segunda-feira, 29 de fevereiro de 2016

Cover Reveal: BEAST by Alana Albertson

BEAST
by Alana Albertson
Heroes Ever After, #1
Publication Date: March 22, 2016
Genre: Contemporary Romance, New Adult

SYNOPSIS: Wanted: Beautiful woman to be the mistress of my manor. Must be single. No sex required, dynamic conversation imperative. Salary $100,000 for a one-month contract.

A viral post. Thousands of women applied—including me. I told myself I was crazy, but the money could pay for my father’s medical treatments and save his life.

A month later, I received the call.

I’d been chosen.

A man with a mask greeted me, and though he filled my days with a library full of books, and dressed me in the finest clothes, he never shed his cover nor touched me intimately, despite my growing hunger for him.

He was equal parts Iron Man, Phantom of the Opera, and Beauty’s Beast. But he wasn’t a superhero, the tragic villain of a novel turned musical, or the cursed creature of a fairy tale.

This former Marine was trapped in his own nightmare—demons from the war he had fought in haunted his thoughts, scars from the bomb he jumped on marked his skin.

True love could free him from his self-imposed prison, but he’d have to let me in. Opening the door to his cabin was the easy part, but the real test would be allowing me into his heart.

Otherwise, he would always remain a beast.

EXCERPT

Chapter One—Isa

I stared at my phone, rereading a post from Reddit that had gone viral.

Wanted: Beautiful woman to be the mistress of my manor. Must be single. No sex required, dynamic conversation imperative. Salary $100,000 for a one-month contract.

The opportunity of a lifetime. Thousands of women had applied, the world was anxious to learn the identity of the man the press had hailed as “the dark bachelor.”

Though I’d never purchased a lottery ticket, nor did I believe in get-rich-quick schemes, I hastily filled out the application, never thinking for a second that I had a chance. The process had been easy enough—agree to submit to a background check if chosen, send a picture, and write an essay (100 words or less) answering the question, “What I’d do with the $100,000.”

Well, that was easy. My words poured onto the page.

I would pay off my father’s medical bills, and provide him with the best care. He has brain cancer, and insurance hasn’t covered all of his treatments. I dropped out of college and work three jobs to support him. I would like to spend more quality time with him before he passes. My father is proud, independent man, a Marine who served Vietnam, and he hates to be a burden. He has dedicated his life to me, and I’m happy to take care of him during his final years. I would be forever grateful to you for this opportunity.

I attached a picture of me wearing a loose-fitting grey T-shirt, jean shorts, and flip-flops. For makeup, I had only used a tinted moisturizer, purple eyeliner to accentuate my green eyes, mascara, and nude lipstick. My black hair hung like a shower curtain around my face. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t sending a provocative image to this man. Though I strongly doubted whoever he was only wanted a platonic companion, I was positive hundreds of girls would send in bikini shots, or nude selfies, so if that was what that guy was looking for, then he’d have plenty of options. I figured the chances of me being chosen were so slim, it was worth the risk to apply.

What kind of man posted an ad like this? He could’ve been a serial killer, or some psycho. One newspaper swore he was a famous tech billionaire, another speculated that he was a deformed recluse.

I didn’t put much thought into it—until I received the call from a blocked number.

“Hello?” I answered my cell late one night.

“May I speak to Isa?” A man with a deep, sexy voice asked.

I had a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “This is Isa.”

“This is the man who posted the ad.”

Dios mío! Was this a joke? “Uhm hi. What’s your name?”

He laughed, a gruff, sexy laugh. He sounded younger than I’d thought he’d be. I had assumed he was an older gentleman when I read the ad. “You can call me Bruce.”

The way he said Bruce made me certain it wasn’t his name. “Okay, Bruce. Am I a finalist or something? Why are you calling me?”

“I wanted to hear your voice.” He paused, and exhaled. “Is your dad going to be okay if I pick you? Does he have someone else to step in to take care of him?”

I didn’t even know this guy and he seemed to care more about what happened to my father than my own friends did. “Honestly, no. I didn’t think I’d be chosen so I never really considered what I’d do.” I felt so stupid. I should’ve never applied. I would have to quit my jobs, find somewhere for my father to go, and someone to attend to him. “I’m sorry to waste your time. I applied on a whim. I heard that thousands of girls applied. Why me? I mean, I could really use the money, but—” I swallowed a sob. Was he really about to pick me, was I about to throw away this amazing opportunity so that once in my life I wouldn’t have to struggle?

