Thursday, June 30, 2016

***RELEASE BOOST, EXCERPT & GIVEAWAY*** Shopping for a CEO's Fiancée by Julia Kent




Title: Shopping for a CEO's Fiancée
Series: Shopping for a Billionaire #9
Author: Julia Kent
Genre: Romantic Comedy
 Release Date: June 22, 2016



Blurb

We skipped right over the whole fiancée thing and went straight from girlfriend to wife.

At least, I think that's what happened. I woke up after my brother's Vegas wedding reception with my luscious girlfriend in bed with me. We're both wearing wedding rings.

So is her coworker, Josh.

And our Vegas chauffeur, Geordi.

Who the hell am I married to?

Unraveling this mystery will be as difficult as figuring out why Amanda and I are having panic attacks over the thought of being husband and wife.

Or, whoever we're actually married to.

Oh, ^%$#.

It's true that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, with one exception:

If she's my wife, we'll make it work.

If she's not?

I'll make it happen.

Get the 9th book in Julia Kent's New York Times bestselling romantic comedy series as Andrew and Amanda sort out their wild Vegas night...and the rest of their lives.








Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
B&N / KOBO / iBOOKS
GOOGLE PLAY



Excerpt

“We’re not—you don’t really—we can’t be—”

“Married?”

She laughs, but it’s a brittle sound. “Come on. We didn’t actually have a wedding last night.”

“We didn’t? You’re sure?” I perk up. Great. She remembers last night. I squeeze my eyes and try to recall something—anything—that happened after Declan and Shannon said their goodbyes at the reception last night.

“I’m, well, I mean...” Twisting in my arms, she looks at me with those big, wide, trusting eyes, her left hand splayed against my bare chest, digging in where the robe has separated. “You don’t remember what happened?”

My voice drops with uncertainty.

Hers goes up.

“No.”

“Quit joking.”

“Not joking.”

“We both can’t remember any part of last night?”

“When does your memory end?” I ask.

Mascara is streaked along the corner of her eye, and any makeup she wore last night currently resides somewhere on my skin or on the bedsheets. I can only imagine what I look like.

Amanda, though, is gorgeous. In my arms and looking at me with a perplexed expression, biting her lower lip while she flips through the filing cabinets of memory in her mind, and—

“I don’t know.”

I sit up. “You’re the fixer.”

“I know! But I remember saying goodnight to Shannon, hugging Declan, and then—poof! Nothing.”

Poof.

“That’s when my memory ends, too,” I say, my skin beginning to crawl. “I know one thing: we did not have a foursome.”

“And I soooooo did not sleep with Josh. He’s gay. The man can’t handle watching a birth video. A real-life vagina would send him into cardiac arrest.”

“I know my heart pounds whenever I see yours,” I whisper. She gives me a reluctant smile, in spite of her hangover.

“That was baaaaaad,” she groans.

“All signs point to the sex question being put to rest. Worst case, all we did was sleep with each other,” I note.

“Worst case? Buddy, sleeping with me is best case. Best case. Always best.”

That was an unfortunate choice of words on my part. Before I can do damage control, she speaks.

“What if we are?” she hisses.

“Are what?”

Her eyes dart to mine.

“Married.”



Also Available


AMAZON US / UK



Author Bio


New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken. She loves to hear from her readers by email at julia@jkentauthor.com



