{Release Blitz} Outlaw: Part 1

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Title: Outlaw: Part 1
Series: Harrison Street Crew #2
Author: Katana Collins
Genre: Gritty Erotic Romance
Release Date: March 7, 2017



Worse than bad. Hotter than hot. These are the bad boys of the Harrison Street Crew, and they answer to no one. They take what they want. And what they want is you.

Patrick Flanagan lives outside the law. The cops don’t like him. The law doesn’t trust him. He may come at you with a charm and a handsome smile, but make no mistake—he’s as reckless and bad as they come. But when a total bombshell with stilettos and a power suit comes blazing into his life, this bad boy is about to be so, so good…

Ambitious lawyer Michelle Chiccarini vowed like hell she is going to do her best to prosecute as many criminals as she could. Even if that means trying to put away Patrick Flanagan, a man who can make her pulse quicken and fill her head with dirty, wicked thoughts just by looking at him. She’s got to put him behind bars. But how can she do that, when she can’t even resist his touch?

Patrick Flanagan won’t go to jail. Not when he’s got a woman as gorgeous as Michelle aching for his every touch and pushing his lust for her past the boiling point. Even though she’s a lawyer tasked with putting him in prison, he can’t stay away from her. Michelle is falling fast and hard for Patrick, but is he guilty? Or is he innocent? She wants to trust her bad boy from the streets, but is he telling the truth?


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Outlaw Part 2 Ebook Cover.jpg

Outlaw: Part 2 – releasing March 14, 2017

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Outlaw Part 3 Ebook Cover.jpg

Outlaw: Part 3 – releasing March 21, 2017

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Chapter One

Four Months Later

Patrick Flanagan came to quickly. Or at least, he thought it was quickly. His head was resting on the steering wheel, his shoulders and chest slumping forward like dead weight. He blinked awake. What happened? Where am I?

Brushing his fingers over the ram like symbol at the center of the wheel, he glanced around, eyes darting back and forth. He wasn’t in his car; his Pantera. Why wasn’t he in his own car? He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking hard. The memory slammed into him, hard and fast. Oh, that’s right… he stole this one. Some poor unsuspecting fool’s Toyota that they left running in the parking lot of a Hannaford. When will people ever learn? Leaving the car running is to a car thief what an unattended t-bone is to a stray dog. It was irresistible. An invitation to steal it. A big fat target with flashing lights that said: Take me! I’m easy!

Red and blue lights streaked into Patrick’s car. Two cop cars were just now rolling to a stop behind him. The cops were just pulling up, so he couldn’t have been out that long. Breathing deeply, he pulled himself together, wincing as he pushed himself off the wheel and sat straight up.

What the hell caused him to wreck?

He backtracked the evening’s events—the meeting between Harrison Street Crew and Sauceda’s Crew. He wasn’t at the meeting though. He was the decoy if cops came into the area. He saw the cruiser and took off to distract them, pull them away from the docks and it worked like a charm. Until—oh yeah. That’s what happened. A fucking cat darted across the road or… hell, for all he knew it could have been a raccoon. And going sixty on a 35mph back road, he swerved, smashing into a post office box. He must have knocked himself out.

Waiting, he watched in the mirror as the cops in one cruiser jumped out of their car, holding their guns out. Shouting some nonsense about getting out of the vehicle.

Thank God he’d thought to choose to steal a car with tinted windows; they couldn’t make out his face. And so he smiled at them in the reflection, knowing they couldn’t see a damn thing. They couldn’t see his HSC vest or who he was or even that he was flipping them off.

Wiping at the blood trickling down the side of his face, he gave it another few seconds. The second cruiser wasn’t getting out. They were the smarter cops.

“Okay girl,” he whispered, brushing his hand over the steering wheel. “Sorry to do this to you, but we don’t have a choice.” Hopefully this Toyota’s tires were okay… because if not? They were about to find out the hard way.

Punching into reverse, Patrick backed off the Southie curb, tires squealing as he slammed the clutch with his foot and put the car in gear.

He took off, leaving the officers with guns pointed at him scrambling like Keystone Cops. The cruiser that was smart enough to leave their engine running took off after him. The night air cut in through the sun roof blowing his curls wildly around his face and providing a much needed coolness to his sweat-damp strands. Felt fucking great.

The blue and red lights hit against the reflective rearview mirror, nearly blinding him. He pushed harder and could smell the smoke of the engine, but at least it seemed the tires were holding up. Those damn police lights wouldn’t have been a problem if he hadn’t been trying to push up to eighty miles an hour in the curvy back roads of Southie. But at that speed? A momentary flash of lights blinding you in the mirrors could result in your car wrapped around a telephone pole.

Oh, wait, he thought chuckling to himself. Been there, done that.

