#PromoTour “The Perfect Fake Date (Billionaires of Boston, Book 3)” by Naima Simone

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THE PERFECT FAKE DATE

BY NAIMA SIMONE

When keeping it just friends proves just plain impossible in this Billionaires of Boston novel by USA TODAY bestselling author Naima Simone.

“It’s just a kiss, Eve…

I’m only holding up my end of the bargain.”

As the secret son of Boston’s wealthiest, most coldhearted billionaire, Kenan Rhodes knows that everyone is watching him when he stakes his family claim. Proving himself won’t be easy and he needs backup. So Kenan makes a deal with his best friend, lingerie designer Eve Burke. She’ll help him professionally, and he’ll help Eve catch his brother’s eye. But soon Kenan wants his gorgeous best friend for himself, crossing that line between fake dates and something dangerously irresistible…

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Naima SimoneABOUT NAIMA SIMONE

Published since 2009, USA Today Bestselling author Naima Simone loves writing sizzling romances with heart, a touch of humor and snark. Her books have been featured in The Washington Post and Entertainment Weekly, and described as balancing “crackling, electric love scenes with exquisitely rendered characters caught in emotional turmoil.”

She is wife to Superman, or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet proof equivalent, and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, sometimes domestically-challenged bliss in the southern United States.

 

CONNECT WITH NAIMA SIMONE

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#PromoTour “The Bad Boy Experiment (The Bourbon Brothers, Book 6)” by Reese Ryan

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THE BAD BOY EXPERIMENT

BY REESE RYAN

A steamy fling with an old crush who doesn’t do commitment? What was she thinking! Find out in the conclusion to Reese Ryan’s Bourbon Brothers series.

What happens when you say yes to a bad boy?

Even if divorcée Renee Lockwood were willing to give love a second chance, she wouldn’t choose Cole Abbott. The sexy, successful real estate developer doesn’t do commitment. But he’s perfect for a no-strings fling—exactly what Ren needs now that she’s moved back home to raise her son. Mind-blowing pleasure with the man she once crushed on is harder to quit than Ren expected. Impossible, in fact. Is time running out before the bad boy bolts…or will the results of her experiment surprise her?

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ABOUT REESE RYANReese Ryan

Reese Ryan writes sexy, emotional romance with captivating family drama, surprising secrets, and a cast of complicated, sometimes messy, characters. And she’s the host of Story Behind the Story—her interactive YouTube show where romance readers and authors connect.

A Midwesterner with deep Southern roots, Reese currently resides in semi-small-town North Carolina where she’s an avid reader, a music junkie, and a self-declared connoisseur of cheesy grits.

CONNECT WITH REESE RYAN

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#PromoTour “Holiday Playbook” by Yahrah St. John

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HOLIDAY PLAYBOOK

BY YAHRAH ST. JOHN

A meeting of business minds under the mistletoe?

All marketing executive Giana Lockett wants for Christmas is to land an endorsement deal with Wynn Starks’s sports drink company. It’s tough being the baby girl in a family of alpha men, and this will finally prove her worth to the Locketts’ football dynasty. Also tough? Securing a meeting with Atlanta’s most elusive billionaire. Giana’s not giving up, and once she makes contact, the prize gets closer…and so does Wynn’s bed. The chemistry between her and Wynn is hot. But business is business, until pleasure changes all the rules…

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EXCERPT

Wynn stared at her lips for what seemed like an eter­nity before he leaned in to brush his mouth across hers. The kiss was featherlight considering the rampant ten­sion between them, so Giana leaned closer for more. Their lips met again, and this time the kiss turned in­cendiary, causing adrenaline to surge through her veins.

Giana’s lips parted in an unspoken invitation, al­lowing Wynn inside. His tongue slid between her lips, tangling with hers, and Giana moaned. The kiss oblit­erated rational thought, and Giana forgot time and space. Instead, she exulted in his drugging kisses and craved the satisfaction his mouth could give. Wynn un­derstood, because instinctively, he deepened the kiss. Giana clasped her hands around the back of his head for a better fit.

What was it that made Wynn’s kiss different from other men’s? It wasn’t just a matter of technique, al­though Wynn knew exactly how to use his mouth, tongue and teeth. It was the passion, the all-consuming hunger, and Giana couldn’t do anything but grip his bulging biceps and hang on for the ride.

Wynn stirred her to a fever pitch, making Giana ache. When his knee nudged her legs apart so he could settle himself between them, her sluggish brain allowed it. That’s when she felt the press of his arousal against her, and her belly clenched in response. He moved his hands upward to cup the weight of her breasts in his palms. He gently squeezed the flesh, making her nip­ples tighten and causing a tumult of sensations to rush through her.

Giana was panting by the time Wynn wrenched his mouth away. His eyes blazed down at her as he brushed some wayward strands of her hair from her forehead. “I want you, Giana.” His voice had a sexy rasp that made her heart flutter.

“I want you too.”

That’s when his hands left her breasts and began moving downward while his lips trailed kisses down her ear to her neck. That’s where he stayed, causing Giana to clasp his lapels. Then she felt cool air against her legs. Wynn was lifting her dress and caressing her legs, steadily moving his fingers upward toward the soft flesh of her thighs.

“Part your legs for me, Giana,” Wynn whispered in her ear.

Giana closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe she was making out with Wynn in the elevator, but she did as he asked and shuddered when his hands slipped between her legs. “I—we—shouldn’t…”

“Oh, this tells me we should,” he murmured as he parted her folds and found her drenched. His mouth re­turned to hers while his hand continued with the most devastating intimate exploration Giana ever endured. She tried to fight the feelings, but it was a futile effort. Wynn’s touch was skillful, and her whole body stiff­ened as a powerful climax overtook her.

