if he set foot in my building. But his answer is lightning fast and my heart starts pounding as it keeps staring back at me.
Crap! I have to leave. I have to leave; I can’t see him! I can’t be this easy! A line must be drawn. He’s already shown what our night together meant to him, and I won’t let myself be devalued by him or any other moron again.
I should leave before he arrives, or when he does, yell through the door, without opening it even an inch, and tell him that I’m NOT INTERESTED! You stood me up, you didn’t get in touch soon enough, I am not your booty call, have a good life!
Yeah. That sounds right.
Determined, I head over to close the living room blinds. When I glance out the window and reach for the string I see a dark sports car pull over and a man in black step out of the driver’s seat. He looks up toward my window and all my systems stop when our eyes lock, hold, recognize. My insides go into chaos mode. A strange excitement makes my knees knock.
Fuck me, it’s really him.
What is he doing here? What does he want?
He heads into the building and I turn to face my closed door, panicking because I haven’t changed, I didn’t change. I’m in my pj’s, if hardly that.
Noticing the pint of ice cream still grasped in my hand, I run to shove it back into the freezer, spoon and all. I start pacing around in circles, trying to come up with a new plan, but unable to think for shit. I consider telling my building guard not to let him in, but I hear the ring of the elevator and realize the guard must have recognized the motherfucker from when he brought me home last week.
Deciding not to delay the inevitable, I swing the door open as he steps out of the elevator. He looks straight at me and his gaze drills into me, making a hole straight in my thoughts. One of my neighbors and her husband pass along the hall toward their door.
“Well, hello there, Melanie. A little chilly out.” She gestures to the white silk shorts and near-transparent camisole I’m wearing in complete disapproval and continues on.
Greyson follows behind her and fills up the space one foot away from my threshold with muscle and beauty and testosterone and, I swear, god, I swear, he’s as lethal as a nuclear bomb. My knees, oh, my knees. My heart. My eyes. My body feels both light as a feather and heavy as a tank. How can this be? He’s so stunning I can’t even move. Or blink, or hardly stand; I’m leaning on the door frame.
I’m fully sober. Something I might regret. He’s no longer blurred by the rain, by vodka, or by my stupid illusions of prince charming.
The man standing at my door is very real, very big, very tan, and his smile is very, very charming. There is no word for the way he stands there, his eyes dark and glimmering, his cheekbones hard and his jaw smoothly shaven, his mouth so beautiful, tipped up mischievously at the corners. His suit is perfect, playboy perfect, and his tousled hair run with wayward streaks of copper that makes me want to rake my fingers straight through. And he’s here, looking at me as if waiting for me to let him in. A memory of the morning he brought me home flashes through me. Where I felt sore because of the way he’d loved me all night. The little mark behind my ear that I found the next morning.
Hanging on to my every instinct of self-preservation, I hold the door only halfway open when he catches it in one big powerful hand.
“Invite me in,” he says softly, holding the door in his firm grip.
“My car doesn’t need a tune-up, it’s fine, but thanks for checking in on it,” I say, pushing it closed with more effort.
He shoves the door open and strides inside, and I’m frustrated over my inability to keep him out. Now he’s inside and he shuts the door like he owns my place, then he studies it with a sweep of narrowed eyes. “This building has a laundry chute?”
“That’s your line?”
He crosses the room and pulls the rest of the blinds shut, then he performs an insanely quick check of my place with a sweep of his gaze that makes my insides turn over.
It’s almost like he’s making sure there is no other man here.
He can’t possibly be jealous, can he?
And now . . . now that he seems assured no one is here but me, he starts walking over to me and looking at my mouth, and I’m walking away because every instinct of self-preservation in me tells me to walk away.
“You’re here. Why are you here all of a sudden? Some other date canceled on you last minute?” I demand.
“I have a date I’d like to schedule with you.” His eyebrows pull low over those brilliant hawklike eyes. “You’re not nearly as excited to see me as I’d hoped.”
“Maybe I thought you were a drunken hallucination. Maybe I hoped you were.”
I hit the back of my kitchen island and he locks me in with his arms, his eyes almost desperate and hungry. Then he cups my face and sets his mouth to mine, like he thinks—mistakenly—I belong to him.
“I’m not,” he says, softly, then he kisses me again, so deeply I lose my train of thought until he speaks against my mouth again. “A hallucination. And if you need me to, I’ll spend all night reminding you of what it feels like to have my tongue and my cock buried deep in you and how much you liked it.”
He leans over as if to kiss me again. My voice trembles as I turn my head. “Don’t, Greyson.”