Instead of slowing down, Patrick tightened his grip on the steering wheel and squinting through distraction and the headache pulsing at his temples, he pressed even harder into the gas pedal. He had a job to do; one job tonight to accomplish for Rig and the Harrison Street Crew. And that was to intercept any cops in the area and get them as far from the docks as he could—then get back to Megan’s Pub in time for the money drop off.

And pray to God that the two tasks don’t get in the way of each other.

He turned up his radio, Black Betty blaring through the speakers and he couldn’t help the little smile that tipped at the corner of his mouth.

This shit was fun. No way around that. Even if he got caught, there was an exhilaration to the getaway. One that pumped adrenaline through his veins so fast that he could practically feel the chemical change taking affect.

The blue and red flashing lights were gaining on him, the two headlights nearly kissing his bumper. But that was the plan. Keep them with him until they were out of the vicinity.

Maneuvering around the other cars on the road was always the hardest. Slow pokes sticking to the 35mph speed limit—good for them. Patrick slid from right lane to left grabbing the small bag of pop rocks he’d left in the cup holder and pouring a bunch into his mouth as a distraction to the blood dripping from the cut on his head and the pounding headache.

The sizzle of retro hard candy and sugar just increased his pulse as the on-ramp to I-93 came into view.

This was it. “Come on piggies—time to huff and puff,” he said to himself with another glance in the rearview mirror.  Then, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator jolting forward with an additional 15mph. Not so fast that they couldn’t keep up… but time to get down to business.

A 16-wheeler was in the right lane of the highway moving slow enough to be a problem, but fast enough that Patrick couldn’t get off the on-ramp without hitting the brakes. With the cops on his ass? Hitting the brakes was not something he wanted to do.

“Shit,” Patrick muttered and nervous sweat trickled down his neck. Instead of sliding into the proper lane, Patrick stayed where he was, the car lurching as the on ramp turned into a texturized shoulder of the highway. Vibrations rumbled beneath his ass as he overtook the truck and abruptly swerved in front of it and just behind a Volvo.

The right lane was packed with cautious drivers slowing down at the sound of the police sirens; that’s what responsible citizens do… they pull over. Slow down.

The good news was that the left lane was wide open.

With a quick glance over his shoulder, Patrick slid into the left lane and the cop had fallen back a few cars behind the truck. A cakewalk, Patrick thought.

He dipped under the tunnel funneling him from South End Boston taking him right into downtown. Something—someone would be waiting for him on the other side of that tunnel.

He just didn’t know what yet.

Up ahead, the light from the edge of the tunnel came into view growing larger and larger. The cop tailing him hung back… still close enough to follow, but significantly slowing down.

A second siren ahead of him echoed in the distance. He exited the tunnel, traffic beside him slowing and stopping at the sounds of sirens and lights coming up behind them.

He zipped beyond the tunnel, back out into Boston Center. From the next exit’s on-ramp, he could see another cruiser entering the highway.

Reinforcements. A high speed chase in the middle of Boston wasn’t something the police overlooked. Not with the tense political climate these days and with Jeremy Chiccarini actively trying to eradicate the car clubs from Boston.

If I can smoke one cruiser, I can smoke two.

Except, this cruiser up ahead wasn’t attempting to chase him; it was staying to the side… off the road and blocking the shoulder. Glancing in the rearview, he noticed the cop behind him had slowed down even more. Still on his tail, but much further off in the distance, the blue and red lights little pinpricks in the dark night.

Up ahead he heard the whomp of a helicopter and a quick glance confirmed that it was not a news helicopter, but a police air monitor. Something was up. They had a plan.

Patrick chewed on what was left of the Pop Rocks in his mouth, enjoying the crunch as he thought hard.

No one was on the road up ahead—his tires. They must be trying to take out his tires. And that’s why the cruiser was blocking the shoulder, so that he couldn’t go around whatever they had set up.

Well, shit. This wasn’t good. Every exit was blocked leading up to the tire blowers and he was already two exits beyond where he was supposed to get off, heading toward North End now.

Patrick eased off the gas, slowing down. Tension was palpable in the air and he could see the cops positioned, guns ready from behind the car. The off ramp was just beyond the road block and they had barricaded the other ramp, cutting off civilian access to the highway.

Once he had slowed down enough, Patrick gripped the E-brake and with a deep breath and quick Hail Mary, he yanked it, spinning the car in the opposite direction. The flow of traffic behind him was at a crawl, staying far behind the scene and the cop that was on his tail continued its advance; this time face on. Shoving into fourth gear, Patrick accelerated once more, heading in the opposite direction of the highway flow and directly toward the flashing lights and headlights of the cop. It was a daring game of chicken, but one he knew he’d win. They had no idea if he was armed and shooting at him wasn’t an option.

He picked up speed, just above seventy; not too crazy. In his rearview mirrors, he saw the cops that had set up the barricade, scrambling to get into their car and chase him the other way. The helicopter over head, stayed just above him.

