Spotlight: Salvatore (In Too Far, #1) by Cecy Robson

Publication Date: March 13, 2019

Genres: Adult, Gritty, Contemporary, Romance, Standalone

Desperate men do desperate things . . .

Salvatore Romero is a dangerous man. If you’ve lived the life Sal has, rage is to be expected and maybe so is heart. After his father killed his mother in a jealous rage, Sal was left to raise his two younger brothers, becoming a parent long before he was ready.

Desperate for money to support his family, Sal sought help from his old friend, Vincent Maggiano, the son of New Jersey’s top crime boss being groomed to take over his ailing father’s empire.

Sal never planned to join the mob. He also never planned to fall for his brother’s sweet and ultra conservative counselor, Adrianna Daniels.

Aedry isn’t the type of girl Sal is usually drawn to. Her skirts are longer, her hair is tamer, and her heels aren’t clear. But he can’t deny the attraction he feels. And Salvatore’s dark, sexy, and dangerous persona is the exact opposite of the clean-cut business men who usually catch Aedry’s attention.

Neither planned on a life of crime nor did they plan on love. But now, both are in too far.

Excerpt

Chapter One

“What do you think, Salvatore?”

Donnie taps her iPad with her long red nails when she finds yet another pair of shoes she wants. Like I actually give a shit what she’s buying with Vincent’s money.

“Sure. Get them,” I answer, not bothering to really look and fixing my gaze back on the door.

She pouts in that way that annoys me, but probably gets Vin hard. “That’s what you said about the other six. I’m serious. Which ones should I get?”

I don’t have to tell her that Vincent will buy her whatever she wants so long as she keeps blowing him, but I come close. The muscles along my back are ready to tear away from the bone. Every nerve along my spine fires a warning that shit’s about to go down. But I don’t show it, my face giving nothing away. “Donnie, I’m paid to watch your back. Not help you pick out shoes,” I mutter.

She starts to argue, but a knock to the door shuts her up, so does me motioning her to the corner. She may spend her days worrying about what she looks like and what she’ll wear, but she’s not stupid enough to ignore me.

I lean against the wall, opposite the door. Donnie might have shrugged off Vin yelling down the hall, but I didn’t. He isn’t happy. Neither are the other mob bosses in Jersey. It won’t be long before hell itself rains down on us. “Yeah?” I ask, keeping my deep voice casual, like my piece isn’t already clutched in my hands.

“Vincent wants you in on the meeting,” Lucca says.

Lucca’s smart. And for someone who hasn’t been in the family long, he’s tough and good on his feet. But I pick up enough in his voice to know this meeting’s not going as planned. So maybe Vin didn’t send for me. Maybe Lucca thinks I’m needed. If so, things are a lot worse than I thought.

Donnie looks at me, her preoccupation with shoes nothing more than a memory. “Lock the door behind me,” I tell her.

She rushes forward. I snag her elbow and pull her in tight to whisper in her ear. “You hear shots, you leave out the back, through the alley and down the street. Find a diner, a store, any place with lots of people. Got me?”

She nods, but she’s trembling already. Shots fired means there are plenty more to come. The other family knows who Donnie is to Vin. But if they don’t know she’s here or if they find her with too many witnesses, she’ll be okay.

She clutches my arm when I start to leave. “Sal . . .” she says.

Donatella and me are from the old neighborhood. We’ve known each other since back when we were kids and we were too stupid to know shit about organized crime. Now, we’re more stupid, because we’re willingly a part of it. She wants to say something like “be careful” or “keep him safe” or something else I don’t need to hear. So, I don’t.

I crack open the door, making sure Lucca’s standing there alone, and step out.

His eyes cut toward the hall leading to Vincent’s office, where he’s meeting with Arturo, the boss in charge of most of South Jersey, including Atlantic City. Yeah. Shit’s going down. But I don’t move until Donnie clicks the door lock behind me.

Lucca starts forward, moving fast. I haul him back. “Easy,” I mutter.

That’s all he needs to hear. He slows, mimicking my pace and stance, chest out, hand curled near the piece at his waist, face hard and unreadable.

Arturo’s men stand in unison when we round the corner. At the sight of me, Vin’s men rise, too. They see what I want them to see in me and Lucca and me. A united front. It solidifies our crew and tenses Arturo’s. As Vin’s crew fixes their hard stares on the other family, I know they’re ready for what the next few minutes will bring.

I reach Vin’s office door. It’s open, wide open, and it pisses me off. An open door shows weakness and it demonstrates how scared Vin is about being alone with the other boss.

I march in and take point to Vin’s right. Lucca starts to head to his opposite side, but he catches the subtle motion of my left hand that tells him to stay by the door. I want to tell him to shut the door and lock it, but I can’t without raising the paranoia already thickening the air. Like I said, Lucca’s smart. He shuts the door and flicks the deadbolt.

