Books, Photos & a little bit of everything else: Nov. 6

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  • Covert by G.K. Moore: Book Blitz & Giveaway

  • Unwritten by M.C. Decker: Book Blitz

  • Breach of Contract by JR Gray: Release Day Blitz & Giveaway

  • Lowdown & Lush by Selena Laurence: Cover Reveal & Giveaway

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Book Blitz

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Book Title: Covert
Author: GK Moore
Genre: New Adult Romantic Suspense
Release Date: December 2, 2014
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Synopsis

Alessandro is the unwilling heir of a Chicago crime family. Intent on leaving the life set out for him, he decides to run as fast and as far away as possible. His plans crumble when one girl crash lands in his life. He should hate the daughter of his father’s mistress, but it’s near impossible when he finds that they are alike in more ways than one.

Olivia grew up watching men walk in and out of her mother’s life. When one man finally decides to stay, she learns that crime lords don’t leave until someone’s dead. Olivia’s salvation comes from the person she least expects: his son.

Six years later, Olivia and Alessandro are reunited when her life is threatened. If time has proven one thing, it’s that repeating their parents’ mistakes seems inevitable.

In a world where friendship is a luxury and love a death sentence, two unlikely lovers find each other only to be separated by their cruel reality.

Covert is for readers 17+

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excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

OLIVIA

I stared at the lifeless body on the floor, thinking about the blood seeping into the wood and staining it. It would be impossible to clean. The wooden floorboards would have to be replaced.

The gun I had just fired, fell from my hand. The clattering noise it made as it hit the ground startled me out of my skin. The sight of the gun, lying in a puddle of blood, and the metallic scent invading my senses made me tremble. Maybe I was going into shock. My mind raced, trying to figure out what I should do next, but I couldn’t think of anything.

Other than calling him.

After six years, I had truly believed I was free from my past. I had been sure he would never be a part of my life again. After all, he had made that choice. But with a bleeding body on my floor, it seemed that facing him would be inevitable.

I took a slow step back, away from the blood pooling near my feet, only to stumble over my purse that still lay where I had left it when I entered my apartment. Keys, my chipped powder compact, three nickels and a quarter, an uncapped pen I’d borrowed from the bank, and my phone skidded out across the floor. Entranced, I watched as my pink lipstick tube rolled over to the door. The sudden urge to cry, and scream, welled up in my throat. I sank to my knees and reached for my phone—it had fallen near the couch. I cringed at the sight of the dark blotches on the couch’s white fabric. In the daylight, they would be splashes of deep, sticky red. I swallowed the lump in my throat, picked up my phone, and scrolled down the contact list. My thumb hovered over the word ‘HIM’.

I hesitated.

Swallowed again.

Then, I pressed the dial button. It rang once.

“What’s wrong?” he answered on the first ring.

I whimpered at the sound of his smoothly calm voice—a voice that had haunted me for years. I briefly listened to his breathing, wondering how he knew that I needed him. I shook my head and bit back a dejected laugh. Of course he knew. I wouldn’t be calling unless it was a matter of life or death.

“Someone was here,” I whispered, as if not to startle the corpse. My voice sounded raspy, and thick with unshed tears. For the most part, up until this point, I had actually impressed myself by not freaking out. Now my well-crafted façade was cracking. I could hear his breathing quicken slightly.

“Are you all right?”

I soaked in the alarm in his voice, letting it wrap me up like a balm to a sting. I closed my eyes, and willed my voice to sound firm. “You need to send a crew,” I said.

“Fuck… cleaners?” he asked letting out a heavy breath.

I nodded. After a moment, I realized I hadn’t actually answered. “Yes, I’m in Chicago… in my apartment on the corner of—”

“I know where you live. Sit tight. Tiny will be there in no time—”

I hung up, not strong enough to listen to his voice any longer. Sitting on the floor, I dropped the phone in another loud clatter, and brought my knees to my chest. I wasn’t startled or even fully conscious of the continuous vibrating of my phone. It just danced in the dark, dangerously close to the pool of blood. I watched it, lost in thought of how naïve I’d been. I should’ve known the past would catch up to me—he would always catch up with me.