Perfect. Fast enough to cause alarm; but not so fast he would lose control.

Two thousand feet from the cop. One thousand. And as he hit jut a few hundred feet, he pulled the ebrake again, turning into the cove between the north and south highways where cops wait to pull you over. The tires screeched beneath him and he could only imagine the damage he was doing to this poor Toyota. A cop was waiting for him there, just as he had anticipated—but with Patrick going sixty in that turn and the cop standing still, it didn’t stand a chance.

Patrick slammed into the stagnant cop’s back bumper and turned onto the opposite highway, going in the other direction on I93, back with the flow of traffic.
No tire popping road blocks there. And as suspected, the cruisers following him couldn’t handle such a fast and unexpected turn.

Two down, one to go, he thought looking to the sky where the helicopter still tailed him. He took the next exit, sliding off it easily and though still speeding, he was cautious not to go too fast. Sticking about twenty above the speed limit. He was certain that on the police radio, they were calling in other cruisers to cut him off ahead. Patrick snaked his way through the city, traffic taking its toll on his speed and he dodged, weaving in and out of the right and left lanes while also taking unexpected turns that were completely unpredictable.

Though it took twice as long, he finally pulled up to a parking garage in the Government Center. He slammed into the red and white arm that was supposed to make you stop and take a ticket, cracking the damn thing right in half. Completely covered from the helicopter, he breathed a little easier as he raced up the ramp, curving around until he reached the third floor of the parking garage, safely out of view. He could hear the sirens behind him; the additional cruisers knowing just where he was pulling up. There was no time to fuck around. He didn’t even bother sliding the stolen car into a parking spot. Pulling his baseball hat lower over his eyes, he grabbed the rest of the Pop Rocks in his gloved hand, a few spilling onto the driver’s seat as he climbed out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut. Peeling his vest off, he shoved it into a messenger bag he carried and straightened his REO Speedwagon t-shirt, thankful that it wasn’t a Celine Dion concert that night at the Government Center. Walking quickly but casually, he made it to the elevator, one by one hitting the fire alarms along the way.

A roar of panic swept around him and below him at the government center as he stepped off the elevator into the sea of people exiting the concert. Fear and anxiety was a potent force and the crowd wasn’t walking anymore—they were running toward the exits. Half of them flooded the garage toward their cars to escape, the other half went to the train station or just straight ahead; anywhere to get to safety. Patrick kept pace with the crowd until he reached his car; his Pantera which he had parked in a dirt lot outside of the concert earlier that day. He slipped the attendant a twenty dollar bill and casually climbed inside, peeling his gloves off and tucking them in the dashboard.

It was going to take Patrick forever to get back to Southie, especially with all these road blocks. But if he kept to the speed limit and didn’t get pulled over, he should make it to Megan’s Pub in plenty of time to finish the drop off for Rig and the club.

He smiled, the exhilaration of the chase causing a series of excited shivers convulsing his body. Pulling out his burner phone, he texted Rig—his boss and President of HSC, his car club; his family. His home.

All’s well. No more cops should be wasting time near the docks tonight.

It only took a moment for Rig’s response to come in:

Good. Get your ass back to Southie. Deal is taking longer than I thought to secure, but I want you at Megan’s ready and waiting.

                “Aye, aye, boss,” Patrick said with a mock salute to the phone. Then texted confirmation that he was on his way before he slid his vest back on and made his way back down to Southie.

And the night’s only begun, he thought.


Ex-con Part 1 Ebook Cover.jpg

#1 Ex-Con

Ex-Con: Part 1
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Ex-Con: Part 2
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Ex-Con: Part 3

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Katana Collins is lucky enough to love her day job almost as much as she loves writing. She splits her time evenly between photographing boudoir and newborn portraits and writing steamy romances in a variety of genres — paranormal, contemporary, new adult and suspense.

She bounces between living in New York and Portland, Maine, with an ever-growing brood of rescue animals: a kind of mean cat, a very mellow chihuahua, and a very not mellow lab puppy… oh yeah, there’s a husband somewhere in that mix, too. She can usually be found hunched over her laptop in a cafe, guzzling gallons of coffee, and wearing fabulous (albeit sometimes impractical) shoes.

Website: http://www.katanacollins.com/

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

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KatanaCollins

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6577884.Katana_Collins

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


{Release Blitz} Catching Carly


Release Day – March 7th, 2017


My name is Carly Porter… And I’m really good at bad decisions.

How do I know this, exactly? Well, not including the time I accidentally bleached my eyebrows or sprained my ankle changing a lightbulb…

I had sex with my best friend’s brother.

Zeke Elliott has been a thorn in my side for eleven years. A very sexy, very tempting, very freaking annoying one. With big…hands.

