Read an excerpt from Bittersweet Addiction by Q.B. Tyler

Bittersweet Duet, #2
Publication Date: July 26, 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

“Lead us not into temptation…”

Dr. Will Montgomery had already given into his temptations.

He’d tasted the forbidden fruit, again and again for months.

Despite the obstacles in his way, he claimed the beautiful Charlotte Pierce and fell head over heels in love.

She was finally his.

But a stolen love, a forbidden love— comes at a price.

And in the aftermath of their affair, Will finds himself backed into a corner desperate for an escape from the chaos.

Chaos that threatens to destroy him and reveal the secrets he’d kept hidden.

Secrets that may just cost him everything.

And if there’s one thing Dr. Montgomery should have learned by now is the truth always comes out.

*Bittersweet Addiction is the final part of the Bittersweet Duet.*

Excerpt

I never have to feel alone again. My heart reacts to her words and I have her in my lap kissing her like our lives depend on it before she can say anything else. I don’t speak, I let my mouth do the talking for me as my tongue winds with hers. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight against me as the pain of talking about my past bubbles inside of me. My mouth waters again thinking about what I planned to do after I left this room, but Charley’s tongue wipes away the feeling just as quickly. I pull away from her when I feel like we both need a breath and rest my forehead against hers. “God, where have you been all my life?”

She doesn’t say anything, because I don’t think she really has the answer. Finally, she speaks, her voice just above a whisper. “I would have wanted you if we met in high school. Or college. I would have made you feel wanted. Special. I would have protected you from them. I’ll protect you from them now. You’re not alone, Will. Not anymore.” My nose rubs against hers, my eyes fixed on hers as they penetrate me.

Seeing me.

Feeling me.

Knowing me.

That’s the thing about meeting your soulmate. They know what you need to hear sometimes before you do. I’d never used the word alone. Or lonely and it’s like she could feel it just by looking in my eyes.

“I love you,” I tell her as my heart pounds so hard I wonder if it’ll fly out of my chest. A part of me wishes it would so she could see my heart only beat for her.

Even if I was keeping a secret from her.

“I love you too. I wish you’d open up to me. Stop hiding from me. Whatever it is you’re holding onto, let it go. You don’t have to carry it all on your own.”

I’d said that so many times, I wonder if she’s just merely telling me to practice what I preach. Share things with your partner. You’re in this together and you need to share the weight of the baggage you bring into your relationship. One person can’t do it alone.

But what happens when the baggage is too much? So heavy it overpowers the relationship and forces it to break creating irreparable damage?

This is why people have secrets.

This is why people feel they have to carry things alone.

It’s why marriages end.

It’s why I have a job.

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About the Author

Write. Wine. Work. Repeat. 
A look inside the mind of a not so ex-party girl’s escape from her crazy life. Hailing from the Nation’s Capital, Q.B. Tyler, spends her days constructing her “happily ever afters” with a twist. Romantic comedies served with a side of smut and most importantly the love story that develops despite inconvenient circumstances.

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Read an excerpt from Rancher's Dream by B. J. Daniels

A bride becomes a target in New York Times bestselling author B.J. Daniels’s latest can’t-miss suspense

Tragedy sent Deidre “Drey” Hunter running from rancher Hawk Cahill and into the arms of a sleek businessman who promised her a new life. But dreams of Manhattan days and cosmopolitan nights shatter when he brings her back to an ultramodern paradise in her hometown of Gilt Edge—and vanishes on their wedding night.

Taunted by seclusion and silence, Drey starts to doubt everything…including her sanity. Only Hawk, the stubborn cowboy from her school days, believes the threats are real and that someone is ready to kill. But is he willing to forgive the past if it means ending her nightmare?

Excerpt

She’d wanted her best friend, Lillie Cahill, to be her matron of honor, but she’d known Lillie would de­cline. I’ll be at your wedding. I’ll support you to the death, but I can’t do that to my brother. I would feel as if I was betraying Hawk. I hope you understand.

