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Saturday, October 10, 2015

Darker Water (Once and Forever #1) by Lauren Stewart


Laney and Carson’s story begins as a twist on the fairy tale of the Frog Prince and then immediately dives into much darker waters.

After another painful breakup, Laney Temple finally understands that love is a fairytale and sex rarely comes with a happy ending. She's too busy for it right now anyway--she has a business to run, art to create, and candy to crush. Eventually she'll be ready to switch from her plastic-or-silicon lover to a flesh-and-blood one. But before that happens, she needs to be sure she won't feel any of those annoying emotions that make her heart do things it wasn't meant to do...

Like break

Carson Bennett is completely upfront about what he wants, and it has nothing to do with Laney's heart. Her lips? Hell yeah. Other parts of her body? You better f*cking believe it. But her heart? Nope, not even a little. Until it does... a lot. But having feelings for someone isn't allowed. It's the kind of thing you're supposed to push down deep and cover up with one-night stands, sarcasm, and booze...

Like secrets

Two people want the same thing—a commitment to nothing more than great sex in a bunch of different positions. Simple. Enjoyable. A win-win. Problem is, those two people have families and fears and pain that spill into every moment of their lives, control what they do and who they are. And if either Carson or Laney can't free themselves from the past, they'll both be pulled under by it.

Darker Water is a stand-alone contemporary romance that does not end in a cliffhanger.

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Here & Now Book One

Once upon a time there was a woman who lived in a tall glass tower in the middle of a city. She wasn’t stunningly beautiful to anyone other than her parents but she was attractive, probably somewhere around the 89th percentile. She was smart, kind, honest, and good with animals.

But the most beautiful thing about her was her heart, for it was made of the purest of golds. Unfortunately, she wasn’t very good at taking care of it. And over the years it lost its shine. Because every time she met a prince, she believed him to be perfect—strong but gentle, brave and caring. So she would show him her heart and give it to him to hold, thinking he would take care of it.

What she hadn’t yet realized was that there was a curse put on her…at some time…by someone. And the curse was this: The moment the woman gave her heart away and kissed the prince—believing it to be true love—the prince would begin to change. Sometimes slowly, other times quickly. But he always turned into a frog. And although the frog would give her heart back to her, each time it was a little more worn, a little less brilliant.

But the woman didn’t give up trying to find the prince who would remain a prince, knowing that somewhere out there was a man who could heal her heart and break the curse by remaining a prince after she kissed him.

And then one day, she finally understood the curse’s power. No one could heal her, she would never find a prince, and the curse would never be broken. And so, clutching what was left of her heart, she gave up her search.

I am a single mother of two incredible kids who knows the world well enough to put half of my income into therapy accounts for them.

I was a modern dancer, a choreographer, a secretary, a massage therapist, an English teacher, and, for two horrendously guilt-laden days, a carnie. Yeah, that’s right—a carnie. And I let the little kids play until they won a prize, without their parents having to fork-over their entire life savings. Seriously, don’t play those games—you won’t win.

I was a woman who never realized that all of those “to do” lists were attempts at trying something she really wanted “to do”—write. It’s not the form one does it in, just the doing that is important.

And now I am a writer. A tremendously happy, fulfilled writer of urban fantasy, mystery, paranormal romance, and a bunch of other things, all with a comedic element because life is too insane not to poke fun at.
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The Club Series by Lauren Rowe


In The Club Trilogy, when wealthy playboy Jonas Faraday receives an anonymous note from Sarah Cruz, a law student working part-time processing online applications for an exclusive club, and he becomes obsessed with hunting her down and giving her the satisfaction she claims has always eluded her. Thus begins a sweeping tale of obsession, passion, desperation, and ultimately, redemption. Find out why scores of readers call The Club Trilogy “my favorite trilogy ever” and “the greatest love story I’ve ever read”--and why international publishers have clamored to translate and publish upcoming editions in Italian, German, French, Spanish, and more.

“There’s never been a love like ours and there never will be again… Our love is so pure and true, we’re the amazement of the gods.”

*The Club Trilogy tells a complete story without a cliff-hanger. Look for the continuation of Jonas and Sarah’s story in The Culmination (The Club #4)

The Culmination:
They thought they'd reached the highest peak. They were wrong.
Jonas and Sarah's white-hot passion and unwavering love reach brand new heights in this epic continuation of their scorching hot, hilarious, and enduring love story.