“Wynn!” she cried out as she came and convulsed against his hand.

When the shudders finally subsided, he murmured, “You’re incredible, Giana. I have a room upstairs be­cause I didn’t want to drink and drive. When we get there, I can make love to you properly.”

Giana felt as if he’d poured a bucket of ice water over her head as she came down from her high and realized the mistake she’d made.

She was thankful the elevator lurched downward then, and the lights flickered on, because it allowed her a few precious seconds to smooth down her dress and hair before the elevator doors pinged open. A tech­nician was there, but Giana didn’t even look at him as she rushed out of the car, through the lobby and out into the night air.

She jumped in the first taxi she saw. “Go. Go. Go!” she yelled. She had to get away from the scene of the crime as soon as possible.

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ABOUT YAHRAH ST. JOHN

Yahrah St. John became a writer at the age of twelve when she wrote her first novella after secretly reading a Harlequin romance. Throughout her teens, she penned a total of twenty novellas. Her love of the craft continued into adulthood. She’s the proud author of thirty-nine books with Arabesque, Kimani Romance and Harlequin Desire as well as her own indie works.

When she’s not at home crafting one of her spicy romances with compelling heroes and feisty heroines with a dash of family drama, she is gourmet cooking or traveling the globe seeking out her next adventure. For more info: www.yahrahstjohn.com or find her on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Bookbub or Goodreads.

CONNECT WITH YAHRAH ST. JOHN

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#PromoTour “S.I.B.s: The Society of Intellectual Beings” by Iris Bolling

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S.I.B.S: THE SOCIETY OF INTELLECTUAL BEINGS

BY IRIS BOLLING

In the mortal world, it is believed that there are six degrees of separation. 
That number diminishes within The Society of Intellectual Beings. 
The bloodlines are intertwined, blurring the degrees of separation. 

Network Executive, Wade Tyson gets a story that is a little too close to home. His biological parents, who were convicted of multiple murders thirty years ago, die suspiciously within 24 hours of each other. Wade investigates their deaths which leads to questions surrounding the original crime. During the investigation, Wade opens the door to a multiple generational experiment to create a community of exceptionally intelligent humans. To complicate matters, these beings have been immersed in mainstream society.

What if a society of children were conceived to rule the world based on intellectual logic?

Wade discovers he is connected to the Society of Intellectual Beings in more ways than one. Through a series of journals from his now deceased mother, Wade has the experience of not only reading her words but absorbing her thoughts. Each time he reads one of her journals, certain powers are bestowed upon him. The powers come without instructions or warnings, but he needs them to complete the task of stopping evil forces from populating the world with S.I.B.s. He, with the help of his adopted brothers, is the only ones who can save the humans from themselves.

What if the society’s disposable children rise up to confront the new world order?  

Wade finds himself conflicted when he discovers each of his adopted brothers were created in the Society of Intellectual Beings but were disposed of as children. Doors to a different world open as Wade tries to find answers to questions that will impact not only his life, but the world.
At one point, Wade is forced to ask himself

What if the S.I.B.s, who are directed by their evil creator, infiltrated the highest level of government?

What if??????

 

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EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

Present Day

Every day, for close to thirty years, Star Bond wrote a message to her son from a prison cell. The messages weren’t long, just thoughts she would have shared with him had they’d been together as parents and children should be. Just five to ten lines of wisdom written in black-and-white 100-page composition notebooks. Using both sides of the pages, scribing at least five messages per page, there was a total of well over ten thousand gems of wisdom. The God of her spirit has assured her that the messages would be delivered to her son upon her entrance into the afterlife. Star was also told this would be her last night on this earth. The earlier attempt to end her life with the injection of a drug into her system failed. Now, those who sought to harm her had to shift gears. However, before the night was over, the deed would be done. Tonight’s message was important in preparing her son for his future. She thought long and hard about what she would write, then began.

In the mortal world, it is believed that there are 

six degrees of separation. That number diminishes 

within The Society. The bloodlines are intertwined, 

blurring the degrees of separation. You, my son, are 

bestowed with the powers of the Gods. You alone can 

save the mortals from themselves. 

Star read the message to ensure it stated what she intended. Satisfied, she nodded, then placed her pen down. Star stood, secured the composition notebook next to her bunk bed on top of ten others. Then she proceeded with her nightly routine.

Taking her time, she brushed her black, waist-length hair, using strategic strokes to keep it straight. Then, starting from the nape of her neck, she threaded her fingers through her hair, creating one long braid. Thoughts of her husband, and the way he would massage the oils onto her scalp, caused her to long for his gentle touch. Her heart ached with the fact that the feeling would not come again until they united in the afterlife. Completing the task, she sat in the center of the floor with her legs folded under her bottom, closed her eyes, then prayed. Her prayer tonight was not for wisdom, as it had been in the past. The prayer tonight was for her son to one day understand the powers he possessed and the sacrifices that were made so that he could live.

The sounds of her surroundings were wiped from her mind until the footsteps came. It was time.

The footsteps of death were distinct. She knew those steps were coming for her. Knowing what members of The Society were capable of, Star took one last moment to thank the ancestors for guiding her thus far, then prayed for continued guidance for her son.

Clearing all thoughts of the boy she had not seen in years, she allowed her husband’s face to take over her mind. Godwin Bond may not have been from her tribe, but he was her kindred spirit. Thoughts of him filled her heart with joy. She asked that upon learning of her death, he would not suffer but rejoice in knowing they would be together soon.

The electronic buzz from the door indicated a person was free to walk inside her cell. He was alone. No witnesses to the deed he had been tasked with, Star surmised.

