Here it is... the cover reveal for The Hate Him Trilogy
Friday, June 30, 2017
Thursday, June 29, 2017
Cover Reveal for The Hate Him Trilogy tomorrow! hatehim wicked sexy romance
Saturday, June 17, 2017
Review for White Hot by (the AMAZING!!!) Ilona Andrews
White Hot Review
For a while now Ilona Andrews has been my go-to,
automatic buy, favorite author.
Period.
From her Kate Daniels novels, Edge Novels, Inn
Keeper Chronicle, and now her Hidden Legacy Novels.
Book one, Burn for Me, was great, fantastic. Her men
are still alphas, her heroine is awesome, and the world she created—totally
original.
Nevada and Rogan are at it again in White Hot.
Nevada’s mad as hell that he just disappeared on her. Rogan is… well, is there
a word for sexy and infuriating? Whatever, he’s being Rogan, and this book not
only brings in some fairly evil, terrible characters (and a few horrific
monsters) but—to my utter enjoyment—builds the story on the fantastic
characters Ilona already had. Bug, Augustine, Cornelius, his daughter and his
animals, and Nevada’s seriously irritating and loveable family.
And don’t forget that Nevada has a job to do. The
head of her family’s private investigation firm.
This book has it all: twists, turns, romance,
comedy, the very best violence, and really dirty, rotten villains.
White Hot is a must read. If you haven’t read book
one, go and buy it now!
Oh, and get ready for book 3 when it drops in July!Friday, June 16, 2017
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Thursday, June 15, 2017
Read sizzling hot ebooks... for FREE! Join my ARC Army.
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Meet Jackson Burk...
Meet Jackson Burk
Excerpt…
From the corner
of the restaurant I heard a laugh: male, hoarse, yet with a metallic ring. Touchable, as if it were caressing your skin.
And familiar…
The sound pulled
my spine up straight as if by a steel chord.
Lance’s eyes
went wide when he looked at me. “What’s
wrong?”
I didn’t really
know. My mind hadn’t caught up with the
rest of my nervous system yet… but my heart had. It thumped painfully hard in my chest.
Just then a waiter
appeared at my side and set a stemmed martini glass beside me.
I gulped looking
at the chilled glass and the ring of salt on the rim.
A margarita in a
martini glass—my flesh warmed as anger ignited in my chest, making my thudding
heart burn.
“Compliments of
the gentleman,” the waiter said, pointing to the corner of the dining room with
an elegant gesture.
My gaze followed
where he pointed and lit on a table of men in expensive suits. Dead in the center I caught sight of him, and
my heart skipped a beat—the traitor…
Jackson Burk.
I turned back
around and closed my eyes, feeling myself slipping into an emotional
rollercoaster.
Anger spiked
with joy, shame mingled with cold fear, and a long lost feeling of love coated
in black, sticky hate.
I'd never wanted
to see Jackson again…
Yet here he was,
just when my career and personal life were on precarious ground, looking…
Well, I’d only
stolen a glance before I turned back around and closed my eyes, but he looked…
Like a fucking
wet dream?
Thank you, so
very helpful.
I gritted my
teeth and pushed the shit-storm inside me back to the dark little corner of my
mind where I’d long ago banished it.
I would not melt
into a puddle of sniffling, tear soaked hurt.
No, this wasn’t
college, and I wasn’t the dewy eyed girl I had been.
The memory of
his walking out of my dorm room flickered through my mind, and the scorching
feelings of hurt, shame, and confusion that moment had caused.
And now, sitting
there in that restaurant, I saw for the first time that that moment, that
feeling, had been reverberating inside me all along.
I swear that
when I opened my eyes again everything was red.
I blinked a few
times and it went away.
I stood,
grabbing my clutch purse and the martini glass clad margarita, and headed
towards Jackson’s table.
Jackson’s eyes
were blue-green, like arctic ice, and they bore into me as I walked toward
him. I strutted around the table until I
was standing right next to him. He didn’t stand up. Simply sat there, staring at me with those
damned eyes of his, a slight grin on his handsome face.
Dirty blond
hair, cut short, the build of a college football star, and the sun kissed skin
of a native California boy—he was the very definition of masculine beauty.
I smiled at him
and his expression faltered.
Worried about
what I’ll do?
I looked down at
the martini glass in my hand.
“Liz,” he said,
and then he sighed and tilted his head as he looked at me. “You’re not really going to—”
I threw the
drink in his face.
Jackson wiped
the margarita from his eyes with one hand, and then looked at me with
irritation.