And now my clitoris has a crush on the guy.

Seriously. I can’t look at him without my vagina performing accidental kegels. Which would be fine, but he’s Cain’s brother. I hate him. He’s off limits, right?


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“Don’t blame me,” he says. “You’re easy to rile. You rise to the bait every time…Like a pretty little piranha.”

“Did you just—” I spin, the wet cloth in my hand, and stare at him.

He’s holding my cake. And he’s bitten into it. The frosting is on his nose.

I respond the only possible way. I throw the cloth I’m holding at his face. It’s a damn good shot, because it opens up mid-air and covers half his face, leaving one of his eyes uncovered.

Brooke coughs and looks away.

“Thanks.” Zeke wipes his face off with the cloth and chucks it back to me. “I needed that. The damn frosting gets everywhere.”

“My frosting,” I shoot at him, turning the tap back on. “My cupcake, my frosting, your karma.”

“You two are exhausting.” Brooke sighs, joining me at the sink. “You either need to be separated on a permanent basis, like three-year-olds, or just have sex.”

My stomach loop-the-loops. “Unless he comes with batteries, I’m not interested.”

“I don’t need batteries,” Zeke offers, his sexy grin now an even sexier smirk. “It’s pretty easy to keep going when you’re being prayed to mid-fuck.”

“Why? Because you’re a god?” Brooke asks dryly. “How original of you. That’s never been used by a guy in the history of ever.”

Well. In all fairness, I might have begged to a deity once or twice when we…Never mind.

Not thinking about that.

“Can we not talk about sex?” I look around the room.

“Why?” Cain grins. “Aren’t you getting any?”

I look him dead in the eye and say, “I don’t need any.”

Zeke snorts. “People always need sex, Carly.”

I turn my attention to him and raise my eyebrow. “No. People need oxygen and water and food. You don’t even need sex to make babies now. Your point is moot.”

About the Author:

By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies—usually wine—and writes books.

Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.

She likes to be busy—unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.



{Blog Tour} Running Mate

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“The race will be a fight to the death finish, and that’s not even the actual campaign.”

Meet Barrett Callahan in Running Mate by Katie Ashley!



The name’s Barrett Callahan. Yeah, that Barrett Callahan—the one the press dubbed “Bare” after those naked sexting pictures surfaced. At twenty-five, I was armed with an MBA from Harvard, an executive position at my father’s Fortune 500 company, a penthouse, and a different piece of delectable eye candy in my bed every weekend. I had a life most men dreamed of. But then my father decided to run for president, and my playboy lifestyle became a liability to his campaign that was built on family values. My “makeover” comes in the form of a fake fiancée who I don’t even get to choose–one who is an uptight, choirgirl acting priss but also sexy-as-hell.


My latest relationship had gone down in flames, and I was drowning in a sea of student loans when in true Godfather status, James Callahan made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Seven figures for seven months on the campaign trail pretending to be the adoring fiancée of his son, Barrett. As soon as he won the election, our engagement would be dissolved amicably for the press, I was free to ride off into the sunset a million dollars richer, and because of the NDA, no one would be the wiser. Sure, I’d never met the guy, but I’d been a theater nerd in high school. I could pull off any role from Lady Macbeth to Maria Von Trapp. But that was before I met my fake fiancé—the infuriating, self-absorbed, egotistical, drop-dead-sexy King of the Manwhores.


Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2lB9gdp

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About the Author

Katie Ashley is a New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon Best-Selling author. She lives outside of Atlanta, Georgia with her daughter, Olivia, and her two very spoiled dogs. She has a slight obsession with Pinterest, The Golden Girls, Harry Potter, Shakespeare, Supernatural, Designing Women, and Scooby-Doo.

With a BA in English, a BS in Secondary English Education, and a Masters in Adolescent English Education, she spent 11 1/2 years educating the Youth of America aka teaching MS and HS English until she left to write full time in December 2012.

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{Release Blitz} All The Frogs In Manhattan

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Title: All the Frogs in Manhattan
Author: Carrie Aarons
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: March 5, 2017



You know how Cinderella had the whole glass slipper, pumpkin carriage, fairy godmother thing?

Yeah…with foot-destroying stilettos, Uber, and a Twitter horoscope, my life is far from a happily ever after.

In fact, instead of Prince Charming, I end up dating every slimy, scaly, brainless frog in the kingdom of Manhattan. And by frog, I mean all of the stereotypical bad guys that Mom and Lifetime movies warned you about.

The meathead player.
The mommy’s boy.
The namedropper.
The cheapskate.

If they suck at relationships, I’ve probably kissed those cold, clammy lips in the hopes of finding love. Until one day, when one man with commitment issues offers to help me find the Romeo to my Juliet.

But what happens when the frog, who was never supposed to turn into a prince, kisses you at midnight? Ok fine, he propositioned me for some afternoon delight after brunch, but not everything can be straight out of a fairytale.