“Hey, look. I liked your essay—and your picture. As for why I chose you, let’s just say you stood out to me. If you really want to do this, I can arrange to have someone take care of your father.”

Was he for real? “Are you serious? Who are you? Why are you doing this? You sound really nice, I’m sure you can find someone to hang out with you for free.”

“I have my reasons. So is that a yes?”

My hands shook. Was this really happening to me? “I don’t know. I mean, I’m not going to sleep with you, if that’s what you’re after. I don’t know anything about you; you could be an axe murder. I feel naïve even talking about this.”

“I’m not expecting sex in return. And though I’m not going to tell you my real name, the Washoe County Sheriff knows who I am and you are welcome to verify with them that I have no criminal record. If you agree to meet me, I promise to show you a good time and keep you safe. I’d like to get to know you. So what do you say?”

I couldn’t believe he was serious. And why wouldn’t he tell me his real name? Was he famous? Notorious? “Can I think about it?”

“No. I need a decision. What’s it going be?”

My heart raced. I was now completely intrigued; yet simultaneously scared to death. He promised to take care of my father, and I desperately needed this money. My breath hitched. “I’m in.”

#TAKEOFFYOURMASK

#AMERICASBRAVESTBEAST

#BEAUTYSBEAST

ABOUT ALANA ALBERTSON

Alana Albertson is a multi-award winning author, current President of Romance Writers of America’s Contemporary Romance Chapter and the former President of both Romance Writers of America’s Young Adult and Chick Lit chapters. Alana Albertson holds a Masters of Education from Harvard University and a Bachelor of Arts in English from Stanford University. A recovering professional ballroom dancer, Alana currently writes contemporary romance, new adult and young adult fiction. She lives in San Diego, California, with her husband, two young sons, and four dogs. When she’s not spending her time playing with her sons, dancing, or saving dogs from high kill shelters through Pugs N Roses, the rescue she founded, she can be found watching episodes Homeland, Devious Maids, or Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team.

GIVEAWAY

a Rafflecopter giveaway

It’s Monday! What Are You Reading? (107)

Podemos encontrar esta rubrica no blogue Book Date e, no fundo, consiste num apanhado semanal, não só do que estou a ler e do que li na semana que passou, mas também do que publiquei no blogue nessa semana. É possível também que destaque artigos, sempre que algum me chame a atenção.

Esta semana terminei Before We Kiss de Susan Mallery e agora estou a ler Deadly Betrayal de Lee Anne Jones.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

E estes foram os posts da semana:

sexta-feira, 26 de fevereiro de 2016

Release Blitz: Deadly Betrayal by Lee Anne Jones

Country music star January Winters knew the rise to fame would be hard. She never expected her arrival to be met with danger. But when a stalker’s attempts go from creepy to deadly, even the fearlessly independent Jan gives into her producer’s demands that they hire a bodyguard. But that was before she realized who would be guarding her body…

A knee injury might have ruined his football career, but it didn’t stop Dino Machiavelli from becoming the best bodyguard in Vegas. He can literally pick and choose his assignments—and he never picks guarding diva celebrities. At least not until his boss makes one assignment impossible for him to refuse and he finds himself too close for comfort with the one girl that ripped out his heart fifteen years ago.

When the stalker’s actions escalate, Dino and Jan fight their sizzling attraction as they come to the shocking realization that the stalker may be closer to Jan the either of them ever imagined. And it might be too late to show each other their love again with a maniac intent on murder.

Amazon US I Amazon UK I B&N I iBooks I Kobo

Amazon US I Amazon UK I B&N I iBooks I Kobo

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Lee Anne Jones is the more romantic alter-ego of USA Today Bestselling Author Leighann Dobbs. As Jones, she writes heart thudding romantic suspense guaranteed to keep you up all night.

She lives in the lakes region of New Hampshire with her fishing obsessed husband, her feisty and loyal chihuahua and a cat that thinks she's the boss.

Prologue Reveal: Slave to the Rhythm by Jane Harvey-Berrick

Buy the book

Amazon US Amazon UK Amazon CA

DANCE. Guns.

MUSIC. Bullets.

RHYTHM. Pain.

Music in my head, dance in my body, the rhythm of my heart.