Of course Drey had understood. Lillie was like a sister to her after all the years Drey had spent on the Cahill Ranch when she was dating Hawk. When the two of them had been so madly in love that everyone had expected they would be the ones marrying today.

You’ve made a terrible mistake. But it was too late to have second thoughts. She’d been telling herself that from the moment Ethan had sent out the announcement about their engagement before he’d even offi­cially asked her to marry him.

“I thought you loved surprises,” he’d said.

She had no idea where he’d gotten that idea.

“Maybe this will make it up to you.” He’d reached into his pocket, produced the small velvet jewelry box and opened it. Light caught the impressive diamond, almost blinding her. She’d told herself this was every young woman’s dream. A handsome, rich business­man wanted to marry her.

“Do you like it?” he’d asked impatiently.

She’d nodded as he’d slipped it onto her finger. It was beautiful, if a little tight on her finger. He’d prom­ised to have it resized. And yet it had nagged at her, him running the engagement announcement in her hometown paper without telling her.

“What’s the big deal?” he’d demanded when she’d said something about it. “I thought you’d want your friends to know.” It hadn’t been her friends he’d wanted to know about the engagement. He’d wanted Hawk Cahill to see it, which made her regret telling Ethan about her first love.

As she now stared at the house growing larger and larger as he drove nearer, she felt sicker. The rooflines rose at odd angles as the house backed up against the mountainside in what appeared to be six levels of glass and rock and old timbers. The front was all glass, behind it darkness. She got the crazy feeling that the house was watching them approach and that it wasn’t happy.

Ethan swore under his breath and looked back down the mountain.

“What is it?” she asked, turning in her seat. A set of headlights slowly disappeared down the county road below them on the mountain.

“Nothing,” he said, but he kept glancing in his rearview mirror until they came around a bend and could no longer see the road below them. “Moun­tain Crest,” he said, his voice filling with pride as he let go of her hand to motion toward the ultramodern structure. “So what do you think?” he asked when she didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond.

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About the Author

NYT and USA Today Bestselling author B.J. Daniels was born in Texas but moved with her family to Montana at the age of five. Her first home was a cabin in the Gallatin Canyon and later a lake house on Hebgen Lake outside of West Yellowstone.

Most of her books are set in Montana, a place she loves. She lives now in a unique part of the state with her husband and three Springer Spaniels.

When she isn’t writing, she loves to play tennis, boat, camp, quilt and snowboard. There is nothing she enjoys more than curling up with a good book.

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Cover Reveal: Until We’re More by Cindi Madsen

Chelsea is smart, funny, gorgeous, and the best friend I’ve ever had. Ever since she left, I’ve been a wreck. I’ve been focused on keeping my family’s MMA gym afloat while I train and coach fighters, anything to not miss her more. But now she's finally back, along with her grumpy, possessive cat, and things are weird between us.

By weird, I mean I can’t stop thinking about her in that way. She’s in the room next door, and it takes all my control not to storm in there, sweep her up, and bring her back to my bed. Even stranger, I’m pretty sure she’d be into it.

And this time, I’m not going to stop fighting until we’re more.

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About Cindi Madsen

Cindi Madsen is a USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance and young adult novels. She sits at her computer every chance she gets, plotting revising, and falling in love with her characters. Sometimes it makes her a crazy person. Without it, she’d be even crazier. She has way too many shoes, but can always find a reason to buy a new pretty pair, especially if they’re sparkly, colorful, or super tall. She loves music, dancing, and wishes summer lasted all year long. She lives in Colorado (where summer is most definitely NOT all year long) with her husband and three children. 

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Chapter Reveal: The Promise Of Everything by Blaire Broderick

She’s living for today… 

Sophie is dying—probably. An aneurysm at the base of her brain is just waiting to burst, and though she tries to keep her mind off the inevitable by painting away the pain, she simply can’t forget that her days are numbered. 

He’s yearning for tomorrow… 

Jamison is stuck. His past is a mess he’d rather not revisit, and his present is so dull he can hardly stand it. He takes refuge in his nightly walks where he looks up from the silent New York streets and stares into the window of a tragically beautiful girl painting her masterpiece. 