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Free in Kindle Unlimited


Author of romance novels such as Red Card and the Captive Heart Duet, Carrie Aarons writes sexy, swoony and sarcastic characters who won’t get out of her head until she puts them down on a page.

Carrie has wanted to be an author since the first time she opened a book. She loves spinning tales that include dapper men, women with attitude, and the occasional hunky athlete.

When she isn’t in what her husband calls a “writing coma”, Carrie is freeing up her jam-packed DVR, starting her latest DIY project, or planning her next travel adventure. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, who is more than happy to watch sports while his wife plots love stories.

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{Release Blitz} Blacksmith


Blacksmith by Jenika Snow
A Real Man #10


Steel isn’t the only thing that’s hard.


Deacon was older than me, but I wanted him regardless. He had this raw edge to him, this primal aura surrounding him that made me feel wholly feminine. He was the epitome of a man…a real man. Even his profession was masculine: a blacksmith. I had no doubt he knew how to work his hands over a woman, how to use them to make her feel the soft and hard sides of him.

What I wanted was for him to be my first…my only.



She thought I didn’t see her watching me, that I didn’t know she wanted me.

I knew, and I wanted her with a fierceness that rivaled anything else.

What Maddie didn’t know was I’d already claimed her. There was no other woman for me but her. I was a possessive bastard, territorial when it came to her. The time had finally come to make her mine. I’d show her how primal I really was, how rough I liked it, how much I wanted to make her scream my name. I’d show her how a man took care of his woman in all the ways that counted.

She’d be mine. Only mine.

Warning: You like your heroes with a touch of caveman? Look no further because Deacon has it going on. He’s all man, and then some. Hold on tight because this story packs a punch, being unbelievable in the best of ways and having instal-everything.

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I had a death grip on my bag, my palms hurting from how strongly I was holding on to the damn strap. But God, I didn’t care. The sight before me had everything else dimming in comparison.

Deacon McKnight.

The only reason I knew his name was because I was nosy as hell, asking about him, my fascination like an obsession. We’d never spoken, and to my knowledge he’d never even noticed me.

But I sure as hell have noticed him.

If ever there was a person who could be the poster boy for what a real man looked like, Deacon would be front and center.

The bay doors to his shop were open, and although it wasn’t hot out, I could see sweat covering his hard, muscular form. I swallowed. If anyone were to see me gawking at Deacon, they’d think I had some issues. I didn’t give one shit. Walking by his shop every day on my way to the community college I attended was the highlight of my damn day. The only downside was when I finally pulled myself away from the perfect male specimen that he was, I was breathless, wet, needy, and wishing I had someone to relieve the pent-up arousal that burned in me.

I want Deacon to be that someone. I want him to show me with those big, strong hands, the ones stained from his work, exactly how he likes it.

And I bet he liked it rough, bet he could really dominate and control a situation, have a woman begging for more.

I might be a virgin, might not be experienced in anything more than a hand job and some oral, but God, I wanted to learn a hell of a lot from Deacon. I wanted him to show me how a real man handled a woman.

And no doubt he could.

About the author

Jenika Snow is a USA Today Bestselling Author that lives in the northwest with her husband and their two daughters. Before she started writing full-time she worked as a nurse.

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{Release Blitz} #1 Crush

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Title: #1 Crush
Series: #1 Series #1
Author: T. Gephart
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: February 20, 2017



Tia Monroe was smart, sassy and successful. Sure, she could get a little crazy at times—life around Tia was never boring—but that was part of her appeal. And while she didn’t see herself as ‘classically beautiful’, she had no shortage of options in the boyfriend department. She just hadn’t found one who held her interest.

Until she laid eyes on Eric Larsson, and then it was lust at first sight.

He packed the perfect mix of smoldering sexy and unapologetic cool into his blond-haired, blue-eyed, ridiculously hot six-foot-four frame. One smile from him was enough to twist her insides, making her girlie bits tingle in the most delicious way. But it wasn’t just his looks, he was smart and funny—charming in the most a-dork-able way.

The only problem was . . . Tia had never actually met him.

Eric Larsson was one of Hollywood’s hottest movie stars, rising to the top of his game and leaving a trail of disintegrated panties in his wake. Tia’s were no exception—but she wasn’t delusional. Love, marriage and happily-ever-after were not part of her fantasy; she just wanted to meet him. Just one time. One time. Confident that just seeing him in the flesh would get him out of her system.

So, with her resolve steeled, Tia set off on a quest to make it happen while avoiding her mug shot being splayed across the five o’clock news.

The journey no doubt will make for one hell of a story.


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“Oh my God.” The words wheezed out of me as all the oxygen escaped from my lungs. My chest tightened like I’d been kicked right in between my ribs.