“I understand you had visitors today, Star.”

Star continued with her prayers as if no words had been spoken. She could sense the presence staring down at her. He was attempting to penetrate her mind. It was not the first time, but she had it on good authority it would be the last. She cleared her mind of everything except the Gods, who were now surrounding her in spirit.

“Your attempts to block my entry will be futile tonight. You broke the rule when you spoke with outsiders. The consequence is death.”

Star’s mind was now amongst the clouds. There was no fear, for the Gods were there to protect her spirit. This man could have her human body.

“There is a moment between life and death when you will no longer control your mind. It will be open to me. I will obtain the information you have guarded all these years.”

The air from his breath indicated he was close to her face. Star could feel his massive hands as he wrapped them around her throat. Instinctively, her eyes opened, looking straight into the eyes of death.

Whispers of voices from other prisoners who sensed something was awry in her cell filtered through the air. The voices increasing in volume.

Her hands grabbed the murderous arms of the man pulling her from the floor by her neck. Her small frame was lifted and slammed against the cement wall. A thick rope encircled her neck, then was thrown up around the bars in the window. His hands fell to her waist, holding her weight to keep the force of the rope from snapping her neck. He wanted to prolong the moment to try to gather what he could from her mind.

That was something she could not allow.

She wasn’t fighting what was to come. Her ancestors were gathered, waiting for her, armed with the knowledge that her son would retaliate for what was done on this night and a day long ago. What was to come gave Star the strength to do what was needed. The murderer could not steal her thoughts. She’d die on her terms.

She kicked forward, causing the man to fall backwards, releasing her body. The rope snapped her neck.

Star was no longer of this world.

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ABOUT IRIS BOLLING

USA Today bestselling author Iris Bolling published her first novel, Once You’ve Touched the Heart in 2008. This self-published work was the first installment to the popular Heart Series which has captivated the hearts of readers and awarded Iris the Emma Award as Debut Author of the Year in 2010. Iris has received the honor of being named Author of The Year several times since the inception of her career. This trailblazing author, producer and screenwriter was also named Conversations Magazine Top 25 Women of the Year two consecutive years in a row.

In 2017, Iris added another series to her lineup, The Dunning Trilogy. Her first novel from the series earned her the Best Suspense Romance of 2018.

From her platform during various guest-speaking engagements, Iris has encouraged others to follow their dreams. With the recent implementation of her G.I.Y. workshops Iris shares her experience, knowledge, and talents with others to assist them along the way. Encouraging everyone to simply, BELIEVE!

Iris currently lives in Richmond, Virginia where she is working on her next book, movie project and/or workshop.

 

CONNECT WITH IRIS BOLLING

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#PromoTour “Takedown: An accidental marriage romance” by Evelyn Sola

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TAKEDOWN

BY EVELYN SOLA

Mellie

I was not a gambler. No way. I’ve built an existence free of risk and adventure. From my career to a small life with my closest family. I was not going to do anything to jeopardize my heart. But when my neighbor and number one menace to my safe plans showed up in Vegas, I did what every adventurous (not!) woman would do. I got drunk and married the man.

Adam

What happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas. Then, I went and married Mellie Dupree. That woman I’ve been chasing for two years is now my wife. She claims she doesn’t remember our wedding, but I was there, and I know she’s not telling the truth. Then again, neither am I.

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EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1

MELLIE

The down pillow contours my head, shielding me from the cool air coming from above. The temperature in the room is not only due to the ceiling fan, but to the extremely efficient central air. I sigh happily and cover myself with the white, down comforter, basking between sleep and reality. I don’t remember ever being in a bed so comfortable.

I smile and reach for another pillow to hug, but my hand hits something else. Skin. I think I’m touching a stomach. A very hard and toned stomach, which I think belongs to a man. I touch it again, and whoever the stomach belongs to moans softly. I quickly pull my hand away and wait for things to come into focus.

I might not know where I am, but I know where I’m not. I don’t have a ceiling fan in my room, and the air conditioning in my bedroom at home works well, but not as efficiently as this one. Besides, I live in Boston, and if there’s one thing I don’t need in Boston in January, it’s air conditioning. I’m not in my bedroom at my brother’s two family house, in the first floor apartment where we live. The one I share with him and his family.

I’m in Sin City celebrating my friend’s wedding.

One of my best friends got married yesterday. It was a big group, full of her family and friends. It wasn’t the typical Vegas wedding with Elvis officiating the vows. It was a beautiful formal affair held in the ballroom of the Bellagio hotel. I cried when I watched her father walk her down the aisle, the epitome of happiness with her wide smile and inner glow. I’d wiped my wet cheeks with a tissue I had in my purse, and when I had looked up, it was to find familiar, piercing blue eyes watching me from across the aisle. I normally look away from his stares, but that time, I held it, and even in the big room, the electricity between us sizzled.

My phone buzzes from across the room. Despite not having a headache, I know I must have had some drinks if the dryness in my mouth is any indication. It’s so bad it feels like something died in there days ago. My bedmate moans again, turns over in the bed, and wraps an arm around me, forcing a loud gasp out of me by his sudden movement. He takes it a step further and puts a heavy leg across my thighs, keeping me securely in place. He nuzzles the back of my neck and sighs in contentment.

I stop breathing and my body goes completely still. I close my eyes and squeeze, hoping that when I open them again, I’ll be at home in my bed, and this will have been nothing but a dream.