How far can you fall in just one month? How quickly can the human spirit be broken? Where does evil hide in plain sight?

Ash wants to dance. Needs it. To leave behind a life of expectation and duty, to set his soul free.

But life is never that simple. Every step is a journey on a new road.

For every action, there is a reaction.

Every choice has a consequence.

And when you meet the wrong person, all bets are off.

Laney tolerates her limitations, pushing quietly at boundaries. But when Ash crashes into her world through rage and violence, it sets off a chain reaction that neither of them expected.

♫♪ ♫♪ ♫♪ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♪♫♪

Prologue

Heat and noise.

The deep bass reverberated through the floor, through the table and chairs, the empty bottles on the table trembling as the music pulsed.

The dry, desert air was humid inside the sealed room, a room that never saw daylight.

The casino was alive 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Men and women with the bloodshot eyes of those who had been at the slot machines for too many hours were replaced with the young and young at heart who wanted to dance the night away, the sweat stains and smudged makeup hidden in the pockets of darkness among the strobing lights.

My friends were on the dance floor, lost in the music, rolling their hips, stroking the air above their heads with languid arms, grinding against each other to the determined, demanding music. I could see the eyes following their movements, the loose jaws, the wet lips.

A part of me envied them—the part that always envied people who could be so free, and if I’d loved them less, envy might have turned to resentment.

The reunion had been planned for eight months, and even though the timing had turned out to be a cosmic joke, I refused to miss out. Despite everything, it was good to see them. Old friends who had seen me at my best and worst.

I stared longingly at the bar, wishing that a Mimosa would materialize in front of me. But none of the scantily dressed waitresses even noticed me sitting by myself.

I was used to being alone. I worked from home and rarely saw the people I called colleagues, and that suited me just fine. But it’s one thing to choose to be by yourself; it’s completely different to be alone in a crowd.

I glanced back to the heaving dance floor, smiling as a cowboy with a large Stetson and no rhythm limbered up behind Vanessa, trying to attract her attention with his awkward but well-meaning gyrations.

My eyes skated away with embarrassment at his lumbering gait, and that’s when my gaze was drawn to another man. And this one caught and held my attention as surely as I caught and held my breath.

He was dressed in black, a snug shirt tucked into dress pants, an easy elegance that made him seem like a thoroughbred among carthorses.

His movements were sinuous with suggestive grace, one fluid action flowing into the next. His hips thrust and rolled, his long legs flexed and straightened, his arms moving rhythmically, fingers extended. He held himself erect, his chin dipping only slightly so his eyes could fix on his much shorter dance partner. Even from this distance I could see that he was focused, like a wild animal stalking his prey. His eyes were feline, too, slanting up slightly at the corners, emphasizing his sharp cheekbones.

His spiky dark hair was gelled at the front, but almost military at the back, showing off his long elegant neck and the broad muscles that writhed beneath his short-sleeved shirt, the shadow of a tattoo peeping out.

He was tall, and the black clothes he wore emphasized his slim silhouette. It was hard to tell his age, his unsmiling face clean shaven and intense, he could have been anything from twenty to thirty.

For a moment, he disappeared into the swirling mass, and I leaned forward to catch another glimpse.

The crowd parted and the illusive dancer reappeared. I saw his partner for the first time: a short, doughy woman with perspiration dripping down her face and too-tight dress.

They didn’t fit, the man and the woman. I sat back in my chair, watching, intrigued.

I suppose I’d spent a lot of time, on the sidelines. Life had made me an observer. So I’d made a study of male beauty in all its forms: the jock, the joker, the emo, the player, the hot and dangerous. I was a connoisseur, you might say, but only from a distance. Perhaps that made me a voyeur.

But this man—he was in a class of his own. I was mesmerized watching the strong, graceful lines he created, the perfect symmetry of his perfect body, his subtle strength and obvious talents. He was beautiful. And that made me sad.

His intense, serious gaze was utterly focused on his partner, and envy bubbled up inside me. I tried to push it away, but I couldn’t drag my eyes from the dancer. He rotated his hips, his body fluent and effortless, always in motion. The thought crossed my mind that if he fucked the way he danced, his partner was in for a night she’d never forget.

But then the woman’s steps faltered, and she edged her way from the dance floor, sucking in lungfuls of air, her fingers sinking into broad hips as she rested her hands.