There he was a few feet behind me slowly making his way toward me.

“Eric, look here.”

“Eric, this way.”

Both sides of the line screamed at him as he patiently walked from side to side, signing autographs and taking selfies. Each step he took inching him closer to where I had frozen, my eyes bulging out of my head like a complete lunatic.

There he was.

Eric Larsson, right in front of me.

And not even internet stalking could have prepared me for what he looked like in real life.


So handsome he almost didn’t seem real, and as much as I tried I couldn’t stop staring.

Say something my mouth begged as my brain continued on its mental vacation. My eyes scanned every inch of his body like it was planning to build a 3-D replica.

Holy hell he was wearing the absolute fuck out of that suit. Every inch of the fabric curling around his delicious body like its life depended on it. And believe me, even though he was covered from head to toe in tailored Tom Ford perfection—I’d seen photos of him in this particular suit before—it did nothing to hide how obscenely hot he was.

My heart thumped loudly as he took another step closer, his eyes remaining on the crowd.


It rang out clear despite the noise around us. It took me a minute to realize that while my brain had stalled, my mouth hadn’t suffered the same fate. My lips still open as his name left them.

Who the hell yells out his last name? I panicked, unable to tear my eyes from him as his head lifted and his eyes settled on me.

Dear. Lord. In. Heaven. And. All. The. Saints.

Eric Larsson was looking at me.

At me.

At ME!

His brow lifted in acknowledgement as his lips curled, momentarily blinding me as he flashed his trademark smile.

Well, if that wasn’t an invitation, I didn’t know what was.

So, even though I was struggling to breathe—my ability to remain upright also not guaranteed—my feet moved me closer toward him. My internal pep talk worked overtime as I reminded myself we were on a mission. Two minutes of eye contact, conversation . . . and something about me finding out what an asshole he was.

“Hi.” The best I could do given the circumstances.

Intellectually I knew the man was tall. I mean, in my head I figured I knew what six-foot-four looked like. But as I lifted my eyes, it didn’t come close to where I should be looking, my gaze hitting his chin before I tilted my head even higher.

“Hi,” he responded, the single word sent a shiver down my spine as he unleashed another blinding smile.

Those eyes were something else. The clearest blue I had ever seen, and though I knew it wasn’t possible it seemed like they illuminated from the inside out. Like magical orbs, the weight of their stare hypnotized me, pulling me in closer like a force field. I couldn’t have looked away if I’d tried. Not that I tried, and not that I wanted to.

And oh Lord have mercy, did he smell good. Mouthwatering. Ridiculous that it would even get a mention given I already had those eyes, his face and his delectable couture-wrapped body to contend with. Yet there was his scent wafting up my nose uninvited. A sadistic mix of sexy, clean and masculine—probably Calvin Klein—overwhelmed me as I fought the urge to bury my head in his neck and inhale him like a line of cocaine.

Say something you dumbass. My mouth begged as my hand, completely of its own accord, reached out and rested on his arm.

Holy. Freaking. Shit. I. Was. Touching. Him.

Do not moan, I reminded myself.

“Congratulations on the movie.” Words poured out of my mouth, thankfully in a sequence that made sense, as my fingers struggled not to caress the fabric of his suit. My fingers didn’t listen, slowly stroking in small—slightly inappropriate and rather suggestive—circles.

Wow, this is a really, really nice suit.

Do not lick it.


T Gephart is an indie author from Melbourne, Australia.

T’s approach to life has been somewhat unconventional. Rather than going to University, she jumped on a plane to Los Angeles, USA in search of adventure. While this first trip left her somewhat underwhelmed and largely depleted of funds it fueled her appetite for travel and life experience.

With a rather eclectic resume, which reads more like the fiction she writes than an actual employment history, T struggled to find her niche in the world.

While on a subsequent trip the United States in 1999, T met and married her husband. Their whirlwind courtship and interesting impromptu convenience store wedding set the tone for their life together, which is anything but ordinary. They have lived in Louisiana, Guam and Australia and have traveled extensively throughout the US. T has two beautiful young children and one four legged child, Woodley, the wonder dog.

An avid reader, T became increasingly frustrated by the lack of strong female characters in the books she was reading. She wanted to read about a woman she could identify with, someone strong, independent and confident and who didn’t lack femininity. Out of this need, she decided to pen her first book, A Twist of Fate. T set herself the challenge to write something that was interesting, compelling and yet easy enough to read that was still enjoyable. Pulling from her own past “colorful” experiences and the amazing personalities she has surrounded herself with, she had no shortage of inspiration. With a strong slant on erotic fiction, her core characters are empowered women who don’t have to sacrifice their femininity. She enjoyed the process so much that when it was over she couldn’t let it go.

T loves to travel, laugh and surround herself with colorful characters. This inevitably spills into her writing and makes for an interesting journey – she is well and truly enjoying the ride!