But that doesn’t happen, and a dooming feeling hits. My stomach drops, and I feel my heart start to accelerate. I don’t want to do this, but I take a deep breath, and I turn my head, refusing to look at him, hoping and praying that it’s not who I think it is. But his scent is a dead giveaway. No one else smells like that, and in this instant, I know I did something I can’t take back. Images of last night start to surface, but I push them back down, refusing to acknowledge the reality of this situation.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been intimate with a man, and I squeeze between my legs. When I feel no soreness, I expel a breath of relief. I know whatever happened in this room does not extend beyond sleeping. Unless whoever that is has a small package. I shouldn’t have doubted it. He never would have done something like that. Besides, he’s wanted me for such a long time that I know he’d want me to remember.

Or maybe it’s not him. The altitude is not the same in Vegas as it is in Boston, and I’m sure more than one man uses this cologne. Maybe I went out and decided to let loose. Leaving behind the January northeastern weather will do that to any girl. I remember telling my sister-in-law about my plans to find a man for a night.

“Whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” I had winked at her and nudged her shoulder with mine. She laughed and told me to have fun.

My bedmate lets out a snore, and I push his leg off. Making as little noise as possible, I take a deep breath and turn to face him. The cover is now askew, leaving exposed a long, muscular leg filled with dark hair. I close my eyes and say a short prayer.

Yeah, now you pray, Mellie, you heathen. God ain’t about to listen to you now. 

He’s in black boxer briefs, and his morning wood is saluting the ceiling. I swallow involuntarily and do everything in my power to stop myself from wrapping my hand around the steel pipe of a dick that’s just inches away, but I chase the thought out of my dirty mind. Yeah, no way was that thing inside me. It would have ripped me in half. It’s not this particular dick that’s got my mouth watering. It’s the lack of dick in my life that’s making me yearn for this one.

His ribbed white t-shirt has ridden up, and a perfect six pack is on full display just inches away from my greedy hand. I let out a whimper, knowing for sure that the Lord did not in fact hear my prayers. Or maybe he did and decided to ignore me. It would serve my heathen ass right.

I exhale and continue to look past the broad chest. I see the familiar gold chain around his neck with the signature cross, and I know that God has indeed forsaken me. Again.

My hand itches to touch the chiseled chin with about three days worth of stubble. Just like it does every time I see him, but I can’t confirm my worst nightmare. He has a pillow covering his face. I’ve come too far to stop now though. I gently pull the pillow and close my eyes in resignation. I count to ten, and like I’m pulling off a band aid, I open my eyes and learn my fate.

The bottom falls out from under me. It’s my worst nightmare. It’s him.

Adam Flynn. Lying in bed next to me in nothing but a t-shirt and boxer briefs with his eyes closed, looking like a Greek God.

But he’s Irish, Mellie, not Greek. 

He’s gorgeous. Always has been. There is no denying it. Perfect skin with just a tinge of pink. He has full lips, and I yearn to run my tongue along them. His thick, dark hair is a mess and sticking out from all sides, and that only makes him look sexier.

I jump off the bed as if I’m on fire and look down at my bare legs. I’m in nothing but my underwear and a white tank top. The one I had on underneath my sheer kimono top. I look around the room like a cornered animal, relieved only when I see my clothes perfectly folded next to the big screen TV. I quickly put on my jeans. Adam moans again, and when I look at him, he shivers and goosebumps spread over his body. I tiptoe to the bed, careful enough not to wake him, gently lift the comforter, and cover that perfect body of his.

This room is much more extravagant than mine. A suite with a couch and minibar. There are two bottles of champagne on the table, one of them still sitting in an ice bucket. I walk over there and pick one up. Some French name I can’t pronounce. I find my phone and do a quick search of that champagne. The price ranges from three to five hundred dollars, and I can only imagine the up charge the Bellagio adds. And he got two. What an idiot. I know he can’t afford this on a middle school vice principal’s salary.

I refuse to give in to my guilt since I didn’t make him buy it. I’m pretty sure I tried to talk him out of it. I don’t even remember any of it.

Liar.

Needing to make my escape before he wakes up, I look around the room for my shoes. I see the black peep-toe wedges underneath the bed, and I get on my knees to reach for them. When I do, something catches the light, a sliver of sun coming through the blinds. I follow the flash, and I blink twice to erase what I’m seeing.

I hold up my hand, and right there, on my left ring finger is a fat, round, and crystal-clear diamond ring. It’s so clear that it must be fake. It’s bigger than the one my brother gave his wife. I could be mistaken, but I think it’s even bigger than the pink diamond ring one of my friends have. And right next to it is a platinum wedding band with small diamonds all around it.

“It can’t be real,” I whisper. I pull the ring off my finger and examine it, unsure of what to look for. A memory from last night hits. Drinks at a bar. Grabbing him and pulling him out of that bar and away from a tall, skinny bitch. There was a dare, but I chase the memory away. He would do this. He would put a wedding ring on my finger as a joke. I put both rings on the nightstand, but there’s an official looking form already there.

Curious, I pick it up. My stomach drops to the floor and the food I ate last night threatens to come up.

Party 1 – Flynn, Adam Finnegan

Party 2 – Dupree, Melanie Elyse

Another memory hits, but I refuse to dwell on it. I do something much worse instead. I look back at the document in my hand. My mouth has gotten drier, and my heart is beating so fast, I’m afraid it’s going to wake my sleeping—I can’t even think of the word to describe him.

My eyes finally land at the top of the form, but I close them before they can focus on the words. I inhale, say another prayer, convinced this time that I will be delivered. And once again, I’m forsaken. Right there in bold, black letters.

Clark County, Nevada. Certificate of Marriage.

A hand flies to my mouth and a sound of despair escapes. The piece of paper slips from my hand, floating in the air conditioned breeze until it lands on the floor. Without a second thought, I grab my shoes and purse and run out of the room, not even sure where I am, but when I step outside the door, I know I’m still in my same hotel, so I sprint to the elevator in my bare feet.