I leaned down
and he jerked back an inch or two. I
leaned in further, my smiling face so very close to his, and then ran my index
finger down the line of his square jaw.
He watched, his
mouth slack, as I put my finger to my lips and gently tasted what I’d taken
from his flesh.
I moaned as if
tasting something delicious.
I looked back to
him and he was biting his lip.
“I forgot how
much I enjoy those. Thanks for the
reminder.”
I turned and
started walking toward the front doors.
Lance and Churchill were still standing at our table and I waved
goodbye.
I needed out of
there. I needed away from Jackson Burk,
as far away from him as possible.
“Liz!” Jackson called after me, but I was already at
the front doors, pushing past the doorman.
Once outside I
gulped the city’s air as if I hadn’t breathed in years: desperate, halting
breaths.
I glance
around. No cabs in sight.
I needed to get
away, so I started to run.
I was in four
inch heels, so I wasn’t setting any land speed records.
I heard his
steps as he caught up with me, and I felt it when he grabbed hold of my arm.
His hand was on
fire. That heat seeped through my skin
and made my blood boil on contact. I had
forgotten how his touch made me feel. It
was some scary chemical reaction… or magic.
No… I won’t do
this, not ever again!
I swung around
in his grasp and slapped him as hard as I could.
He winced, but
didn’t let me go.
I went to hit
him again, but he reached up and caught my hand in mid-air.
He was so strong;
I had forgotten.
I was trapped in
his grasp.
“Let go of me!”
My voice dripped venom.
“You need to
listen to me.” His eyes bore into me, and my traitorous heart skipped a beat
again.
“I’ll scream.”
“And I’ll break
something.” I looked behind Jackson and
found Lance standing behind him, his perfect face a blank mask.
Jackson glanced
over his shoulder and then back to me.
“This is a private conversation.”
Lance tsked as
he sauntered nearer. “It stopped being
private the moment you grabbed hold of her.”
I saw Jackson’s
face falter—he was thinking about how it looked, and about how he was holding
onto me.
He let me go and
took a step back.
“I’m sorry for
that, but we need to talk.”
Lance walked up
and stood beside Jackson. “I’m Miss
Hamilton’s assistant.” He handed Jackson a business card. “You can call me tomorrow and we can discuss
your manners and any future contact you may be granted.”
I saw the pissed
off spark in Jackson’s eyes. He turned
on Lance, his nostrils flaring, and reached out to shove him.
Lance caught his
hand and in a heartbeat had Jackson flat on his face on the sidewalk, his
muscular arm wrenched painfully behind his back.
I had always
thought that Lance was bragging on his résumé when he’d put that he’d won a
national championship in Aikido when he was in high school, but seeing him lay
a six foot two ex-football jock out in two seconds flat confirmed his
credentials.
I gulped and
stifled a laugh.
I wasn’t paying
Lance nearly enough.
Jackson groaned
as Lance manipulated his spine with his knee.
I winced just
from how painful it looked.
But… as much as
I wanted Jackson Burk in pain, I said, “Lance, I don’t like seeing him in pain like
that. Would you let him up please?”
Lance looked up
to me, his perfect mouth pursed in question.
“Are you going soft on me?”
Good question.
“No, I’m still
the bitch that hired you, but I don’t want you to end up in jail.”
Lance
scoffed. “There are plenty of
surveillance cameras on this street.
They’ll all show he went to touch me first. I was just defending myself.”
Jackson groaned
again as Lance rocked his weight a little more into the hold. I walked around
the two until I could look into Jackson’s face.
Even in pain, and pushed half into the pavement, the bastard was
gorgeous.
I bent down and
said, “I’m sure Lance here can be persuaded to let you loose if you promise not
to touch me again.”
Jackson shook
his head—quite a feat since his face was smooshed against the pavement.
“I can’t promise
that. I have all kinds of plans for
touching you… later on.”
I stood up and
frowned. Even in pain and pressed
against the sidewalk, he could still flirt.
That’s how he’d
gotten me to go out with him.
Susan had
manipulated me into volunteering on a blood mobile drive, handing out orange
juice and cookies to the student athletes while they gave blood.
The woman taking
Jackson’s blood was missing his vein repeatedly, and though he was a blotchy
red, and sweating, and cursing, he asked me out the instant he saw me.
I crumpled that
memory up in my head like a piece of paper.
“Well then,” I
said, stepping past him. “Lance can just
keep you there until I call him and tell him I’m safely at home.”
I took a few
steps and he called, “Wait! Don’t
leave.”