***Readers 18+ due to extremely graphic language and adult situations.***

The Club book 1:
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The Reclamation book 2:
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The Redemption book 3:
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The Trilogy Boxset books 1-3:
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The Culmination book 4:
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Lauren Rowe is the pen name of a USA TODAY best-selling author and award-winning singer-songwriter who decided to use an alter ego in writing THE CLUB TRILOGY to ensure she didn't hold back in writing the story. (And she didn't.) Lauren lives in San Diego, California where she performs with her band, writes, and hangs out with her family and friends.
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The Mercy Series: A Dark Erotica by Lucian Bane


It started as a project to continue the charitable works of her deceased father. But when Mercy finds the man she believes her dad intended to help, it turns into a game of pain, lust, and danger. 

The second Sade meets Mercy the do-gooder, his desires get busy plotting to condition her for his sadomasochistic appetites. 

Everything goes according to his plans until he finds himself tied up and at the mercy of this woman who is nothing like the victim he'd mistaken her for. 

**** She danced innocently into my Dark embrace --and blinded me with her relentless Light. ~Sade **** 


There are scenes of abuse via memory and in current story situations. The author took as much care as he could, while maintaining authenticity in these scenes.

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No Mercy:
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Beg For Mercy:

The Mercy Trilogy:

Hello, Lucian here. I'm a husband, author, and Christian who loves writing tales where men and women honor, cherish, and protect those they love.

I hope my works will inspire strengths that exists within each of us. Inspire readers to dance out their fairytale romance in a world that isn't kind to the happily ever after.

Complicated love, difficult love, hard earned love, REAL love. Forever love, I call it. That's what I think the world needs and craves. And that's the kind of stories I write.
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Pushed (Torn Series Book #1) by A.F. Crowell


Trauma nurse Leila Matthews is about to meet the one man who can tear through her emotional defenses, but the billionaire playboy will have a harder time winning her heart than her body. 

Sexy, emotional and intense, Pushed, book one in the Torn series, begins the saga of Brody, Leila, and Jaxon. 



Nurse Leila Matthews has seen it all, or so she thought until this morning. Into the chaos of her trauma ward walked a man more intense than anything she has ever known. His smile tore away all her defenses, and his kiss ignited flames damped for far too long—and a knowledge that such dangerous ripples are only the beginning. 

Brody Davis is anything but safe. Wealthy, handsome, and unrepentantly single, the billionaire’s first priority is himself…and the pleasure of every woman he’s sure to leave. Yet his best friend’s baby sister is temptation itself. If any female could make him stay, it would be Leila, whose sweet lips and sweeter flesh push him to be better than he believes he can. He desires a quick conquest. The battle for Leila’s heart is yet to be fought. And he is not the only combatant. 

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“You know what you’re gonna get?” I asked, placing my menu on the table next to me.

“I think I’m going to get a steak. Probably the rib eye with a baked potato,” he said, making my mouth water.

“Oh, that sounds yummy. I wish I could eat a loaded baked potato, mmmm. Carbs are my favorite enemy.” I giggled at my own comment.

He let his menu fall away from his face. “You do realize you’re thin, right? You can eat whatever you want.”

I burst out laughing. “I’m ‘thin’ because I don’t eat whatever I want. That, and because I run like I’m being chased by a clown with a bloody knife. Thank God I have Ruger, he loves to run.” I smiled at the thought of my slobbery best friend.

The waiter returned and Brody ordered for both of us. Returning to our conversation, Brody asked how I came to own a drug-sniffing retired police dog.

“He couldn’t work anymore. He’s seven years old, which is young for a K-9 to be retired, but his hip dysplasia made it difficult for him to run down a suspect,” I explained. “I have to keep the remote close when I watch TV because if he hears sirens, he runs to the door and freaks out. And God forbid if Drew shows up in uniform or in a marked car. Ruger still has the drive, but his hips are too arthritic.”

“Poor guy, that sucks,” Brody sympathized. “I hope I never have to be put on the sidelines and watch people do my job.” His cell phone started buzzing on the table.

“Damn, sorry I thought I put it on silent, not vibrate,” he apologized, picking up the phone. “Shit, Leila, I’m sorry I have to take this. I’ll be right back.” He answered the phone and walked back toward the front of the restaurant.

As busy as it was, I knew our food wouldn’t be out anytime soon so it wasn’t a big deal. He’d be gone only a minute or two. I turned, looking out the window and watched the boats on the choppy water, when all of the sudden I heard a deep, sultry, yet gravelly voice.

“Excuse me, don’t I know you?” Turning around I was staring at the sexy-as-fuck badass biker from two weeks ago. Damn, is it possible he’s even hotter than before? Shit, what was his name?

“Yeah, you’re that nurse from the ER, aren’t ya? The one who patched me up and then refused to let me buy ya a drink.”