When I get to my room on the twelfth floor, I run to the bathroom, drop to my knees and empty the contents of my stomach. My eyes water and my throat burns. There’s no bitter taste of rancid alcohol or the putrid smell of last night’s dinner. Hardly anything comes up, and I end up gagging for what seems like forever. My body is like a ragdoll’s, hunched over the toilet as if I have no spine to support me. A loud sound escapes, and I realize I’m crying. I don’t remember the last time I cried, but in my Vegas hotel room, with no one there to witness it, I give in and weep.

What the hell have you done now, Melanie?

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ABOUT EVELYN SOLAEvelyn Sola

A Boston native, wife, mother, and wine enthusiast. If she’s not writing, thinking about writing, you will find her with a book in her hands. While a new publisher, she’s been writing for years, and she will continue to write for many years to come.

Evelyn is obsessed with assertive and confident men who will stop at nothing to get their woman. Her stories are filled with love, passion and humor.

She currently lives in Chicago, IL with her husband and two daughters.

CONNECT WITH EVELYN SOLA

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#PromoTour “The Bounce Back” by Addie Woolridge

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THE BOUNCE BACK

BY ADDIE WOOLRIDGE

In this delightfully fiery rom-com from The Checklist author Addie Woolridge, even the worst situations have a silver lining.

Aspiring artist Neale Delacroix should be on top of the world. She’s landed a spot in an exclusive art program that’s sure to be her ticket to success, but then her best shot at stardom goes up in flames – literally. When her relationship follows suit, Neale finds herself a stone’s throw from rock bottom.

Her heart broken and her dream deferred, Neale decides to work a soul-crushing nine-to-five job until the heat dies down. However, that’s not exactly what happens when she meets Anthony, a sizzling coworker with a perfect smile.

Convinced that she breaks everything she touches, Neale’s sworn off art and men. Yet her creative spirit still beckons, and she can’t get Anthony out of her head. She’s caught in that familiar space between daydreams and responsibilities, desperate to find a new way forward. With her future hanging in the balance, Neale must decide if she is down and out…or ready to bounce back.

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EXCERPT

Neale stared up at the dingy two-story office building and wondered exactly where in her life she’d gone wrong. She knew there had to have been missteps, since she was in Northgate wearing something so drab only Dylan would find it fun and interviewing for a job at a company that licensed music for the kind of greeting cards that made people wish they’d never gotten a birthday card at all.

Walking toward the building, Neale reached a hand into the pocket of the gray, wide-legged trousers she had borrowed from Dylan and touched the list of interview tactics her sister had attempted to drill into her head over the last few days. After Neale had made the double mistake of not making eye contact with her sister as she’d shaken her hand and accepting a job offer on the spot without asking about the salary or benefits, Dylan had decided Neale needed a proper set of rules if she was to have any hope of landing this job. In classic Dylan fashion, she had even typed up the list and printed it out for Neale, just in case she forgot anything and needed to sneak into the bathroom for a refresher at some point.

“I am a self-directed worker who likes to interact with colleagues.” Neale mumbled Dylan’s catchphrase as she reached for the door, practicing her I’m-likable-but-no-nonsense smile in its grimy reflection. The inside of the building was as gray as the outside, with a hint of fluorescent lighting just to hammer home the cog-in-the-machine experience.

Neale shook her head, then reminded herself that no lobby looked appealing. Just because the building was sad didn’t mean that she wasn’t on a new path to greatness. Looking around to make sure the hallways were empty, she whispered as she walked, “I am detail oriented. I like the job done right.”

Pausing briefly at the building directory to find Happy Hearts’ suite number, 107, Neale continued her recitation: “I like a collaborative work environment.” She had messed that one up in practice.

Apparently, I like crystals on my desk was not what businesses wanted to hear in response to What kind of work environment do you like? Passing suite 105, Neale looked down at the drab green industrial carpet. “I do wish I could bring in crystals, though.”

“Well, Susan keeps plants at her desk, so I don’t see why you couldn’t bring a crystal,” said a voice from behind Neale, almost making her jump out of her borrowed, pointy-toed heels. Clutching her chest, she spun around and found herself face to face with a demigod dressed in a pair of perfectly creased khakis and an equally well-starched pastel-purple button-up. Looking up at the man’s face, Neale experienced several colliding thoughts. The first was that she knew he was a demigod because only a demigod would not have wrinkles in his clothes after 11:00 a.m. The second was that he had absolutely flawless rich-brown skin and the kind of smile that could power New York City at midnight.

Dark eyes sparkled with humor as the man looked at her. Catching sight of the surprise on her face, he frowned. “I’m sorry—it wasn’t my intention to scare you. Are you Neale?”

For a moment Neale remained silent, wondering if the man was a mind reader or if this was part of his demigod power. How else could he know her name? She also wondered if he even had pores.

“I’m Anthony. I work at Happy Hearts. Rich mentioned that he had an interview today,” the man said, interrupting her thoughts and nodding encouragingly at her. Then he paused, placing a hand over his broad chest, and smiled again before adding, “Unless you aren’t Neale. In which case, Calhoun Orthodontia is across the lobby in suite 108.”

“Sorry, you surprised me,” Neale said, finally finding her words. So much for the shoulders-back first impression Dylan had planned for her. “I’m Neale Delacroix.”