“I don’t like that word, ‘don’t,’” he rasps against my cheek. “But I do like you saying Greyson.”
He tips my head around with the tip of one finger and stares at me like he loves the look of me. I lift one of his arms and he lets me, and I start easing away again, free of him, but not free of his stare. The first night he just kept staring at my eyes like he couldn’t tear his gaze free, but now, now he’s seeing all of me. I’m wearing shorts and a camisole yet my body starts heating as his eyes rake me up and down.
“I gave you a chance and you blew it,” I breathe.
“I want another one.”
My Life in 8 Words: “Hectic, wonderful, complete; everything I ever wanted.”
Katy Evans grew up with books and book-boyfriends until she found a real sexy boyfriend to love. They married and are now hard at work on their own happily ever after. Katy loves her family and friends, and she also loves reading, walking, baking, and being consumed by her characters until she reaches “The End.” Which is, hopefully, only the beginning…
Title: Take Me (a romance boxed set)
Authors: Victoria H. Smith, Ursula Sinclair, Raven St. Pierre, Olivia Linden, Kenya Wright
Genre: Romance/New Adult
Release Date: July 29, 2014
When seventeen-year-old Ashley Watson walks through the halls of her high school bullies taunt and shove her. She can’t go a day without fighting with her mother. And no matter how hard she tries, she can’t make her best friend, Matt, fall in love with her. But Ashley also has something no one else does: a literal glimpse into the future. When Ashley looks into the mirror, she can see her twenty-three-year-old self.
Her older self has been through it all already—she endured the bullying, survived the heartbreak, and heard every ugly word her classmates threw at her. But her older self is also keeping a dark secret: Something terrible is about to happen to Ashley. Something that will change her life forever. Something even her older self is powerless to stop.
Everyone is exactly like me. There is no one like me.
Ven wrestles with these contradicting truths every day. A clone of wealthy eighteen-year-old Raven Rogen, Ven knows everything about the girl she was created to serve: the clothes she wears, the boys she loves, the friends she loves to hate. Yet she’s never met the Authentic Raven face-to-face. Imitations like Ven only get to leave the lab when they’re needed—to replace a dead Authentic, donate an organ, or complete a specific mission. And Raven has never needed Ven . . . until now.
When there is an attack on Raven’s life, Ven is thrust into the real world, posing as Raven to draw-out the people who tried to harm her. But as Ven dives deeper into Raven’s world, she begins to question everything she was ever told. She exists for Raven, but is she prepared to sacrifice herself for a girl she’s never met?
The Dominion of Atalanta is at war. But for eighteen-year-old Aris, the fighting is nothing more than a distant nightmare, something she watches on news vids from the safety of her idyllic seaside town. Then her boyfriend, Calix, is drafted into the Military, and the nightmare becomes a dangerous reality.
Left behind, Aris has nothing to fill her days. Even flying her wingjet—the thing she loves most, aside from Calix—feels meaningless without him by her side. So when she’s recruited to be a pilot for an elite search-and-rescue unit, she leaps at the chance, hoping she’ll be stationed near Calix. But there’s a catch: She must disguise herself as a man named Aristos. There are no women in the Atalantan Military, and there never will be.
Aris gives up everything to find Calix: her home. Her family. Even her identity. But as the war rages on, Aris discovers she’s fighting for much more than her relationship. With each injured person she rescues and each violent battle she survives, Aris is becoming a true soldier—and the best flyer in the Atalantan Military. She’s determined to save her Dominion . . . or die trying.
Aimee L. Salter writes novels for teens and the occasional adult who, like herself, is still in touch with their inner-high schooler. She never stopped appreciating those moments in the dark when you say what you’re really thinking. And she’ll always ask you about the things you wish she wouldn’t ask you about.
Aimee blogs for both writers and readers at http://www.aimeelsalter.com. You can also find her on Twitter and Facebook.
Heather Hildenbrand was born and raised in a small town in northern Virginia where she was homeschooled through high school. Since 2011, she’s published more than eight YA & NA novels including the bestselling Dirty Blood series. She splits her time between coastal Virginia and the island of Guam and loves having a mobile career and outrageous lifestyle of living in two places.
Heather is also a publishing and success coach bent on equipping and educating artists who call themselves authors. She loves teaching fellow writers how to create the same freedom-based lifestyle she enjoys. For more information visit http://www.phoenixauthorink.com and find out how to create your own OutRAGEous Life.