“Uh, yeah.” Shit, shit, shit. Horrible fucking timing, dude. I tried to look around him to see if Brody was on his way back.

“Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?” he offered.

“Actually, I am here with someone. He just stepped out front to take a phone call; he should be back any minute.” Silently I begged for tall, dark and slightly dangerous to leave before Brody got back.

“Leila, right?” he asked.

“Right, but how do you know my name? I certainly don’t remember yours.”

“It’s not every day that a woman turns me down. I tend to remember her name, and since there’s only ever been you, it’s a short list.” He stopped a waiter, took his pen and check pad, scribbled something down and placed a page in my hand.

Geez. Conceited much?

“Call me when you’re ready for that drink. Only live a few miles from here so if your friend doesn’t come back, call me.” He nodded and walked away. I looked down at the crumpled paper. Jaxon. I stared at the name and number and shoved it in my purse.

Thank God, that was close. I didn’t see Brody taking too kindly to Jaxon’s offer to take me out. Speaking of Brody, where the hell was he? Just as I started to look around, our food arrived. Okay, what the fuck? It had been more than five minutes. I looked at my watch. Crap, it was almost 5:30, visiting hours started in thirty minutes.

Do I get up and look for him? I didn’t have his cell phone number to even call him. I’d wait another minute or so and then if he wasn’t back, I’d walk out front and find him.





I took my napkin out of my lap and stood up to walk out when I saw Jaxon standing at the bar. He was wearing jeans and a maroon button down, rolled up to his elbows showing off his tats.

Okay, I had to get past him without him seeing me. I waited until he was talking to the tall, beefy, bald man next to him and made my way to the front door. I could see Brody on the phone outside on the sidewalk. He was pacing and swinging his hands. He looked pissed, almost as much as I was. I walked out the front doors, down the stairs and right up to him and just looked at him.

“Hang on,” he barked into the phone. “I’m sorry Leila, I’ll be inside in a minute.” Then he continued to yell into his phone about having this discussion too many times.

“Just thought I’d let you know your dinner is getting cold. You finish your call. I’ll see you later.” I spun around and walked back inside. I reached the table, grabbed my purse and took out my phone. I decided to call Barb and see if she could come pick me up. I’ll be damned if I was going to miss visiting hours.

I flagged the waiter down, got the check and paid for dinner. Barb answered and said she’d be here in five minutes. Rolling my eyes, I had a feeling she’d be here before Brody came back. I got my salad to go and left Brody’s food on the table. I took out a pen and an old receipt and wrote:

Don’t worry I paid for dinner before I left.

Thanks, Leila

Of course, as my luck was running, I literally walked right into Jaxon coming out of the bar. Shit Lei, you have to stop texting and walking.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” I excused myself.

“No worries, where’s your friend?” Jaxon asked and I was almost too embarrassed to answer.

“He got pulled away on business. I’m actually on my way out. My friend is waiting out front for me. See ya.” I smiled quickly and then rushed out the door. I skipped down the steps, passing Brody, walked over to Barb’s topless black Jeep Wrangler and hopped in. Brody came running down the stairs.

“Leila, I was just coming back in. Where are you going?” He seemed stunned I wasn’t waiting like a good little girl.

“Well, Brody, considering it’s almost six o’clock, I’m going to the hospital to see my brother. Since you were too busy on the phone, I called Barb,” I responded.

“Wait, it’s almost six? Shit! Leila, I am sorry. The call just got away from me. I was trying to…uh.” He stopped, stumbling over his words.

“Look, you obviously have things you need to handle and I need to spend some time with Drew. I’ll talk to you later Brody.”

“Wait, let me take you,” he pleaded.

“No. Why don’t you just call me later?”

“Okay, you’re pissed. I get that, but I told you I suck at this.” He pulled out his business card. “My cell is on there, text me your number, I don’t have it.”

I looked at the card and back into his baby blue eyes, took a deep breath remembering the last forty-eight hours. “Fine, I’ll text you. Bye Brody.”

He leaned in and kissed my cheek and whispered, “I’m really sorry Lei. Please, don’t run far.”

Just as I looked back up at him, I saw Jaxon coming down the stairs. I turned to Barb. “Let’s go, I need to get outta here.”

She put the Jeep in gear and drove away. I couldn’t help but look back at Brody. He was walking to the front door of the restaurant with his head down, but I could see Jaxon walking over toward him. Dear God, please let his car be near Brody’s and that be the reason he was walking in that direction.

A.F. Crowell lives in Charleston, SC with her husband and two sons. They have two dogs, Diesel, a German Shepherd rescue and Dez, a black Labrador Retriever. She shares her love of books with her children, who have a head start on becoming life-long readers.