“Nice to meet you, Neale. I was just headed back from the mail room when I spotted you,” Anthony said, holding out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Anthony,” Neale said, trying very hard not to focus on the feel of his hands. Job interviews were not a dating service; it said so on Dylan’s list. She couldn’t fix the thing about the crystals, but she could get the rest of her interview right. Demigod or not, she still needed a job.

~~~

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ABOUT ADDIE WOOLRIDGEAddie Woolridge

Born and raised outside Seattle, Washington, Addie Woolridge is a classically trained opera singer with a degree in music from the University of Southern California. She also holds a master’s degree in public administration from Indiana University. Her well-developed characters are a result of her love for diverse people, cultures, and experiences.

Woolridge currently lives in Northern California. When she isn’t writing or singing, she can be found baking, training for her sixth race in the Seven Continents Marathon Challenge, or taking advantage of the region’s signature beverage: wine.

CONNECT WITH ADDIE WOOLRIDGE

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#PromoTour “Christmas in Rose Bend” by Naima Simone

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CHRISTMAS IN ROSE BEND

BY NAIMA SIMONE

“Simone balances crackling, electric love scenes with exquisitely rendered characters.” —Entertainment Weekly

The holidays have never been her thing. But Christmas in Rose Bend has more than one surprise in store…

Grieving ER nurse Nessa Hunt is on a road trip with her sullen teen half sister, Ivy, and still reeling from her mother’s deathbed confession: Nessa’s dad wasn’t really her dad. Seeking answers, they arrive in Rose Bend to find a small town teeming with the kind of Christmas cheer Nessa usually avoids. But then she meets the innkeeper’s ruggedly sexy son, Wolfgang Dennison.

Wolf’s big, boisterous family is like a picture-perfect holiday card. Nessa has too much weighing on her to feel like she fits—even though the heat between her and Wolf is undeniable. And the merriment bringing an overdue smile to Ivy’s face is almost enough to make Nessa believe in the Christmas spirit. But with all her parental baggage, including lingering questions about her birth father, is there room in Nessa’s life for happy holidays and happily-ever-after?

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ABOUT NAIMA SIMONE

NaimaPublished since 2009, USA Today Bestselling author Naima Simone loves writing sizzling romances with heart, a touch of humor and snark. Her books have been featured in The Washington Post and Entertainment Weekly, and described as balancing “crackling, electric love scenes with exquisitely rendered characters caught in emotional turmoil.”

She is wife to Superman, or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet proof equivalent, and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, sometimes domestically-challenged bliss in the southern United States.

CONNECT WITH NAIMA SIMONE

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#AudioBlitz “Loaded: A Holiday Romance” by Kilby Blades

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LOADED: A HOLIDAY ROMANCE

BY KILBY BLADES

From USA Today bestselling author Kilby Blades, a holiday proposal romance…

When billionaire Marsh’s octogenarian grandmother summons him home for an urgent family dinner, he dreads being force-fed every embarrassing truth about his family he’s tried to forget. Nevermind that Thanksgiving weekend is when he plans to propose to his girlfriend Jada, who knows nothing of his fortune, or that Marsh has hidden her away for years.

But the money may be the least of it—there’s a reason why he’s never brought her to Connecticut. The Brewsters are the special brand of unhinged reserved for the ultra-rich. Subjecting his woke Black girlfriend to his stuffy old money family seems like the least-romantic way to kick off his proposal weekend. After his family’s shenanigans, will Jada even say yes?

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EXCERPT

“You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

My lips set in amusement as my gaze shifts from Marsh to the scenery. Autumn has been mild for all the russet and gamboge leaves that still cling to the trees. The sky has the look of snow, but forecasts insist it will hold off another day. Dry roads and mild November temperatures should find us speeding up the Taconic Parkway. But Marsh is taking it slow.

“I’m not nervous.” Marsh’s smooth baritone holds a calm I once believed in when we’d first started dating. Marsh is the kind of man who can soothe nerves—or raise hell—without ever raising his voice. Quiet control is his gambit, made more believable by his natural confidence. But I’ve seen his game and know every one of his tells.

“Oh, yeah?” My sly gaze slides back to his face. “Then why are we doing forty-five in a fifty-five?”

“I like to obey traffic laws.” His slow, cheeky smile cops to the ridiculousness of the lie.

“Do you also like blood flow in your extremities?” I jut my chin toward his grip that white-knuckles the steering wheel, eyeing the speedometer again. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him take a highway drive under sixty-five.

We’ve passed the point in our relationship that merits an out-loud answer to every question. Entire conversations are had with the slightest quirk of a lip, the precision of a gaze, or the clever maneuver of a brow. And so should it be for a couple who has been together for four years. The look he gives me then relents, admitting with the clarity of a church bell: You caught me. I’m totally freaking out.

“Baby…these are your blood relatives, not a pit of vipers. Besides, you know I can hold my own.”

Marsh does know that. Hell, everyone knows better than to go up against me, Jada Jones, titan of industry and one of the most successful venture capitalists on Sand Hill Road. Marsh is among the rare breed who actually means it when he says that being with a powerful woman is a turn-on. He has admitted to me that watching his girlfriend hand start-up CEOs their asses gets him a little hard. His eyes positively smolder when I put my bossy boots on.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” he murmurs.

“You forget that I’ve met them. Several times,” I point out. I’ve shared good times with his divorced parents, Kate and Marshall Senior, over the years when they’ve paid separate visits to their son. “They’re a bit non-traditional…but, babe, your family’s really nice.”

“Correction. You’ve met my parents. They’re the ones who rebelled. The ones who got out of the family.”

“You make it sound like the mafia. You do realize that your family owns a textile mill and isn’t an old country crime syndicate, right?”

Marsh doesn’t share my humor. “My parents aren’t as bad as the others. They’re on the lovable end of the crackpot spectrum.”

“So it’s a spectrum, huh? What’s on the opposite end?”

He takes his eyes off of the road long enough to cast a haunted look my way.

“Totally over the top.”

I shake my head. “Please. The Bay Area is crackpot central. If I had a dollar for every chem trails conspiracy theorist I had to dodge at Berkeley Bowl…”

His responding smile looks forced. For the past two days, I’ve sensed his anxiety around returning home. Marsh has never gone to Connecticut for the holidays in all the years we’ve dated and I’ve never asked why. I’m certain he has his reasons. He has never relished the quarterly trips he makes from San Francisco to Hartford, solo voyages in service of his position on the Brewster Textiles board. And he never says much about it—only that he goes out of love and duty to his grandmother.

All I really know is that his family has run a small business milling wool for the better part of one-hundred years. His octogenarian grandmother, who Marsh calls Maw Maw, is the CEO. She’s summoned all Brewsters with special expertise to sit on the Board of Directors. Marsh has been asked because he’s an attorney—never mind that his area of expertise is human rights.

What always catches my attention whenever I overhear him on the phone with Connecticut is the change in Marsh’s tone. That he becomes so gentle when reasoning with what sounds like a stubborn woman only makes me love him more.

“JJ…” He uses his nickname for me, speaking in a low, sorrowful tone, as if breaking upsetting news. “California people are the crunchy version of quirky. Lovably eccentric quirky. Eight-dollar-bamboo-fiber-dental-floss quirky. But quirky isn’t a strong enough term for my family. They take it to another level. And I don’t want to scare you, but we’re not in California anymore. This is the East Coast.”

Marsh sounds more frantic by the second. Though, if he thinks his warnings will make me less curious to meet his extended family—especially the elusive Maw Maw—he’s wrong.

“Babe,” I argue gently, hoping he isn’t too far gone to calm down. “The only one who sounds over the top right now is you.”