Based on her life experiences, T has plenty of material for her books and has a wealth of ideas to keep you all enthralled.

Website: http://tgephart.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/T-Gephart/412456528830732

Twitter: https://twitter.com/tinagephart

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7243737.T_Gephart

{Blog Tour} Wicked Beast

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WICKED BEAST by Nazarea Andrews
Wicked Ever After #2


James “Beast” Lutz isn’t like his friends.
He doesn’t crave control the way Charm and Mal do, and he doesn’t play the games Wolf thrives on.
He lives on his knees, all of his strength bent to the will of his Domme.
He’s never regretted that, until now.
Now, when he’s trapped in an arrangement serving a Domme who can’t keep a sub.
Now, when he’s not sure how to trust a woman wrapped in mystery and less sure he wants to.
But the more he gets to know the Domme everyone knows as Beauty, the more Beast realizes everything he thought he knew was wrong.

My knees ache, my back stings from the cane. And then she kisses me, and it’s delicate. It’s as soft as she has ever been with me, all gentle pressure and the tentative nip of teeth. It drags a groan from me and I want to reach for her. 
And it terrifies me.

Purchase Links 


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Also Available

Amazon: http://bit.ly/WickedCharmingAMZ

Kobo: http://bit.ly/WickedCharmingKOBO

BN: http://bit.ly/WickedCharmingBN


WICKED WOLF #3 (Coming Feb. 27)
Amazon: http://bit.ly/WickedWolfAMZ

Nazarea Andrews’ Bio:

Nazarea Andrews (N to almost everyone) is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. Which means she writes everything from zombies and dystopia to contemporary love stories. When not writing, she can most often be found driving her kids to practice and burning dinner while she reads, or binging watching TV shows on Netflix. N loves chocolate, wine, and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, spoiled cat and overgrown dog. She is the author of World Without End series, Neverland Found, Edge of the Falls, and The University of Branton Series. Stop by her twitter (@NazareaAndrews) and tell her what fantastic book she should read next.

Site – http://www.nazareaandrews.com/
Blog – http://www.nazarea-andrews.blogspot.com/
Twitter – https://twitter.com/NazareaAndrews
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/NazareaAndrewsAuthor/
Street Team – https://www.facebook.com/groups/427502530700422/
Newsletter – http://eepurl.com/MtHwj

{Release Blitz} Lost In Between

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Title: Lost in Between
Series: Finding Me #1
Author: K.L. Kreig
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: February 20, 2017



We all have one.

A price.

That magic number that will get us to agree to do anything, be anything.

Don’t sit on your gold-plated high horse and say you don’t because you do. Everyone does. Each of us has something we covet enough that we’d sell ourselves to have it.

What’s my tipping point, you ask? Apparently a cool quarter mil will do the trick.

What does one do for 250 large, you wonder? Anything the infamous, gorgeous playboy of Seattle wants. For the next four months I’ll be Shaw Mercer’s arm candy, his beck and call girl, his faux girlfriend. I’ll be his to command, mold, push and pull in any direction he sees fit.

I’ll fight falling into bed with him. I’ll fight falling in love with him even harder. I’ll fail at both. And when my past and present collide in the most unexpected of ways, I’ll learn that while one man’s love for me has never died, the only man’s love I really want will never be mine.


US: http://amzn.to/2kZ2Ozi

UK: http://amzn.to/2loz3sy

CA: http://amzn.to/2kEGOq3

AU: http://amzn.to/2kEHTOC

B&N: http://bit.ly/2lUCZi3

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2lqd8AN

iBooks: http://apple.co/2lktls8

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As a USA Today Bestselling author, I write stories that are deeply emotional with flawed characters, because humans ARE flawed and if we read about perfect characters living in their perfect world, first of all, snoozer, but secondly, we never experience the gratification of redemption.

Outside of writing, I’m just a regular ol’ Midwest girl who likes Game of Thrones and am obsessed with Modern Family and The Goldbergs. I run, I eat, I run, I eat. It’s a vicous cycle. I love carbs, but there’s love-hate relationship with my ass and thighs. Mostly hate. I like a good cocktail (oh hell…who am I kidding? I love any cocktail). I’m a huge creature of habit, but I’ll tell you I’m flexible. I read every single day and if I don’t get a chance…watch the hell out. My iPad and me: BFFs. I’m direct and I make no apologies for it. I swear too much. I love alternative music and in my next life I want to be a bad-ass female rocker. I hate, hate, hate spiders, telemarketers, liver, acne, winter and loose hairs that fall down my shirt (don’t ask, it’s a thing). 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/KL-Kreig/808927362462053

Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/646655825434751/

Website: http://klkreig.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9845429.K_L_Kreig

Twitter: https://twitter.com/klkreig

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

{Review} Out Of Love

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Out Of Love by RC Boldt
Read February 2017
4 Stars



Foster Kavanaugh, former Navy SEAL, knows what it’s like to be the top dog, the man in charge, the one calling the shots. Now that he’s running his own security consulting firm, not much has changed.