They were made for each other… 

A near collision in the dead of night brings them together, and fate means to keep it that way. But when Jamison turns out to be Sophie’s surgeon—the best in the city and her only chance at survival—will she be forced to choose between the love of her life and life itself? 

They’re perfect together. But will the curse of the Garner-Willoughby family tear them apart? 

**This is a full-length standalone romance with a HEA and no cliff hanger.**

Excerpt

Chapter 1

SOPHIE

“Do you know why Dr. Bledsoe referred you to me?” the pretty blonde psychologist asked, her eyes glimmering behind her thick-rimmed glasses. She sat so still, so poised in her leather chair with her long legs crossed tightly.
“Yes,” I replied. “Because he told me I was dying, and I smiled.”
“You understand that’s not a common reaction, right?” she asked, her voice annoyingly calm, and her words drawn out.
“Not all smiles mean you’re happy. Smiles can mean lots of things,” I said. I spread myself out across the length of the leather loveseat in her office, kicking my legs over the edge and cupping my hands behind my head in an attempt to settle in. We were going to be there a while and not by my choice.
“Can you tell me more about why you smiled?” she asked carefully. “Or what this smile meant?”
“I’m not suicidal if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I didn’t say you were suicidal.”
“I’m not.” The room was suddenly stuffy, and the air thick. My constant, throbbing headache reminded me of the unruptured aneurysm at the base of my brain dangling like a vine-ripened berry waiting to burst, and that stale, suffocating office in a depressingly gray Manhattan high-rise wasn’t doing me any favors.
I wasn’t suicidal. I may have been a month ago, but not anymore.
I didn’t know why the pills didn’t work. Fourteen blue ones, twelve white ones, and twenty-four brown ones. I took enough to kill a horse, and I woke up two days later warm in my bed feeling like a million bucks. All I’d done was put myself into a light coma. I took it as a sign that I wasn’t supposed to die. Not yet. Not like that.
A month later, the headaches started.
“How do you feel about this aneurysm, Sophie?” she pried. Her pen pressed into the yellow legal pad on her lap as she waited for my response. “You’re not exactly terminal, you know. This is treatable.”
Dr. Bledsoe had referred me to her because she specialized in end-of-life patients. That told me all I needed to know. She helped people come to peace with the fact that they may or may not be dying.
“Twenty-percent chance of being alive a year from now?” I said blankly. “Sounds pretty terminal to me.”
“Those statistics are only relevant if you don’t seek treatment,” she gently reminded me.
“I know,” I said.
“You plan to seek treatment, right?”
“Yeah, but the specialist is booked out a month,” I sighed. “A lot could happen in a month.”
“Can you take me back to when you were first diagnosed?” she asked. Her voice was overly soothing, yet her expression was empty as if she’d asked this question a million times before, and it had gradually lost its meaning.
I’d been having headaches for weeks, and after a while, choking down Tylenol after Tylenol barely put a dent in the throbbing pain. When my vision became blurry, and it interfered with my ability to paint, I forced myself to trek down to the ER in the middle of a December snowstorm at three in the morning.
“Yesterday,” I said. “He told me yesterday.”
“Right,” she said, shifting in her seat. “But let’s talk about how you felt.”
I had an idea something was up when they took me back for a CT scan and made me wait four hours while they consulted with the doctor on call, who then needed to consult with another doctor who wasn’t going to be in until eight. The nurses wouldn’t tell me anything. They’d just looked at me with pity in their eyes as if they knew something I didn’t.
“Shocked. I don’t know,” I said. “Certainly, I didn’t think a headache would turn into a death sentence at twenty-four.”
“Can I ask why you smiled when you were given your prognosis?” This woman was relentlessly asking the same question fifty different ways as if I wouldn’t notice.