Closing my eyes, I let a sliver of happiness creep up inside.

I would see Tiny again.

The happiness lasted just until I remembered why I would see him again and was replaced by a sharp pain in my chest. I looked over at the dead body once more and shivered, the sickeningly sweet metallic scent of blood churned my stomach. It was unbearable. I started dry heaving uncontrollably and leaned on my hands for support. I hadn’t eaten all day so there was nothing my body could purge itself of, save for the acid burning the back of my throat.

When the dry heaving stopped, I sat back and wrapped my arms around my legs. Leaning my forehead on my arms, I made myself breathe through my mouth. I didn’t want to smell it anymore. And, I was pretty good at convincing myself if I couldn’t see or smell it, it didn’t exist. So, I sat there, rocking myself in the dark, repeating four words like a mantra.

He can fix this.

It might have been a few minutes, or hours, before I heard the front door creak open. Although I was in plain sight, I couldn’t make myself move from my position. The door opened, but I didn’t raise my head. I heard several pairs of footsteps treading the floor almost imperceptibly as they invaded my home.

“Clear,” several voices said at the same time.

“Stand guard. We’re coming down in a few,” Tiny’s deep voice called out from the door. The men moved around, while Tiny approached me. He took a couple of steps and came to an abrupt stop.

“You left the door unlocked.” His tone was harsh, accusatory.

Truthfully, I hadn’t even considered the possibility that someone else might come to finish the job.

I could sense Tiny’s stare on me. After a moment, he spoke.

“Fuck,” he said.

I looked up to him now, but I knew he was looking at the man beside me. I followed his gaze and then averted my eyes. I sniffled, not realizing until then that I had been crying. Straining, I fixed my eyes on Tiny’s perfectly polished patent leather shoes that shone even in the dark.

“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling down in front of me. His words had an almost affectionate undertone, something rare for him.

I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Was I okay? Hardly. No. I raised my eyes to his. I unlocked my arms, and wiped my tear-stained face with my hands.

He frowned.

“I’m fine,” I said before nodding towards the body. “But that’s going to leave a stain.”

Tiny chuckled, and shook his head lightly.

I couldn’t help the slight upward curling of my lips, despite the horror I just went through. I had lived by so many rules, for so many years that even now, as an adult, I couldn’t help the impulse to follow them. Everything needed to be clean and in perfect order. I shouldn’t be too loud. Speak too much. Attract any attention.

And, I certainly shouldn’t have a dead body on my floor.

“Come on, Lou. Let’s get you out of here,” he said as he took my hand and pulled me to my feet.

I frowned. No one had called me Lou in years, these days I went by Livi.

I didn’t fight him; I needed to get out of there. “My purse,” I said, looking down at the black leather bag whose contents were still spilled all over the floor. It was truly absurd to worry about something so trivial after all that had just happened, but old habits died hard. Really hard. And that was my favorite lipstick.

“I’ll take care of it,” Tiny said. He placed his hand between my shoulder blades and pushed me gently towards the door.

I suddenly panicked.

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

“We need to go, now.” Tiny pushed again, urging me to move, but my feet remained glued in place.

“I-I can’t leave like this, I have to pick up my things,” I said turning around. My eyes watered at the sight of the mess in front of us.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tiny said, now grabbing my arm. I shook my head again and tried to pull out of his grasp, but he didn’t let go.

“I need to clean up, I’ll probably have to bleach the—”

“Lou!” Tiny said while grasping my shoulders and forcefully turning me to look at him. “Snap out of it.”

That’s when I freaked out.

My whole body started trembling uncontrollably and my breathing hitched. I chewed the inside of my cheek to try to stop myself from crying, but when I bit too hard and tasted the metallic tang of blood, my tears spilled over. A sob escaped me. I covered my mouth with me hands, startled by my reaction.