 ~~~

Kilby BladesABOUT KILBY BLADES

Kilby Blades is a USA Today best selling author of Romance and Women’s Fiction. Her debut novel, Snapdragon, was a HOLT Medallion finalist and a Publisher’s Weekly BookLife Prize Semi-Finalist; her recent novel, The Secret Ingredient was a finalist in the RWA Vivian Contest. She has been lauded by critics for “easing feminism and equality into her novels” (IndieReader) and “writing characters who complement each other like a fine wine does a good meal” (Publisher’s Weekly). Kilby is a feminist, an oenophile, a cinephile, a social-justice fighter, and above all else, a glutton for a good story.

AUTHOR LINKS

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Website: https://www.kilbyblades.com

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#ReleaseTour “Forrest for the Trees: A Slow Burn Small Town Romance (Green Valley Heroes Book 1)” by Kilby Blades

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FORREST FOR THE TREES

BY KILBY BLADES

Forrest Winters isn’t just a federal fire marshal; he’s a thorn in Ranger Sierra Betts’s side. The way he swings his big axe, fixes her with his chameleon gray eyes, and talks about his jurisdiction has a way of breaking her concentration. He has a way of showing up everywhere he doesn’t belong, including Greenbrier Ranger Station. And he really needs to quit stealing her bacon bites.

When a series of suspicious fires, an underhanded co-worker, and a cagey Parks Police Chief threaten her job and the park itself, Sierra grudgingly agrees to partner with Forrest. Their side investigation may be her best shot at preventing the framing of an innocent man. But can his firefighting expertise and her detective skills lead them to the real arsonist before Forrest breaks her with his charm?

‘Forrest for the Trees’ is a full-length contemporary romance, can be read as a standalone and is book #1 in the Green Valley Heroes series, Green Valley Chronicles, Penny Reid Book Universe.

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EXCERPT

“That is one badass knife, Sierra Betts.”

She blushed, not so much from his praise as from the rumble of his voice when he took it reverent and low. But she tried to keep things light. “The pink sheath was a dead giveaway, huh?”

“Doesn’t matter what it looks like. Just matters what it can do. I’ll admit, if you had to survive, that knife would do you a lot of good.”

“Then why do I hear a ‘but’?” She slid her knife back where it belonged and fastened it to her bag.

“A good knife will keep your heart beating—food in your belly and a little protection. But an axe will keep you warm.”

Sierra might have laughed if Forrest’s face hadn’t been so earnest. “You said it stayed on the side of your bed.” Thoughts about Forrest and beds and being kept warm infiltrated her mind. “Your knife can cut small things. And a blade like that is long enough and thick enough for you to get a good baton. But it can’t cut you a big log, or build a real shelter, or butcher whatever you catch. It can’t do the same thing as Old Faithful here …”

Forrest reached toward the side of his blanket to pick up his tool. “Please tell me you didn’t name your axe.” “I name all my axes. It makes them feel special.” Sierra laughed again. “You have given this entirely too much thought.” “Go ahead. Make fun. But you’d change your mind if you were ever out in the wilderness with me. I’d have us living in the lap of luxury.”

Forrest’s big talk got her imagining again. Her mind flashed to the two of them, stranded alone in the woods, surviving together, making their own fire, catching their own food, and staying even warmer from body heat.

“You said you majored in psych,” she baited with a sly smile. “Have you ever considered the deeper significance to why you carry that big axe everywhere?”

His eyes twinkled and the chuckle he let out was rich and deep. “Maybe,” he admitted.

“Have you ever considered the deeper significance to why you keep up that tough-girl routine? About how you want me and everyone else to think you’re some sort of ball-breaker?” She didn’t answer. She wished she had. Her silence prompted him to keep talking—to say all manner of thing she wasn’t ready to hear.

“I’ve got your number, Sierra Betts. I see what you don’t want anyone to see—the part of you that’s soft, that cares so much. It’s beautiful.”