The man followed, asking a question, and the woman shook her head, half laughing as she nervously backed away from him. When she retreated, he pressed closer, wrapping his long fingers around her wrist, his eyes narrowed.

I leaned forward again, then glanced around, wondering if anyone else had noticed the drama unfolding in front of me.

They seemed to be arguing, and the woman’s sweaty face was red and worried. But then the man held up his hands in surrender, releasing his prey.

I relaxed back into my chair, feeling almost as much relief as the short woman who was retreating in the direction of the bathroom.

The man stood, watching the woman leave, and I was surprised to see frustration on his face. Not disappointment, not annoyance. He wasn’t offended, his ego wasn’t dented. If anything, he seemed angry with himself.

It was odd. Nothing in their behavior hinted that they were close. It looked like a hookup, but why had he chosen someone who was so far below his own league?

It occurred to me that perhaps he was one of those men you read about in Vegas, a gigolo in all but name. It hurt my heart a little to think that such a beautiful man might use his perfect body in such a way. I didn’t want to be disappointed when everything else about him was just so … perfect.

The man ran his hands over his hair as he searched around the room, his eyes ticking off the women he saw, some internal checklist that remained hidden to all but him.

But then his eyes flickered to me, probably because I was still watching him, and a wide smile stretched his full lips. The smile, so totally unblemished from a distance, didn’t reach his eyes, and when he approached me, I was immediately on guard.

“Hi, I’m Ash. Are you by yourself?”

It was hard to be sure over the pounding music, but it sounded as if he had an accent. Something Eastern European, perhaps Russian? Polish?

I gave him a polite but closed smile, a cool smile that hid all warmth, a smile for slow servers and rude cab drivers. A smile for men I didn’t trust.

“No. I’m here with my friends.”

The man looked around him, then shrugged theatrically. “I don’t see them. Would you like to dance?”

And he held out his hand, obviously assuming that I would say yes.

I laughed.

“No, I’m not dancing.”

He frowned, his hand still suspended between us. “But you like to dance?”

I stopped laughing and stared, my gaze sinking into his, puzzled, annoyed.

“What makes you think I like to dance?”

He shrugged again and his hand fell to his side.

“You’re in a nightclub, and you’re not drinking. So you must be here to dance. Please, dance with me.”

He held out his hand again, but I shook my head impatiently. “Then go find someone who will dance with you.”

His eyes widened with surprise, and then he grinned as he leaned on the table, his perfect face inches from mine. “Maybe I want to dance with you.”

“Then you’ll be waiting a long time.”

He cocked his head to one side and I noticed a small beauty spot, shaped like a teardrop beneath his left eye—a perfect imperfection. Up close I could see that he was younger than I’d thought, younger than me perhaps, maybe early twenties. My eyes dropped to his lips and then to his throat. I could see a thin silver chain around his neck.

“I’m a good dancer,” he said, looking almost wounded at my continued refusal.

He wasn’t lying, but my anger, smoldering beneath the surface, ignited.

“I’m not dancing!”

“But everyone comes here to dance,” he insisted, his intense dark eyes so focused, it was unnerving.

“Not me,” I insisted.

He was making me anxious now and I glanced around for my friends.

“You’ll have a good time.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I snapped, losing patience. “Your last friend seemed to enjoy herself immensely.”

A dull red flooded his cheeks and he looked away.

His reaction surprised me. I’d hurt his feelings, but I wasn’t sure why.

“Maybe I’d like to dance with a pretty girl for a change,” he said softly, glancing up at me from beneath long dark lashes.

His intense stare and pleading eyes were hard to resist. Oh, he was good. Calling me ‘pretty’, pretending to be upset that I wouldn’t dance with him. But then I felt a little guilty, too. You can’t fake flushed cheeks. I would have guessed that it was simply the exertion from dancing, but when I met his gaze, his expression was almost desperate.

“You are missing out.”

My mouth tightened and the gates to my sympathy slammed shut.

“Laney, is this guy bothering you?”

I breathed a sigh of relief as Vanessa and Jo strode toward me, their lips pursed, eyes flashing dangerously.

Ash looked nervous, his glance flicking between my friends and the bouncers by the exit. He started backing away, his hands held out from his sides.

“I just asked her to dance, that’s all. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Jo threw him a disbelieving look and stood with her hands on her hips.