“Damn it,” Tiny said, shaking me slightly. “You need to calm down.”

I closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly, ignoring the taste in my mouth. When I felt in control again, I opened my eyes.

“Are you good?” Tiny asked. I nodded. He looked at me doubtfully, so I wiped my face and breathed in deeply again before answering.

“I’m good,” I said.

“Okay, then let’s get you the fuck out of here.”

This time when he guided me, I followed his lead. A man stood guard at the door, but I hardly looked at him. I just saw the bloody mess everywhere. Thankfully, Tiny helped me down the two flights of stairs otherwise I would have crumbled. He stepped outside first, his body tense, prepared to attack any other assassin. Then, he turned back to me and waved me forward.

Slowly, I stepped into the cold night.

Another man in a black suit stood just outside the entrance. There were four black SUVs with tinted windows parked in front of us with men standing guard in front of them. They had come like an army intent on making a statement—Don’t fuck with us.

The sight of them brought back my most painful memories. I hesitated, but Tiny pushed me forward. He walked with purpose, hovering over me.

With Tiny, there was never time for uncertainty. He opened the door and carefully, but firmly, helped me inside the car. The driver stood beside his own door, intently scanning the surroundings, and looked up at Tiny’s approach.

“I gotta go clean up. Liam will follow you,” Tiny said to the driver. Turning towards me, he added, “Tate will take care of you.”

“Where is he taking me?” I asked before he could shut the door. Noticing the panic in my own voice, my eyes glazed over in shame; I didn’t want him to see how scared I was of his answer.

“Home.”

The way he said it left no room for arguing. Still, I opened my mouth.

“But—”

“This is not up for discussion,” Tiny said.

I nodded, resigned, as he closed the door behind me.

Tate started the car. I didn’t know him, and his grave face was not reassuring. He glanced a final time at the rearview mirror, and drove off. I turned around and noticed that one of the other cars was following us. That must have been Liam—whoever that was. I still couldn’t believe Tiny had left me alone with a stranger. His size alone made me nervous, and the fact that he hadn’t spoken to me yet was unnerving. Tate was almost too big for the interior of the car, even though he was still not as large a man as Tiny. The driver’s seat was shoved all the way back, squeezing my legs awkwardly into a twisted, painful position. When I decided to slide over to the other side, Tate broke the silence.

“Keep your head down,” was all he said.

My head snapped up to look at him through the rearview mirror. He didn’t meet my gaze.

“I will, but I need to move because you’re crushing me,” I said through clenched teeth. Tate didn’t react.

I started pulling at the buckle of the seat belt, trying to release it, but my hands trembled too much. I finally let go, defeated by the device.

When I looked back up, I noticed Tate smirking. He was a real charmer. I sighed and decided to stay put and suffer through the numbness in my legs. We finally merged onto the almost deserted I-94 highway. I didn’t want to think about what would happen next, and tried to distract myself from those thoughts by examining Tate. He had broad shoulders and, beneath his suit, I knew he would be all hard muscle. I took in his blond hair and brooding eyes, color unknown in the dark, and startled when I noticed his gaze fixed on mine.

I was embarrassed to have been caught staring at him, and offered a small smile as apology. His eyes narrowed slightly. My heart sped up, though I couldn’t identify the emotion. My brain seemed to freeze in that moment, unable to process any more information.

I closed my eyes and breathed in and out several times, just like my therapist had told me to do when I felt a panic attack coming. Slowly, I calmed myself enough to open them again.

Tate was no longer looking at me.

Relieved, I stared out the window as we sped through the city. My thoughts travelled to the past.

This wasn’t the first time I had killed someone.

Six years ago, I had watched a man bleed out on a cold floor while I cried helplessly. The memory of that night was my own private nightmare; a nightmare I thought would only ever repeat itself in my dreams.

I was wrong.

It was six years ago all over again.