“Do we need to psychoanalyze this?” I asked with an incredulous laugh. “I mean, it was just a smile. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I don’t know,” I said, frustrated. It was an ironic smile. Ironic, because just when I’d decided I wanted to live, I was told I might die. But she didn’t need to know about the pills. She’d want to focus on that, and then she’d never believe that I wasn’t suicidal.
“And that’s why I’m here, Sophie,” she said. She re-crossed her long legs and leaned forward, her red lips parting into a faux-empathetic smile. “We’re going to figure this out.”
“No offense, Dr. Strong, but I don’t want to spend my last days on earth sitting on your couch trying to psychoanalyze why I smiled when Dr. Bledsoe gave me my diagnosis. I’m going to fight this thing. I can promise you that. I want to live.”
I wanted to live more than anything.
“When is your appointment with Dr. Garner?” she asked, pen pressed to paper again. The ticking of the wall clock echoed against the tragically plain, off-white walls. Every second in her stuffy office was a second I could have been spending outside living my life and doing the things I loved.
“Not until January. Dr. Bledsoe gave me some meds to take that are supposed to buy me some time until I can get in.”
“Do you have anyone else you can talk to?” she asked. “Parents? Friends? Siblings?”
“Of course,” I lied. I lied so hard. I just hoped she couldn’t see through me—but then again, she read people for a living, so I was probably fucked. I should have said, “Not really. One. Nope.”
My fingers reached up to my neck twisting my necklaces between them as I often did when I thought about my sisters. A thin, gold ballerina charm dangled from one, representing Rossi, and a musical note, representing Nori, hung from the other.
I forced a smile. That suffocating sensation was beginning to wash over me again. I glanced up at the clock. We were only ten minutes into our hour-long session.
“Don’t bottle this up, Sophie,” she said, her voice directing me to turn back toward her. “You can’t go through this alone. Ask for help. Talk about it. Work through it. Embrace it.”
“That’s the plan…” I planned to embrace my life, to live like I was dying. I didn’t want to spend an hour each week in therapy. Those hours were better spent painting, sketching, dancing, singing, anything but sitting around and discussing my feelings.
“Celebrate every single, solitary day,” she said with a smile. “Live every day like it’s your last.”
“I think I’ve seen that on a bumper sticker.”
“It’s cliché, I know.” She laughed.
I sat up on the loveseat, trying to get comfortable again, and glanced over at the clock again. It had only been two more minutes.
“You seem like you want to leave,” Dr. Strong said, setting her legal pad on the edge of her desk. “That’s okay, Sophie. I’m not going to make you stay.”
I sighed, relieved, and reached down to grab my bag off the floor.
“I would like to see you regularly,” she said. “I think I can help you.”
“I don’t know,” I said, not wanting to be rude.
“Will you at least think about it?” she asked, removing her thick-rimmed glasses to reveal blue eyes as dark as the sea. She almost looked sincere. Almost.
I didn’t want to see her in the first place, but that damn Dr. Bledsoe was so fucking persistent. I didn’t know how to tell him no. He’d been rattling off statistics and medical verbiage, and before I realized it, he’d slipped Dr. Strong’s card into my hand. The next thing I knew, his nurse was calling me to tell me they’d scheduled an appointment for me to meet with a shrink.
“Maybe,” I said, antsy to get moving and get the hell out of there. A picture was forming in my mind, and I had to get it on canvas before I burst like the aneurysm in my head. That was how I coped. That was my therapy. Everything on canvas. All the time. Art was my oxygen.
I stood to leave, bypassing the scheduling desk and making a beeline for the elevator bay. I wanted to click my heels and return to my apartment, my sanctuary. I wanted to dip my brush in the prettiest shades of blues and pinks and purples and transform a blank canvas into something extraordinary. I wanted to take every teeny, tiny thought and emotion and get them out of me. They always looked better outside of me than they felt inside of me.