I didn’t look
back. I wanted him to give up and
leave—and to leave me alone forever.
“Just go to
lunch with me tomorrow. We’ll meet at
Chester’s.”
Chester’s…
I hadn’t thought
of that place in years. The best cheddar
cheese fries in the history of the world, and steak hoagies so mouthwatering
you never left any on your plate, or took it home.
“Is there one in
Chicago?” It had been a small new chain restaurant back when we were in
college. We used to eat there like
ravenous wolves, studying and kissing, and…
I was about to
say no… but then he’d just keep this up until Lance hurt him, and as much as I
wanted him to pay for…
I let my head
fall back and sighed, looking up at the sky, not seeing a single star due to
all the ambient light covering the sky like smog.
“Fine, if you
promise to go away now, I’ll meet you at Chester’s at noon.”
“Okay.” Jackson
looked over his shoulder where Lance knelt on top of him. “Will you get off me
now?”
Lance smiled and
gracefully stood up, letting go of Jackson in one elegant movement.
Jackson groaned
again, this time in relief, and rolled gingerly onto his back.
Lance leaned
down and offered him his hand.
After
scrutinizing the offered help, Jackson grasped hold of Lance’s hand as he was
heaved off the ground.
Lance was far
stronger than I’d imagined.
“Radioactive
spider bite?” I asked as my assistant circled around behind me.
He snorted. “I’m just glad he gave up so quick—would’ve
hated messing up something so pretty.”
The look Jackson
was giving me as he brushed off his suit was like a forest fire burning behind
his eyes.
“You may still have
to,” I said.
Lance blinked
and then rolled his eyes at me.
“Breeders. I just don’t get you
people.”
I turned to walk
away, but Jackson moved to follow me.
Lance cleared
his throat and wagged a finger at him.
Jackson stopped in his tracks.
He leaned into
me and murmured, “Churchill probably has his car ready for us, if you wouldn’t
mind bumming a ride from us.”
I looked behind
him and saw Churchill looking dapper, waving us over to his…
“Is that a
vintage Rolls Royce Phantom?”
I walked as if
in a dream toward the car… no, not a car, an automobile of the highest
order. All those curves and metal, all
covered by a perfect paintjob at least six layers deep.
“No,” Lance said
as we got closer. “That’s a 1955 Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith.”
Jackson
was suddenly standing right beside me, staring at the four wheeled wonder
before us.
“It’s
an Empress Touring Limousine,” he chanted.
“Bruce Wayne’s butler drives him around in one of those.”
I
had to smile. Geek much?
I
looked over to Lance and saw my expression mirrored there.
I
walked over to where Churchill stood and accepted his hand as I slid into the
car. The Italian leather seats were so
soft I wanted to strip out of my dress and roll around on them… but I didn’t,
of course.
That
would have been tacky, though I’m sure Lance would have recorded it on his
iPhone and posted it on half a dozen social media sites before I even got home.
Churchill
followed me into the car, and then came Lance.
I
heard Jackson call out, “Remember, Tigger… Chester’s at noon. Don’t be late!”
Lance
turned and said, “Tigger?”
I
gave him my most deadly of glares.
“Don’t ask. Now shut the door.”
Lance
laughed one perfect Ha, and pulled the door shut. The Roll-Royce sped off into the night,
slipping through traffic like it was made out of smoke and shadows.
As
Chicago slid past in our wake, my assistant placed his hand atop mine and
squeezed.
“You
alright, boss lady?”
No,
I wasn’t alright. I was so confused. I
was numb. My mind was a word jumble from
hell: hurt, hate, loved, abandoned…
I
suppressed the tears vying to course down my face, and wreck my makeup, and
took deep breaths instead.
“Would
you gentlemen mind dropping me off somewhere?”
To read more (Hate Him Books 1 & 2 are free, except on Kindle) click here
for iBooks. Here for Kindle.
Here for Nook.
Here for Kobo. Here for Smashwords.
Meet Liz Hamilton...
Meet Liz
Hamilton
Excerpt…
I settled in
behind the reception desk, sifting through the invitations that had stacked up
over the week. If I actually went to all
the parties to which I was invited I would do nothing else.
I usually picked
one, maybe two parties to mingle at per weekend. If I was lucky, I could fit both parties in
on one night, preferably Friday night.
That way I’d have Saturday and Sunday all to myself to depressurize.
All to myself…
I felt a
shuddering sense of dread—a familiar feeling that had sadly become the norm.
I dreaded
weekends.
No, not the
weekends, what they now meant.