Author Links

***BLOG TOUR & EXCERPT*** To Catch A Fallen Spy by Barbara Devlin

To Catch A Fallen Spy
By
Barbara Devlin
Blog Tour – June 27 to July 2
Lady Elaine Prescott, the most timid member of the Brethren, has spent much of her time in the shadows, forever blending into the background.  From her unconventional perspective, she studies people and their behavior, gleaning information most overlook, and she is content in her quiet little world.  When her unusual habit puts her in the right place at the wrong moment, she witnesses a violent crime, and her life is threatened.  To her dismay, Elaine finds herself in an unwelcomed spotlight and in need of a knight.
Sir Ross Logan is a master spy and the mysterious head of the covert Counterintelligence Corps.  In dark spaces he lurks, scrutinizing those he is charged to defend, and it is an easy and uncomplicated existence for a man of many secrets.  In the midst of a murder investigation, he is tasked with guarding a noblewoman, the gentle lady he has furtively admired for years.  Young and unspoiled, she is everything he is not, and he vows to protect her.  While he doubts not his ability to save her from a lethal villain, can Ross defend Elaine against himself?
Lady Elaine Prescott steps from beyond the shadows to claim her gallant knight, Sir Ross Logan, the mysterious head of the Counterintelligence Corps.
The Descendants
London
September, 1815
Secrets lurked in the shadows, beckoning as a welcomed friend for the undaunted.  Unfettered by social conventions, the spotlight of which forced many a lord or a lady to conform to the expectations of others, the blackness functioned as a form of liberty, wherein revelers conducted their covert games without threat of discovery or retribution.  It was in those dark spaces Lady Elaine Horatia Prescott found comfort and strength.
As the youngest member of a large, extended family comprised of spirited ladies with bold personalities and equally intrepid men, the famed Nautionnier Knights of the Brethren of the Coast, daring sea captains descended of the Templars, the warriors of the Crusades, she often hugged the background, taking pride in her ability to hide in plain sight.  Searching for some sense of herself, something not influenced by the rich history of her ancestors or her colorful relations, she fought to construct her own identity on her terms.
What she had not expected was to find love.
With great care, she moved swift and sure as she approached her target, skulking amid the outskirts of the crowd that filled the Hawthorne’s ballroom, during the height of the Little Season.  As she neared, he shifted, and she paused just shy of touching him and held her breath.
In one fail swoop, he pivoted, slipped an arm about her waist, pulled her into a corner, and bent to whisper in her ear.  “Lady Elaine, you are the only person capable of sneaking up on me, and I am not sure I appreciate your skill.”  Sir Ross Logan, the enigmatic head of the Counterintelligence Corps, brushed the crest of her flesh with his lips, she suspected not by accident, and her knees buckled.  “Why do you not dance?  Why do you not take your place among the ton, with the other debutantes?  Do you not wish to snare a husband, marry, and have children?”
“On the contrary, I want all those things with someone of my choosing.”  She cupped his cheek, and he retreated, much to her chagrin.  “But I am here because you are here.”
“Elaine, you must stop this nonsense.”  Now he withdrew and attempted to push her aside, but she resisted, even as her heart plummeted.  And despite his complaints, he would not hazard courting attention, so she held her ground.  “I am not the man for you.”
“How do you know that?”  It was not the first time he rejected her, and she surmised it would not be the last.  “Why will you not give us a chance at happiness?”
“Because I have nothing to give you but misery and regret.”  As usual, Ross offered the same excuse.
“I disagree.”  As usual, she would not be deterred.  “And I will not yield my cause, no matter your protestations.”
“Neither will I.”  To convey his position, he folded his arms, but he could never fool her.  “Go back to your world of perfume and petticoats, as I have work to do, and I require no partner.”
“As you wish.”  Of course, she knew well the routine and her part to play in their typical drama.  So she marched into the fray, unabashed and poised in her determination.  A potential solution tripped before her, and she extended assistance, as would any woman of character.  “Sir Kleinfeld, are you all right?”
“Oh, my lady.”  With a toothy grin, he brushed off his lapels and bowed.  “Did I step on you?”
“No.”  Elaine giggled, because he was well known for such behavior.  “How are you enjoying the party?”
“Not very much, I am sorry to admit.”  Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder.  “The elder Miss Hogart refuses to grant me the honor of the Allemande.”
“Perhaps she will change her mind, when she spies you in a graceful performance of the waltz, with me.”  In a valiant appeal to his pride, she curtseyed.  “What say you, Sir Kleinfeld?”
“Lady Elaine, you are the soul of charity.”  When she rested her palm in the crook of his elbow, he covered her hand with his.  “You know, if my affections were not firmly planted in Miss Hogart’s garden, I should court you.”
“You flatter me, sir.”  To her credit, she mustered the courage to brave the rotation with one of the clumsiest, but good-natured, members of her set.
And so she ventured into the breach, imperiling her feet in her quest to win Sir Ross.  After the third trouncing of her toes, she swallowed a grunt of pain and prayed her savior would not linger, else she might suffer broken bones.  Just how long would her beau wait?  As if on cue, her rescuer presented himself as she predicted.
“May I intrude?”  Ross tapped Archibald on the shoulder.  “As I believe Miss Hogart seeks an audience.”
“Capital.”  Without so much as a backward glance, Sir Kleinfeld gave her into Ross’s care, and that suited Elaine just fine.
“I know what you are doing.”  Ross took her in his arms, twined her fingers with his, and they whirled in the soft light of the cut-glass chandeliers.
“I beg your pardon?”  She lifted her chin and avoided his stare.
“Do not dissemble with me, Lady Elaine.”  The tone of his voice declared she had scored a direct hit, and she reveled in her small victory.  Near the side wall, he pulled her closer.  “How dare you deliberately put yourself in jeopardy to bait me, as that buffoon could have seriously injured you.”
“But you are not the man for me, so you would never answer a supposed summons.”  Let him counter that.  “Or did you lie?”
“You lured me into the open, without thought of my mission or the risk to my safety, just to meet your selfish aims.”  Now that hurt.  “I ought to spank you.”
“Name the date and time, and I shall accommodate you.”  Swallowing her trepidation, she looked him in the eye, and he cast the hint of a grin.  “I challenge you, sir.”  She licked her lips.  “Resist me.”
Bestselling, Amazon All-Star author Barbara Devlin was born a storyteller, but it was a weeklong vacation to Bethany Beach, DE that forever changed her life. The little house her parents rented had a collection of books by Kathleen Woodiwiss, which exposed Barbara to the world of romance, and Shanna remains a personal favorite.
Barbara writes heartfelt historical romances that feature flawed heroes who may know how to seduce a woman but know nothing of marriage. And she prefers feisty but smart heroines who sometimes save the hero, before they find their happily ever after.
Barbara earned an MA in English and continued a course of study for a Doctorate in Literature and Rhetoric. She happily considered herself an exceedingly eccentric English professor, until success in Indie publishing lured her into writing, full-time, featuring her fictional knighthood, the Brethren of the Coast.
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***EXCERPT REVEAL*** The Drifter by Kathy Coopmans