Except the curvy blonde he hired as his office manager.

Noelle Davis has been through the damn ringer. Swearing off men after escaping a toxic relationship, she’s grateful for a fresh start—new job included. Except her job isn’t tranquil and calm. In fact, it’s quite the opposite because her boss is the most infuriating man on the planet.

And, not to mention, sexy as hell.

Foster has limits. Rules. No attachments allowed because he doesn’t do love—and Noelle Davis foiled that plan and took a red pen to his list of rules. With her smart mouth and quick witted banter, he found the woman beginning to creep past his defenses.

When circumstances put Noelle in a perilous position, the first person to come to her rescue is none other than Foster Kavanaugh. She gets to see the man in action—not as her aggravating boss, but the man who will stop at nothing to keep her safe.

The same man who makes her want to reconsider her self-imposed embargo of men.

The man she wants to get to know now that she’s seen another side of him.

The man who makes her want…more.

But is more possible when you’re OUT OF LOVE?


Oh wow! This is my second RC Boldt book for the year and she was a new to me author for this year too. I just love the authors writing style and characters. She really knows how to draw you in and grip you from the very start.

I instantly fell in love with Foster and Noelle and I loved watching their relationship unfold. It was like watching two friends, who secretly loved each other finally get together. Their relationship felt that real to me. I never wanted the story to end. I’m so glad that they were able to get their happy ending after everything that they go through.

{Blog Tour} Sexy Bad Neighbor

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Title: Sexy Bad Neighbor 
Author: Misti Murphy & Tami Lund 
Genre: Romance 
Cover : Booming Covers


What happens when your neighbor hires you a stripper?

It starts one hell of a prank war. A war that involves goats, phallic chandeliers, stolen kisses in the rain, strawgasms, and eating out on the kitchen counter.

A war that could damn well involve two hearts and a plan. Her plan doesn’t involve falling in love. His life doesn’t involve plans.

This could be a problem.

Purchase Links

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Amazon CA

Amazon AU

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“You want a sweatshirt?”

“Or one of your flannels, I guess. I, uh, don’t usually stay in these clothes once I get home. I can just nip home and get one.” She frowns at her wine before setting it back on the counter. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll just go home and change.”

“No, no that’s…” That’s fucking hot. She wants to wander around my house in one of my sweatshirts. I want to see that. Besides, if she goes home, there’s no guarantee she won’t think better of coming back. And I don’t think going after her and carrying her back in a fireman’s hold is going to do either of us any favors. “Jesus, Chloe. That’s sexy as fuck.”

“I don’t know about that.” She buries a nervous laugh in her drink.

“You don’t know if making yourself comfortable in my home, in my clothes, is sexy? Or you don’t know if you are?”

“Does it matter?” She takes another quick swig of her wine while the tops of her ears turn pink.

I steal her drink from her and tangle my fingers with hers while I put the glass down. “You are sexy as fuck.”

“As fuck?” Canting her head to the side, she raises an eyebrow. “What does that even mean? You can’t just add ‘as fuck’ to the end of a sentence.”

I draw her to me, bring her right up against me, our hands locked between us. My free hand goes to her hair so I can pull some of those pins free. “I’ve wanted to do this since you got out of your car.”

Her hair tumbles out of its neat ’do, and I run my hands through the shiny strands. They feel like silk on my fingers.

“You’ve wanted to mess up my hair?” She tries to sound indignant but fails. Her tits rise and fall inside her serious little blouse, and there’s a fine shake in her balance, as though I’m making her weak at the knees. Staring up at me with parted lips, she watches me, waiting.

“No. Not just that.” I take a strand of her hair between my fingers, follow the length of it behind her ear and along her jaw to her cheek. Cupping it, I lean in. Lean in so close I can feel her breath on my face, smell the wine mixed with her scent. A little closer still until her breath hitches and she can no longer look at anything but my lips. Her fingers are tight around mine, squeezing the bones together. “I want to mess up all of you. I want to put wrinkles in your solemn little skirt, make your skin flush. And, yeah, I want to make your hair fluff up from my hands in it.”

She wets her lips, uses her tongue and her teeth to try to ease the anticipation. But it’s been there all along.

About the authors

Misti Murphy & Tami Lund They live on opposite sides of the world, but an eighteen-hour time difference doesn’t stop these two obsessed authors. They write, they debate over storylines, they thoroughly enjoy the process of gazing at hot men while trying to come up with cover ideas, they fall in and out of love with their characters, and at the end of the day (which day is anybody’s guess), they create sexy bad books for your reading pleasure.

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