I see what you don’t want anyone to see … She wanted to scoff and look away and dream up some flip response. Only, his gray gaze kept her in his thrall. His irises were light in that moment, the hue of clouds after a storm chasing the darkness away with the light of the sun. They were earnest and wise and they made her want to tell him things. Some part of her wanted to tell him about Shasta and about Jake Stapleton. But a bigger part of her was just plain scared.

With her next blink, she looked away, head turned and gaze set back out on the gorgeous vista. The heat of his attention warmed her face. When he, too, turned his head and fixed his gaze back on their surroundings, she thought the moment had passed. It hadn’t. His voice was softer when he spoke again.

“The first time I ever saw you was on Little Pigeon Creek, on the part that splits off after the falls. It was last summer, a few weeks after the Fourth of July.”

Sierra remembered the day she’d seen him there, at the narrowest stretch of the creek. It was an off-trail shortcut park workers used to cross between different sides.

“That wasn’t until September. Just before Labor Day,” she corrected gently. “I never ran into you at the creek until fall.”

“I said the first time I saw you—not the first time we met.” Heat prickled her nose. This was a confession. “I’ve taken a shortcut across that creek twenty times. But when I came up on you helping that cub, I just … stopped.”

Goose bumps rose on Sierra’s flesh. What she had done that day had been extreme. She’d never mentioned it to a single soul. It had also been the right thing to do. A bear cub had gotten caught in fishing netting that had floated its way down the creek from some point upstream. And the cub couldn’t disentangle himself.

But that hadn’t been the dangerous part—the dangerous part had been the fully-grown mother bear, who saw that her cub needed help but whose every instinct should have been to keep other animals away from her baby.

Understanding the mama bear’s predicament, Sierra had been cautious. She had approached slowly—carefully—hidden the knife in her pocket until she’d absolutely needed to use it to cut away the net. She’d approached the cub carefully and slowly. But when it had been time to set him free, she’d made quick work of cutting him loose.

“At first, I stayed back out of caution,” Forrest continued. “I didn’t want to spook the mama bear. But I got my tranq gun on her right away. I was aimed and ready to fire. And I’ll admit, I was spitting mad—rehearsing in my head the earful I was gonna give you about pulling a stunt like that, alone. But then I saw how gentle you were, and how you somehow got that mama bear to believe you weren’t gonna hurt her baby … it was magic. I knew then, crazy or not, I wanted to know you.”

Sierra’s nose prickled even more and some emotion she couldn’t identify welled within her—whatever it was called when you felt completely laid bare.

“Why didn’t you announce yourself, after I freed the cub and he went back to his mother?”

“Honestly? I didn’t want to intrude on any of it. There was something sacred about it. But I did follow you back. You looked shaky, afterward. I wanted to make sure you got back to the station okay.

“Look,” he said in a way that made her lift her gaze. “I like you, Sierra. And now that you don’t hate me so much anymore, I’m hoping I’ve got a shot at you liking me back.”

“I never hated you,” she corrected. It was easier than responding to what he’d said. His expression changed, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his lips subtly turning up. “Then maybe you’ll say yes if I ask you out on a date.”

~~~

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ABOUT KILBY BLADES

Kilby Blades is a USA Today Bestselling author of Romance and Women’s Fiction. Her debut novel, Snapdragon, was a HOLT Medallion finalist, a Publisher’s Weekly BookLife Prize Semi-Finalist, and an IPPY Award medalist. Kilby was honored with an RSJ Emma Award for Best Debut Author in 2018, and has been lauded by critics for “easing feminism and equality into her novels” (IndieReader) and “writing characters who complement each other like a fine wine does a good meal” (Publisher’s Weekly).

During her fifteen year career as a digital marketing executive, she moonlighted as a journalist, freelanced as a food, wine and travel writer and lived it up as an entertainment columnist. She has lived in five countries, visited more than twenty-five, and spends part of her year in her happy place in the Andes Mountains.

For book notes, bonus chapters and lots of great giveaways, plus TMI Thursdays, join her newsletter at http://www.kilbyblades.com/readersubscribe

To hang out with Kilby while she’s procrastinating on writing her next book, check out her Facebook group: http://www.facebook.com/groups/kilbyskorner

Kilby is a feminist, an oenophile, a cinephile, a social-justice fighter, and above all else, a glutton for a good story.

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#PromoTour “Secrets of a One Night Stand” by Naima Simone

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SECRETS OF A ONE NIGHT STAND

BY NAIMA SIMONE

She said yes to one night with a stranger… Now she’s pregnant and that stranger is her boss! Only in this Billionaires of Boston romance from USA TODAY bestselling author Naima Simone.

She told herself it was one night. Nothing more.

But her heart knew the truth…

Finding out her previous one-night fling is her new boss is the shock of Mycah Hill’s lifetime. She can’t say no to being VP for software CEO Achilles Farrell—she’s finally made her career dream come true. But knowing he’s so close… It’s only a matter of time before she’s back in his arms. It can’t end well. Achilles’s tortured family history means he’s not up for sticking around long-term. But Mycah’s surprise pregnancy is about to change everything…

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ABOUT NAIMA SIMONE

Published since 2009, USA Today Bestselling author Naima Simone loves writing sizzling romances with heart, a touch of humor and snark. Her books have been featured in The Washington Post and Entertainment Weekly, and described as balancing “crackling, electric love scenes with exquisitely rendered characters caught in emotional turmoil.”

She is wife to Superman, or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet proof equivalent, and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, sometimes domestically-challenged bliss in the southern United States.

CONNECT WITH NAIMA

AUTHOR SITE | FACEBOOKTWITTER | INSTAGRAM | GOODREADS | BOOKBUB | AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

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