Excerpt

I’m a lonely man. I choose to be this way. I had true love with her. It didn’t matter how old we were, or how young; once you have it, you never let it go. You spend a lifetime together. And I pissed it away. Underlining painful memories have inflicted punishment on my tattered soul for years. Besides Rori and Muriel, those two things are the only constant impressions that have kept me going. If I didn’t feel the need to live with a constant dagger shoved through my heart, I would have let myself whittle away years ago. It’s distressing, to say the least, that the pain I’ve caused is the only thing I’ve let rule my life. I’m living in hell every day, repeatedly burning from the inside out since day one. I will never forget the first time I was rejected in New York, how badly I wanted to call her and beg her to forgive me. I couldn’t do it, and I knew it. I jumped in the shower instead, rinsed off the dirt and grime, then pressed my forehead to the yellow tiles. Hot water beat down my back. I vowed not to cry, even though my heart ached and my lungs felt like they were working overtime to help me breathe. I caved and fell to the shower floor, my fist pounding and beating the wall in front of me until I became numb to the shooting pain filtering from my hands all the way to my shoulders, twining up around my neck until I choked from the lump lodged in my throat. Nausea bubbled up, and I vomited the contents from earlier in the day. The rancid smell left me dry heaving and an oversized human slumped over in the small confinement that the pain from missing her had left me in. When the water ran cold, I lay there shivering, wishing for nothing but her. Once I composed myself, I crawled back up and cleaned and towel-dried off, only to climb into an empty, cold bed, tired and defeated, scared to close my eyes, because when I did, all I saw was her. Several nights I repeated the same thing until the real life nightmares struck me hard, leaving me in this worst shape of my life. For years, I’ve been honest with myself over and over again, saying I deserve every chip and break my heart feels when her birthday or Christmas come around. It’s like this infinite cloud that hangs dormant over my head: dark and gloomy, cold and wet. It will never go away. Now that I’ve seen her, and even though I’m walking back down The Strip with no idea where I’m going, the memories that were once happy become so unpleasant I could easily bleed my life dry. Desperation pools around me. Panic sets in. What if she’s gone and I never see her again? 
 The Drifter by Kathy Coopmans is a heartfelt romance you are going to want to one-click! 


Releasing July 11th.
Add to your TBR at: http://bit.ly/1RWK7BH
 Blurb


To the outside world, Kray Brooks had it all growing up.
Wealth. The devoting parents.
The beautiful girlfriend.
Good grades.

All of it a lie, except her. The woman he left behind thirteen years ago to try and achieve his real dream... to become a musician.

Life doesn't always go according to the plan you set out for yourself.
Sometimes, you drift. Become lost, lose hope and crash.

For thirteen years he's been drifting wherever his guitar takes him, avoiding his past. Never thinking of his future.
Not once did he think it would all catch up to him. Until it did.
 About the Author:

Kathy Coopmans

USA Today Best-Selling Author Kathy Coopmans, lives in Michigan with her husband Tony where they have two grown sons.
After raising her children she decided to publish her first book and retiring from being a hairstylist.
She now writes full time.
She's a huge sports fan with her favorite being Football and Tennis.
She's a giver and will do anything she can to help another person succeed!

Use whichever one of these you would like babe.

 

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