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Meet the Author

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G.K. Moore loves cake, romances with alpha males and happily ever afters. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, stalking friends on Facebook, watching bad reality TV, traveling, torturing her hubby with ideas for new stories or doing all of the above at the same time. Her debut novel, a romantic suspense, is coming out December 2nd and the backdrop is one of her all time favorite cities, Chicago.

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SYNOPSIS:

I thought it was too late. I thought our story had already been written. College sophomore Brooke Anderson thought she had it all − a loving family, her sexy high school sweetheart, a supportive, quick-witted best friend and dreams of being the next hotshot reporter for the Washington Post. 

Fate had something else in mind when Brooke collided with the devastatingly handsome upperclassman, Rich Davis. Rich was cocky, conceited and arrogant. He was everything that Brooke didn’t want, but Rich never gave her the option. He had already made the choice to be, at the very least, her friend. Would Brooke accept this egotistical man’s friendship? Would she choose to want more? Would it be too late if she did?

Fast forward nearly ten years. Brooke’s life hadn’t played out quite as she had envisioned it. She was suffering from the heartbreaking loss of her mother, her high school sweetheart was long gone, and her dreams of the Washington Post had turned into a career at a small town paper. Brooke decided it was time to follow her dreams. If she couldn’t be happy in love, at least she could be happy in life. 

Brooke’s dreams brought her to the lobby of the Washington Post where fate intervened once again as she collided with none other than the devastatingly handsome Rich Davis. As her potential employer, Rich now seemed off-limits. Brooke wanted her successful career more than a chance at love. But, was it really her choice to make, or was it beyond her control?

Maybe our story is, in fact, Unwritten …

PURCHASE LINKS:
 
 
EXCERPT:
 
“Your view … your entire office … it’s exquisite,” I said after soaking it all in.
 
“We haven’t spoken in over nine years, and you want to talk about my view?  But now that you mention it … my view is quite exquisite and I’m not referring to the skyline, or this office” he said, while licking his bottom lip. “You’re just as beautiful as ever, Brooke.”
“… … … Rich, why am I here?”
 
Rich walked over to his side of the desk and placed his palms flat on its surface as if bracing himself before speaking, his intense, teal-blue eyes looking directly into my soul. “You’re here because when your application came across my desk, I knew it was a sign that I had to see you again … had to hear you laugh again … had to smell that sweet scent again. I’ve missed you, Brooke.”
 
He took a deep breath before continuing, “Every time an application came across my desk I hoped that one day it would be yours. You always said this was it for you – your end game and your dream job. I’d be lying to myself and to you, if I didn’t tell you that I came here and accepted this position, hoping that one day we’d find each other again.”
 
“So, you only scheduled an interview because you wanted to finish what we never started ten  years ago?” I asked in my most accusatory tone.
 
“Pshh, you would get that from what I just said, wouldn’t you? No, of course not, Brooke. I wanted you to come for an interview, because I was impressed by what I read on your resume. You’ve had an impressive career and I think you would make an excellent addition to my editorial staff. Trust me, I’m not the only one who thinks that. Your resume made it through three layers of a selection process before it ended up on my desk.”
“Oh … OK. Well, thanks.”
 
He looked at me with the most devilish grin before adding … “It just doesn’t hurt that I want to get to know you again.”
 
I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and expected that they had turned a bright shade of pink.
 
“Rich, I can’t do this. I really do want this job, but if I accept the position, assuming that you are offering me one, I … we can’t do this. You’d be my boss. I can’t and I won’t be my boss’s pet. No one would ever take me seriously. I wouldn’t take me seriously. I’ve worked too hard for my career.”
 
 “I’m sorry, Brooke, I should have kept that to myself. I don’t want to scare you away. How about this … I don’t offer you the position – today? We talk – you know, catch up – conduct a real interview. Then I’ll send you on your way to your hotel. You will then eat at the restaurant where my secretary has already made dinner reservations for you. I’ll just happen to show up and we’ll meet once again. I’ll just be Rich and you’ll just be Brooke. We won’t be interviewer and interviewee. What do you say, Miss Anderson? Sound like a plan?”
 