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About the Author

Blaire Broderick is a modern-day Carrie Bradshaw—if Carrie Bradshaw had three small children, two dogs, a sitcom-dad of a husband, and lived in the suburbs far, far away from the romantic city streets of Manhattan. A daydream believer, Blaire is never without an idea in her heart or a song in her head.  When she’s not busy tending to her little ones, she can be found working on her next book. And when she’s not working, you just might find her curling up with a good book or a really trashy reality show.

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Pre-order Forever Love by J. Lum

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Day: August 2nd

About Forever Love

To appreciate the sun, you have to withstand the storm.

Free-spirited, poetic Casey Loughlin has had her fair share of rain, and she always manages to see the silver lining. During her teenage years, when she met Toby Cardona, she learned everything she ever needed to learn about love and loss—all in one year.

When Toby lost Casey, everything changed for him. The once caring and endearing boy, with dreams and hopes of his own, became the cold, broken, money-hungry man he swore he'd never be. Now, with Casey back in his life, it's up to her to show Toby that the second time around, love can still hurt, but it's worth every painful prick. Will Toby weather the storm, and embrace a second chance, with the woman he’s always loved?

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About J Lum

J. Lum resides in the Northern Virginia area. While she calls Virginia home, she is constantly on the go. She’s got a constant case of #Wanderlust; most of the time, you can find her traveling around the world to see her book besties, or checking off her bucket list places. Her second home away from home is Hawaii, where her family is from. The love for the ocean runs through her veins. She also has a love of pugs, unicorns, and anything chocolate. She and coffee have been having a love affair for many years. And, if you don’t find her wandering around the world, she’s more than likely hanging with her pug, Lani.  

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Spotlight: The Mystery of Flight 2222 by Thomas Neviaser

Two strangers meet while seated together on a long distance air flight. The more seasoned of the two creates a game to pass the time. They choose seven passengers and proceed to guess their names, age, occupation, marital status, and personality. Later, they are informed of severe mechanical problems disabling the plane, leading to a crash into the sea. They survive along with only seven other passengers, incredibly the seven people from the game they had just played. The subsequent prolonged and horrifying adventure in a raft presents many obstacles to their survival including sharks, severe weather, death, hunger, thirst, declining physical and mental health, paranoia, and pirates of the high seas. Their long awaited rescue from the ravages of the sea is just the beginning of their trip to Hell and back.

Excerpt

Frank dallied in the rear for another three to four minutes, drinking slowly. He then waited for one of the bathroom doors to open and entered into the cramped cubicle. Ah, Homer would love to be in here, wouldn’t he? Just the right size for a Mr. Narcissist to live. After relieving himself and using the mirror to loosen his shirt and tie, he returned to his seat. Helen was awake and moved her legs gently aside to let him in.

“So, can’t sleep, eh? Want to continue the game?” she inquired.

He was never so happy to hear those words. “Sure, I can’t sleep anyway. You begin.”

“Okay. How about that guy?”

She pointed to a rather heavy-set, round-faced bearded man slouched in his seat. His tie was loosely fitted around his enormous bulging neck, sporting a thick, ballooning double chin. His hair rested irregularly on his head, highly suggesting a toupee gone awry. His arms extended well over the armrest, and he looked as if someone had tried to shove a round object into a square hole and succeeded in doing so. He was snoring with abrupt deep breaths followed by times of silence and then followed by a coughing episode. His neighbors were visibly annoyed.

“Um, let’s see,” Frank said. “Fifty-two and married. Three kids. Salesman, named Ernie. Irish, Scottish descent. Alcoholic, maybe. Definitely sleep apnea.”

“Nope. I agree with the age, but I think he owns a bar, maybe a few of them, divorced. Okay on the three kids, I guess. His name has to be Otto. Definitely of German descent. Too much spaetzle and potato pancakes in his diet,” Helen said.

“Spaetzle? You mean those little German dumplings or noodles? Hmmm, could be, but I think you’re wrong. You could be so far off here. I’m going to win going away, Helen.”

“How do you know you win? Do you interview these people after the flight?” she queried.

“No. Never see them again. Just a game to pass the time away.”

“Then don’t tell me you win,” she said without taking her eyes off him.

“Damn, you are serious about this,” he said, raising his eyebrows and pointing his finger at her.

“You know I’m going to win,” she said, laughing at his intent look.

“All right then. The game is on, girl!” Frank said. “Who’s next?”