You can find out more about her and her books at http://www.heatherhildenbrand.blogspot.com
Tracy Banghart is a cheesy movie-loving, fantasy football-playing (go Ravens!), globe-trotting Army wife who began “practicing” her craft at the age of five, when she wrote her first story. She loves visiting the international friends she met while pursuing her MA in Publishing and spends a portion of every summer at her family’s cabin in Canada, where she finds inspiration and lots of time to relax on the dock. She lives with her husband, son, two lazy dogs and one ornery cat. When not writing or spending time with her family, she is on a mission to bake the perfect cupcake.
Book Title: Kink
Author: Nikki Sex
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
Emily Malone snuck into my life, slipped under my skin, and right into my heart. Little did I know that danger and death tagged along with her, following in her innocent wake.
I’m always in control – but not with her. Emily makes me doubt myself, because she’s so important to me. Emily knows nothing of the lifestyle. I know she’s submissive, but I must take it slow.
Gradually, step-by-step, I’ll teach her to enjoy my particular brand of kink, my unique darker needs. She’ll learn to love what I love. What I need.
That is if both of us live long enough to complete her training.
Nikki Sex writes sexy contemporary romance, often involving a bit of kink. She’s a sucker for Happy Ever After endings, so no matter how dark my stories get, fear not! It always all works out in the end.
I can’t move. I’m dying.
For an instant, I imagine someone finding my body. Will birds gather to peck at me? Is that how I’ll be discovered? By someone attracted by unusual animal activity?
For a moment I consider who might find me. Will it be someone I know? I can almost hear them yell, “Holy shit, that’s Paul Jarman!”
An excruciating spasm assaults me. My lungs seize. My body convulses. Internally, every part of me screams. My mouth falls open – but instead of shrieking, only a soft hiss issues from my throat, heralding my agony and despair.
The sound is pathetic. Is that tiny utterance the last noise I’m capable of making before I die?
There’s no one nearby to hear me, even if I’d been able to scream.
I’ve never been so alone.
I’ve also never felt such unbearable pain. Time stops. There’s only this one eternal moment, the agony of now.
I’m twenty-six years old. I’m too young to die. I’ve been an idiot most of my life. I’ve been an asshole… but just recently, I’ve learned so much. Everything has been coming together. If I live, I really think that I can make something of myself.
But I’m not going to live.
Inexorable pressure, like the invisible hand of some cruel giant, pushes down hard on my chest. No air! Each breath I take becomes more and more difficult. Wow. Is this what it feels like to be starved for oxygen? As a Dom I like breath play. It’s kind of karmic to be on the other side.
But I sure as fuck don’t get an erotic thrill from this.
I’m dizzy. My vision tunnels. The physical pain fades, but sadness stabs at me. This agony of heart and soul is intense. It’s worse than any bodily torment.
I have so many regrets.
My biggest sorrow comes from the thought of losing Emily. Not only losing her, but leaving her. Not being there for her. My one pure and perfect joy has come from Emily. I’m so grateful that I’ve had her in my life. She’s taught me so much.
If only we had more time together.
My sweet girl will be distraught. I can’t imagine how she will deal with my death. With all that I’m enduring, the thought of her pain is more than I can take. I forcefully shove the reflection away. I wish I could protect her from this.
Blood continues to pump from me. I feel its warmth flowing onto my chest. I’m floating in a mental haze. As I near death, I enter a strangely comfortable state of philosophical delirium.
Is it better to kill…or to be killed?
What if you took another person’s life by accident… say perhaps, through a moment of incompetent or distracted driving? That would create a burden of guilt that you’d have to live with for the rest of your life. It might even drive a person to suicide.
Premeditated murder assumes that one’s conscience is reconciled to committing such a sin. Once reaching that point, guilt and regret wouldn’t be an issue.
What about an impulsive murder of passion? Can one honestly justify killing another by pleading temporary insanity? Would a temporary loss of control lessen the burden of guilt afterwards? Even if someone still died by your hands?
But I’m not crazy. My actions didn’t result from temporary insanity. For me, it was pure animal instinct.
I killed on purpose.
As my life drains away, I smile because I know that if I had the chance, I’d do it again. Committing murder is one thing that I don’t regret.
Greylan Pace has been a fighter his entire life…
He’s worked hard to get to the top as a mixed martial arts fighter, and finally his time in the spotlight has come. Everything he’s ever wanted is at his fingertips.Then, one event changed his life forever…
Now Greylan finds himself back on top, going to battle in the biggest fight of his life. But he soon learns that what he’s strived for means nothing in comparison to his fight to keep his sister, his best friend Christina, and Mollie Andrews, the girl he can’t stop thinking about.
He fights with everything he’s got to keep his focus on his goal, but for the first time ever, he’s afraid he might lose.
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