I had to give him credit; he sure did make it sound so easy.
 
“Sounds more like a date than a plan, Mr. Davis. You’ve really given this some thought. That truly is some proposition,” I responded with a wink.
 
“I’ll take your feisty response as a yes then. And, yes, I’ve been thinking about this since I left you on your doorstep, wearing that ravishing, purple gown over nine years ago. Now, the quicker we begin your interview, the faster we can get to dinner, the earlier I can get you to my place so we can make up for lost time. What do you say, let’s begin your interview, shall we?”
 
“Ye-, Ye-s, sure … fire away.”
 
 
AUTHOR BIO:

 

M.C. Decker is the author of the debut novel, Unwritten. She lives in a suburb of Flint, Michigan with her husband and spoiled-rotten Siamese cat, Simon. For the last decade, she has worked as a journalist for several community newspapers in Michigan’s Thumb region. She enjoys all things ‘80s and ‘90s pop culture: movies, boy bands, music and especially the color, hot pink. She also strictly lives by the motto, “Life is better in flip flops,” and is a diehard Detroit Tigers fan.

 
AUTHOR MEDIA LINKS:
 
Twitter – MC Decker@AuthorMCDecker
 
 
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Book: Breach of Contract (Bound Book 2)
Author: J.R. Gray
Genre: BDSM M/M Erotic


Synopsis

With the legal trouble behind them, Daniel Caplin and Rafael Argon are ready to settle into a low key d/s relationship, but life is unrelenting, when blackmail shatters their illusion of happily ever after. Pictures from one of the Rafael’s public scenes instill fear into his new Submissive, Daniel, acting as a wedge driving the new couple apart.
            The building peril in George’s community weighs heavy on his shoulders as he struggles to find the culprit while hiding his feelings for his new house guest. Jesse is torn between ending his marriage, picking up a rebound he should have left fifteen years in the past, and the dangling carrot of a possible relationship with a man. He is forced to fight for what he wants most, a leap he may be too chicken to take.
            In the sequel to Legally Bound George battles to take down an unknown enemy, while watching helpless, as those he cares for most are broken beyond repair. Can Rafael and Daniel rebuild their trust after it’s broken with lies?


Excerpt

The back elevator dinged as he approached, and the doors slid back to reveal Jesse’s face. He had circles under his eyes and worry lines in his forehead. Two fingers held a garment bag over one shoulder and a duffle over his other.
            Is it still okay if I stay? He put a smile on his lips that George knew was fake.
            But of course. Let me help you. George approached him and tried to take the bag, but Jesse didnt move to hand it over.
            Ive got it.
            Dont be absurd. I would have a slave do it, but hes rather tied up at the moment.
            The statement earned a chuckle out of Jesse, and he gave up the bag. Even hurt Jesse had a light in his blue eyes and his heart on his sleeve, a trait that made him wholly unique compared to the masks most wore to impress George.
            I can stay on the sofa or something if the slaves use the guest rooms.
            George laughed and turned his back to stalk down the hall. When he didnt hear Jesse following, he cast a glance over his shoulder.
            Slaves in bed how naive you really are, handsome.
            Jesse started after him, brow creased. Where do they sleep then? He caught up and followed George to the other side of the penthouse.
            He realized Jesse was serious, and he laughed throatily again. I have cages for them.
            I love you and Daniel, but your lifestyle is fucked.



Author Bio

When not staying up all night writing, J.R Gray can be found basking in the warm glow of the Miami sun, or at the gym where it’s half assumed Gray is a permanent resident. A dominant, pilot, and sword fighting enthusiast, Gray finds it hard to be in the passenger seat of any car. Gray frequently interrupts real life, including normal sleep patterns, to jot down nonsense. The bane of Gray’s existence are commas, and even though it’s been fully acknowledged they are necessary, they continue to baffle and bewilder.
If Gray wasn’t writing…well, that’s not possible. The buildup of untold stories would haunt Gray into an early grave or possibly a mental institution where the tales would end up on the walls in crayon and finger paint.
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Other Books in the Series
Legally Bound (Bound Book 1)









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Lowdown and Lush
Lush No. 3
Selena Laurence

Releases November 18, 2014


 


Mike Owens is the devil. Sexy, snarky, and as lowdown as they come, he’s one of the world’s greatest guitarists and one of Portland’s most notorious bad boys.