“Do you want to go back to your room now?” Vanessa asked.

Suddenly feeling emotional and overwhelmed, I nodded silently as Jo continued to glare.

Vanessa walked behind my chair and handed me the pashmina that had been hanging on the back. Then she unlocked the brakes on my wheelchair and pushed me away from the table.

Ash’s mouth dropped open.

“Still think I’m pretty?” I asked, as my eyes filled with tears.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to write. Perhaps it was growing up in a village well known for its mystery and folklore, which sparked my imagination as a child.

I enjoy writing in several different genres, and I've just published my first romcom, 'Dazzled'.

All my books have a little me in them, and I'm inspired by the personal stories of those around me. It's often from a simple discussion overheard in the train ('Exposure'), in a café, or in the street, where ideas for characters or scenes come to me.

I fell in love with both Sam ('The New Samurai') and the eponymous Sebastian in 'The Education of Sebastian' and the sequel 'The Education of Caroline', and missed them desperately once I'd finished their stories. I love writing dialogue and always try to include touches of humour in the most poignant stories.

Whether you like adult romance novels, new or young adult writing, thrillers, or fantasy, I hope you'll enjoy the journey through my stories.

Author Links

Web Facebook Twitter Amazon Page Goodreads Instagram

Cover Reveal: Collared by Nicole Williams

When a seventeen-year-old girl vanishes,

A community is shaken.

Parents turn desperate.

Friends hold vigils.

And the boy who loves her searches.

When a year goes by,

The community is recovering.

Parents feel hopeless.

Friends feel helpless.

And the boy who loves her continues his search.

When ten years go by,

The community has forgotten.

Parents cling to the past.

Friends move toward the future.

And the boy who loves her . . .

Brings her home.

Jade Childs spent ten years in captivity, but now that she’s back, the real battle for survival begins. The media shadows her. Flashbacks haunt her. Her old life evades her. Her so-called new life rejects her. She spent too many years in the dark to recognize the light. She spent too long repressing her feelings to remember how to express them. She spent a decade abandoning hope and cannot dare letting it back into her life. Jade’s not just defined by what happened to her—she’s collared to it.

When the twenty-seven-year-old woman is found,

A community wants to know the story,

Parents want to forget the story,

Friends want to be a part of the story,

And the man who still loves her faces the greatest challenge yet: letting her go.

He holds my eyes, not letting them wander away from him. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

I wander my room, not sure where to go now that he’s here. I’m not sure where I fit now. I’m not sure where I belong in his life.

“You know why,” I say quietly.

“I want to hear you tell me.”

“Why?”

“So I can change your mind.” His hands slide into his front pockets, and the sunlight catches on his dad’s watch and casts golden beams through the room. It lights up like someone just lit a million candles at once. “I can’t do that unless I know exactly why you don’t want to see me.”

He wants a reason? I’ll give him a whole list of them.

“Because I don’t want to drag you into my mess of a world any more than I already have. Because I don’t want to smear you through the mud on the media’s march to burying me. Because I don’t want to hurt you—again—and because I want to protect you.”

“I can protect myself from them.”

I shake my head and cover my chest with my hand. “To protect you from me.”

Torrin’s jaw hardens. He works it loose the moment after. “I don’t need protection from you.”

“Everyone needs protection from me. There’s something dark in me now, Torrin, and I can’t get it out. It’s growing, spreading, and I don’t want it to infect the people I love.”

He pushes off the closet doors and crosses the room before I know he’s coming. “There is nothing dark in you, Jade. Nothing.” He backs me into the wall and stares at me, unblinking. “There is light and good in you. There always has been. There always will be.”

“That’s gone. He took it from me.”

“No, he didn’t.” Torrin’s hand slams into the wall beside my head. “It’s still there. You had to bury it to keep it safe, but it’s still there. You’ll find it. I know it.”

I want to believe him, but that doesn’t make it true. “You can’t find what isn’t there, Torrin.”

“Dammit, stop talking like that,” he says, his jaw tensing. “It’s there. I know it.”

“I’ve tried. I can’t find it.” Even as I say it, I start to feel different. It’s because of him being so close, saying what he is in the way he is. He’s the tether that keeps me from floating away.

His eyes lower to mine. “I’ll help you find it.”

I feel my heart again. My lungs. Everything else. I feel it waking up. “What makes you so sure you can find it?”

Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.