For the last
three months I’d… well, it was embarrassing as hell to say out loud.
I hadn’t had sex
for three months.
Okay, I said it…
Sort of.
Some might think
three months was just a little dry spell, but not for me. It was the equivalent of a hundred and fifty
years in my years, and a decade accrued at the end of every night I spent by
myself in my lonely little California king—
Watching the
Cartoon Network.
I blame my best
friend, Susan Jacobs—formerly Susan Rhodes—sexy, though love-life-deprived,
architect extraordinaire.
She finally
opened her eyes and saw her hot, though ultimately boring, male best friend for
what he really was: husband material.
I don’t
recommend it personally, but wedded bliss totally suited Susan… so much so that
she and the hubby decided to procreate.
So Sara Marie
Jacobs was born.
What does all
that have to do with my sexual drought?
Well, I'm her
best friend in the world—and since baby Sara decided to come into the world a
full two weeks early, when Kevin was out of town on business, I was pulled into
the whole birthing drama. I’m talking
about driving Susan to the hospital, threatening the geeky ER clerk with rather
imaginative bodily harm if he didn’t get her in to see a doctor immediately,
fending off calls from Susan and Kevin’s parents, and then holding Susan’s hand
while she went through the screaming, crying, sweating, nausea, grunting, and
creative cursing.
I didn’t mind
when I lost feeling in the hand she was gripping. What are friends for? I didn’t mind running out of the room and
grabbing her socks for her—she was sweating like a whore in a church, but her
feet were cold!
What I did find
disturbing was when I re-entered Susan’s hospital room.
“She’s coming!”
Susan cried out in the throes of the mother of all contractions, her hand
outstretched for me to take. I started
toward her and slipped on the tiled floor.
It was a quick trip, I landed on my ass, clipping my shoulder on the
floor but thankfully missing my head.
It was the
scramble to my feet that set the sexual purgatory I’m currently in into motion.
The doctor and
nurses were busy, so no one noticed my slip slide to the floor. I grabbed hold of the end of the bed to pull
myself up from the floor, right beside the OBGYN stationed between my friend’s
legs, and I got an eye full of what the good doctor was looking at.
Christ on a
fucking crutch!
These kinds of
sights are best left NEVER seen.
Baby Sara’s head
was just crowning.
It was right out
of that movie Aliens.
Susan screamed
at me again and I tore my gaze from the gynecological front line and staggered
to her side again, welcoming the pain her desperate, bone crushing grip caused
when she took my hand again.
But that image
was burned onto my mind like a cattle brand.
Since that day I
have not felt even the least bit turned on.
No matter how
many precautions I take—condoms, spermicidal lubes, vaginal foam, the pill—I
just can’t stop thinking about the sight of my best friend’s girly parts
bloodied and distended in excruciating pain.
Like the blaze
of a strobe light flashing over and over and over again in my head.
No matter how
hot the guy is, no matter how much I want to—and good god, how I want to—as soon
as the kissing and the groping starts, I just go cold. My body switches off and my mind starts
running a horrifying baby-birthing loop.
I looked up when
the discreet chime of the front door tolled.
I blinked.
This was not
Franco.
No… it was so not
Franco.
This man had the
Roma’s delivery heated bag, and a Roma’s t-shirt stretched across his broad,
well-formed chest.
I smiled to
myself as he came closer. Dark,
penetrating eyes, long, lovely boy lashes, a pouty, kissable mouth, and the
longish, lustrous hair that made a woman want to run her hands through it—
Or have it run
over her breasts and down her body as he kissed his way down to her pussy…
Oh yeah, this
man was just what the doctor ordered.
He strode over
to me and winked. “Hey there… I’m Franco.”
I laughed. “No, you’re not.”
He blinked,
confusion lighting in his eyes. Then he
smiled, a wickedly sexy smile, showing off a killer set of pearly whites and
sexy dimples.
“I’m Franco
junior,” he explained. “I’m filling in
for my dad for the week.”
“Are you?” I was already planning to have Roma’s
delivered for the rest of the week.
“Yeah, he took
my mom on a second honeymoon to Florida.”
He blushed as he talked.
Okay, enough
talk.
“So,
Franco. You look… hot.” I left the word and the innuendo floating in
the air.
He licked his
full lips and leaned against the counter, showing off biceps and forearms that
obviously took hours of pumping iron in a gym somewhere. “It is pretty damn hot out there. They say it’s ninety in the shade.”
I leaned forward,
smooshing my boobs together to show them off to my prospective dry spell ender.