Jenny Turner is an angel. A preacher’s daughter, she’s a good girl with a great voice and a dream to hit it big in country music.

When these two opposites meet, the attraction is undeniable, but something’s stopping the bad boy from pursuing what he desires most. Can this angel handle the truth behind her devil? Or will his secrets be too Lowdown and Lush?


Jenny 


Some days I wake up and I’m amazed by my life. For my first twenty-four years I was on a predictable track. A road planned for me by my parents. It led me to go to Texas State University at Waco, get a teaching degree and come back to my hometown where I got a job teaching kindergarten. It led me to sing in the choir at my daddy’s church, date the assistant pastor, and eat dinner with my parents every Sunday and Thursday nights.
I’m not sure when the change began. As much as my parents would like to blame it on Mike Owens, I realize it was growing long before I met him. Something inside of me knew that the path I was on wasn’t the right one. I had music in my soul, it was crying to come out, and along with it were these ideas—ideas about who I could be, how I wanted to live, and what was right and wrong in the world.Then I met Michael, and all my ideas became possible. A new road appeared, and every part of me rejoiced in a wholly different way. Michael Owens, guitarist for Lush walked into a tiny, run down, country bar and told me I could have anything I wanted and everything I’d ever dreamed. It’s a heady sensation to be plucked from obscurity, to have the whole world opened to you when you’ve spent twenty-four years hearing about what you can’t do rather than what you can.It’s no small wonder I fell in love with the man who gave me that high.I’m watching that man now as he works out. It’s one of my favorite times of the day. I usually track him down in the hotel gym first thing in the morning just so I can see this sight. He’s big—like, massive—his muscles straining out of whatever shirt he might be wearing, and just plain straining when he’s not wearing a shirt like today. He’s covered in tattoos, tribal patterns swirling over his shoulders and down his pecs all the way to that incredible ‘v’ that leads south alongside his perfect six-pack.My daddy and brother are men of God, the mind, and philosophy. They’re handsome men, but in a completely different way than Mike. Mike is sex, pure and simple. He oozes it from his pores, whispers it from his lips. All it takes is one heated look from him and I’m a goner, panties wet, short of breath, warm from head to toe.

The only problem is he doesn’t want me back. For some reason, Michael has put me on a pedestal so high that not even he’s allowed to reach for it. He thinks I’m this perfect, innocent, girl made of glass that will shatter if he gets too close. And I am a virgin, but I’m far from perfect or innocent, and I sure as heck won’t shatter from the likes of him. In fact, I might just be more than he can handle if he ever gives me a chance.

Every day that we’re together I crave his touch, burn inside when I look at him, and dream of what he would feel like doing bad things to me. But the man who blew apart my world, opened windows to my soul, and freed my heart would rather spend his Friday and Saturday nights screwing trash he picks up at the bars we play in.

So, I get this part of him—the protective-best-friend part. The do- anything-for-me, worship-me-from-afar part, and while I wouldn’t trade that part for all the tea in China, I would also do most anything to get the part those trashy women do. I want all of Michael—the good, the bad, the outrageously sexy. He’s brilliant, talented, unpredictable, and hotter than an afternoon in a Texas oilfield. What woman wouldn’t want that?


 

Selena Laurence is the Barnes and Noble Bestselling author of what she likes to call Edgy Contemporary Romance. Her books have been Amazon Top 10 bestsellers in multiple categories including Multicultural Romance, Hispanic Fiction, Urban Fiction, Military Romance, and Romantic Suspense. Her New Adult romance, Hidden, won the 2014 Reader’s Crown Award for Contemporary Romance of the year.


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