Romance fiction hit her radar when her husband forced her to watch Twilight one weekend when they were snowed in. That was it! From there her love grew; Contemporary Romance, Paranormal, YA and Dystopian are her preferred reads.
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Its Finally Here!! Madame X: A Madame X Novel by Jasinda Wilder


My name is Madame X.
I’m the best at what I do.
And you’d do well to follow my rules…

Hired to transform the uncultured, inept sons of the wealthy and powerful into decisive, confident men, Madame X is a master of the art of control. With a single glance she can cut you down to nothing, or make you feel like a king.

But there is only one man who can claim her body—and her soul.

Undone time and again by his exquisite dominance, X craves and fears his desire in equal measure. And while she longs for a different path, X has never known anything or anyone else—until now…

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Also Add Exposed (Madame X #2) TBR


You sweep me away, onto the dance floor, where couples waltz and spin and sway. Your hands are politely placed on my waist and your hand is in mine, warm and dry and loose. You lead with practiced ease, guiding me through one dance, and then another. We pause when the band takes a break, and we sip at wine that I find too light, too fruity, too sweet. And then the band strikes up again, and you lead me back out, fit your hand to my waist, where your touch cannot be misconstrued as anything but platonic. You make small talk, but I let it wash over me without responding, and you seem to expect this, to understand it, carrying on a one-way conversation about—I don’t even know what.

I am not thinking of you.

“Can I cut in?” Oh, his voice. Now sharp and expectant, leaving no room for disobedience.

You do not stand a chance, sweet Jonathan.

Big hard warm strong hands take me, spin me away, and his steps are not as practiced, not as smooth, but powerful and implacable and confident. His hand is not on my waist, not polite, not platonic. His hand is on my hip, cupping me intimately. Not quite inappropriate, but very nearly. Fingers are tangled in mine, rather than clasping like friends.

“Hi,” he says, and indigo eyes find mine.

“Hi,” I breathe back.

And we dance. We sway and sweep in graceful circles, and time is like water, one song passing, and then two, and I cannot look away. Don’t wish to. His eyes search me, and seem to see me. Read me, as if I am a familiar and beloved book, long lost and just now found once again.

“What’s your name, Cinderella?” His forehead touches mine, and I fear the intimacy of the scene, his hand on my hip, his fingers twined with mine, our bodies too close.

I must end this dance.

I pull away.

“Wait!” He catches my hand and pulls me back against him.

We are lost in the crowd of dancers, but I know Len is watching and so is Thomas, and so is Jonathan, and this cannot happen, should not be happening. He is too close. He touches me as if we are framed and fitted and formed to belong one to the other, as if he knows me, as if my body is his for the touching.

“Why won’t you just tell me your fucking name?” He sounds very nearly desperate.

“I can’t.” I know not how else to explain it.

“It’s just a name, sweetheart.”

“It’s not. It’s more than that. It’s who I am.” I want to smile, want to throw myself at him, to taste his lips, to feel the hard heat of his chest and the warmth of his arms. I want to say a million traitorous things.

“Exactly.” His fingers leave my hand and slip and slide up my forearm, and God, his fingertips on the tender underside of my forearm is so intimate and so soft that I can’t breathe and I am aroused by that innocent intimacy, my thighs clenching together as I stare up at him, just his fingertips on my forearm, dragging from wrist up and up to elbow, back down, tracing and tickling. “I want to know who you are.”

My fingers go to my lips, touch them where his lips nearly touched mine. I shake my head. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible.”

I have no response for that. I can only tug my arm free, and he cannot do anything but allow it. I walk away, and it hurts, it aches, the pull to look back. The pull to return to him and finish the almost-kiss is like a taut wire speared through my heart, plucked to hum like a harp string. Each step away from Logan makes my whole being sing the song of that plucked string.

I find you on the far side of the ballroom, leaning against the wall with a glass of wine in one hand, engaging Len in conversation. I hear words bandied back and forth that I believe are car terms, the kind of thing I imagine men discuss between themselves in a strange language all their own: horsepower and torque and cylinders.

Thomas, however, is on the edge of the dancing crowd, and those wide black eyes see me, and I wonder how much else they saw.

all material copyright 2015 Berkley Books and Jasinda Wilder

NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY, WALL STREET JOURNAL and international bestselling author Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. Her bestselling titles include ALPHA, STRIPPED, WOUNDED, and the #1 Amazon and international bestseller FALLING INTO YOU. You can find her on her farm in Northern Michigan with her husband, author Jack Wilder, her five children and menagerie of animals.

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