“I have a bucket
of ice in the back.”
His eyes dropped
to take in the sight of my décolletage—he sighed.
I stood and
started walking back to my office.
The gallery was
quiet, the delivery men gone, finished bringing in the horrific poultry
paintings, and the offending artist and his boyfriend off to “see the city.”
I headed into my
office and heard a gasp from behind me.
I turned and
found Franco Jr. staring at the zombie turkeys tearing apart the man with the
cornucopia. The look on his face was
disgust and revulsion.
Not the mood I
was looking for.
I clapped my
hands together.
“Franco?”
Franco blinked
and shook his head, his eyes slowly returning to me.
“Just keep your
pretty eyes right here.” I made a show
of patting my nicely curvaceous ass.
Franco’s eyes
darkened as he honed his gaze in on my perky bottom.
That’s better.
I led my Italian
stallion back into my office, and watched him sagely close and lock the door behind
him. I took off my jacket, leaving on
only my camisole, and then leaned back against my desk and felt my flesh start
to warm as he walked closer to me.
He dumped the
heated bag on a chair and prowled toward me.
With a practiced move, he reached over his head and tugged his red Roma
t-shirt off over his head, exposing one hell of a good body: rippling, bulging
pecs; tight, six-pack abs; and chiseled, rock hard shoulders.
His skin was
naturally tanned and there was a light dusting of black hair between his pecs,
and a happy trail leading down into his tight black jeans.
Yum…
He pushed his
long, black, achingly touchable hair back from his forehead with one hand,
causing all the muscles in his torso to dance.
If I wasn’t
mistaken, I thought my sex drive was making a comeback. My neglected vajayjay pulsed and I could feel
all the heat that was coursing through me start to build down below.
Good… very
good…
I reached out
and touched his chest. His flesh was
warm and soft, and as if by chemical reaction my body flared to life. I wanted him inside me, and now.
I pulled him to
me, our lips crashing into each other, my chest pushed hard against his.
And oh boy… was
Franco hard. I could feel the curve of
his thick erection against my inner thigh.
Something
flickered in the back of my mind, just a twinkle… but it made my fevered skin
cool about ten degrees.
Don’t you dare! I screamed at
the stupid bitch in my head. I NEED
THIS!
I reached down
and grabbed a handful of his young, perfectly hard ass and squeezed. Franco groaned into my mouth as his hips shot
up against my still throbbing oonie.
His hips
undulated as he pulled my hips tight against him.
I ran my free
hand though his hair.
He reached down
between us and started undoing his belt buckle.
Where are my
condoms?
That thought
flashed to all those hours I had spent clicking and googling contraception
methods.
And that made
the image of Susan’s wretched vagina light up like a sign in Times-fucking-Square.
And just like
that, I was cold as an ice cube, all the need and heat and frenzy evaporating
in less than ten seconds.
A tiny, sullen
voice cried, They are in the top desk drawer!
She wept,
sobbing and calling out plaintively.
We were sooooo
close!
I pushed my hand
against Franco’s chest. “This isn’t
going to happen.”
He licked my
collarbone and went head first into my cleavage.
I clamped my
hand across his forehead and pulled his head up out of my boobies until his
eyes defogged and he met my gaze.
“I said,
this isn’t going to happen. I need you
to leave now.”
He groaned. “Are you kidding?”
I wished. “I just remembered I have to be downtown in
twenty minutes.” That was at least a
thirty-five minute cab ride this time of day.
I could see
Franco doing the math in his head. Being
a deliveryman made you an expert on transportation time.
I saw the moment
resignation made his expression drop, so I threw him a bone… so to speak.
I reached over
and pulled my purse to me, deftly finding my emergency stash of cash and
handing him two fifty dollar bills.
“To make up for
your lost time,” I said and tucked the bills into the waistband of his jeans.
Franco
reluctantly pulled himself off me and started putting his t-shirt back on,
shaking his head the whole time.
“Sorry about
this.” I was more than sorry. This hot stud should have blown right through
my little problem.
Hell, he should
have been banging me up against the wall by now!
Franco pulled my
order from the heated bag and gave me another long look. I pretended to brush the nonexistent wrinkles
from my skirt.
“This is the
first time a woman has paid me not to have sex with her.”
Jesus…
I grabbed my
suit jacket and started pulling it on as he unlocked my office door and swung
it open.
To read more (Hate Him Books 1 & 2 are free, except on Kindle) click here
for iBooks. Here for Kindle.
Here for Nook.
Here for Kobo. Here for Smashwords.
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