“That couple there. Honeymooners, no doubt. Twenty-five for the woman and twenty-nine for the man. She’s a secretary, and he is in graduate school. His or her parents are paying for the trip. Nationality is an easy one. He’s Japanese and she Asian. Her name is…let’s say Soo Mi. I had a Korean at work by that name,” Helen rattled off.

“Well, I can agree with most of what you said. Her facial contour definitely is Asian. He could be Korean, but I’m voting for Japanese, definitely a Yuto for the guy’s name. One more,” Frank said, smiling.

“Really? Yuto? So lame! Where did you get that name?”

“Well, it is one of the most popular Japanese names. Y-U-T-O.”

“My, my, you sure know a lot. I would have never come up with a real name for him.”

“So, we have one more?”

“Let’s see. Jerko, the Jewish man, the heavy guy…the honeymooners, that’s only five. Wow, there’s two more,” Helen said, counting on her fingers.

Realizing he had picked one already, Frank remarked, “Well, I did get one while you were asleep.”

“Who?” Helen asked, looking around the side of her seat.

“That elderly lady across the aisle, down about four rows.”

Helen turned her head to look into the aisle, glanced down and spied the woman. “So?”

“Eighties, retired piano teacher, British, Maxine,” Frank quickly said.

“No way, Jose. Late seventies, retired but a private secretary for a corporate executive, and she is not a Brit. Italian, for sure, and her name would be…uh… Sofia. On second thought, maybe you have the upper hand here. Now that I see her profile better, definitely English. Piano teacher, maybe, who knows. Love the name Maxine. Gotta go with that.”

“That’s only six people. Jerko, Israeli man, Maxine, the heavy guy, and the married couple. We need one more to complete the game,” he said, somewhat amazed that Helen had been taken so much by the game. “Okay. Kimberly, attendant, thirties. From Chicago. Danish. There, we’re done.”

“No, French heritage. Way back, you know,” Helen said, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “I guess you’re right. Well, at least we do know what her real name is, don’t we?” Helen continued to yawn. “I’m really getting heavy eyes, and there isn’t anything interesting written on the back of my eyelids to keep me up. Here I go.”

“Well, I guess that’s it. It has been a pleasure playing with you. I’m going to try to get some shut-eye, but it’s going to be tough. Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Frank mused.

“Goodnight, Mr. Mason.”

“Frank! Goodnight, Ms. Hampton.”

Frank glanced over to see her moving her head toward the aisle. She was asleep faster than anyone he had ever seen before. He was so jealous of this ability. He turned to the window, folded the pillow on itself, and pushed his head into it firmly. No sooner had he closed his eyes, he opened them to realign the pillow and shift his body in the seat. This scenario continued off and on for the next twenty minutes, much to his angst. It was as if he had ‘restless body syndrome’, somewhat akin to the ‘restless leg’ one. He would wiggle his ankle as fast as he could as if exercising would make him tired. This never helped, but he always tried it. There was not much room on these economy seats to do anything else. Then he tried pumping his knee up and down followed by the other, and then folded his arms across his chest.

Crap! Nothing’s happening!

Geez, I hate this.

He thought of Kate again. How was she doing? She should be asleep now. Oh, how he wished he could be by her side. He loved her warm body next to him, and the smell of her hair always captivated him. The warmth of their comforter added to their snuggling, altogether a feeling of safety and love nurturing them until morning. Nothing could make him fall asleep better than this wife by his side and in his own home. With this image in his head, he was actually finally able fall asleep on a plane for once.

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About the Author

Dr. Neviaser is a retired orthopaedic surgeon and author of many medical articles, papers, presentations, and contributions to medical texts.  He’s written extensively on shoulder conditions, his specialty. He is available as a speaker on most orthopaedic conditions.  His dynamic presentations involve a great deal of audience participation and personalized attention to attendees.

Dr. Neviaser is proud of his orthopedic guide book for the lay person, THE WAY I SEE IT: A Head-to-Toe Guide Guide To Common Orthopaedic Conditions and his first novel, YOU DEAR SWEET MAN.

He is now especially excited to introduce to his new novel, THE MYSTERY OF FLIGHT 2222, to be published this 2018 summer.

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