Arturo huffs when he realizes he’s closed in. “What the fuck’s this?” He doesn’t turn around from where he’s seated directly in front of Vin, but his second sitting beside him and his enforcer straighten at my presence. I expected them to react upon seeing me, but I don’t expect the same response from Vin’s third, Angelo. Their reaction is so subtle that everyone gathered seems to miss it. But me, I don’t miss a thing, ever. The one time I did, it cost me the only woman I’ve ever loved.

“Just a little privacy, Mr. Sorenzo,” I answer, because Vin waited too long to respond and he’s already lost enough face.

Vin eases back in his chair. He knows I’m there and that I have his back, but his fingers digging into the armrest give away he’s scared shitless. Christ. How many times have I told him to keep his hands relaxed and his expression like stone? His ailing father has been grooming him to take over his empire for six fucking years and Vin’s still not ready. The other bosses are honing in on his incompetence. Which is why I’m not sure how much longer I can help keep Vin alive.

“Let’s get back to business,” Vin says, trying to sound harder than he is.

Arturo smiles in that sleazy way of his and tosses a hand out. “I believe we’ve reached a standstill,” he says.

“You’re right, we have,” Vin fires back, getting pissed. Good, anger is better than fear and, right now, it’s exactly what he needs. He leans forward. “You’re not getting the rest of A.C. And you’re not getting an eighty percent―”

My 380 auto is out and pointed at Arturo’s enforcer before his fingers reach the hilt. “Move and I’ll blow your fucking head off.” Without me telling him, Lucca rams his guns in the back of Arturo’s and his second’s skulls. Smart guy. I reach for my 9 mil tucked in my leather jacket, not even blinking when I shoot Vin’s third in the leg, blowing out his knee cap.

With a scream, Angelo falls to the floor howling. “What the fuck?” Vin growls, leaping to his feet.

I don’t explain why I shot one of his made men, someone he trusted. My next bullet goes into the enforcer, the impact and his pain enough to send him flying off his chair. He went for his Sig. I wasn’t waiting for him to pull the trigger. Outside, all hell’s breaking loose, my heartbeat pounding fast in my chest until I hear the voices of Vin’s family taking control.

Less than a minute later, a sharp rap to the door is followed by Benny’s deep voice. “Sal?”

“All clear,” I tell him, my tone steady. “You?”

It’s not my words that he believes, it’s the confidence behind them. “All clear,” he responds in the same tone, letting me know they have Arturo’s men on the ground.

Vin’s reaching into the drawer, pulling out his Glock. To his credit, he’s not questioning anything anymore, not after Arturo’s enforcer went for his piece. He’s reining in his shit like he needs to.

Lucca covers me as I strip everyone of their weapons. Angelo is wailing like the little bitch he is. The enforcer is swearing, pressing the wound to his shoulder as blood seeps through his fingers. I intentionally missed his heart. But no one needs to know that.

I drop the weapons beside Vin and far out of everyone’s reach. Arturo and his second haven’t said a damn thing. They weren’t scared of Vin before. But they are now.

I’m not sure what Vin’s going to say. My fear is, he may say the wrong thing in front of Lucca that makes him look pathetic. Lucca is loyal, so are a few others, but if they keep seeing Vin acting like he’s acting, they’ll lose whatever respect he’s managed outside his title of boss.

“Vin knew you were playing him, you pussy,” I tell Angelo, lying through my teeth. “Were you going to kill him in front of Arturo? Was that your way into the family, you lying piece of shit?”

In not answering, he answers enough. At Vin’s nod, Lucca puts a bullet in Arturo’s second, and finishes off the enforcer.

Vin motions to the door. “Call in a few of my men,” he tells me.

I unlock the door and do as he asks, after I make sure everything is still under control. Vin’s not ready to be boss, but he isn’t stupid, at least not completely. He knows Arturo needs to die by his hands and that he needs witnesses to see as much. I pick three who have started to question Vin’s strength, knowing they’ll tell the rest of the family what’s about to go down, and to show them what happens to those who don’t stay loyal.

The men pile in, but Vin doesn’t let them get too comfortable. He shoots Arturo in the face with his Glock while the last two who enter are still busy taking in Angelo writhing on the floor. Vin keeps his face neutral, his confidence returning now that he knows his life isn’t immediately on the line.

I take a step back when he prowls toward Angelo. Angelo was Vin’s trusted third. To be who Vin wants to be, he has to send a message. But I don’t tell him that. It’s something he needs to realize on his own. “What did he promise you after you killed me, pussy?” he asks Angelo.

Angelo doesn’t deny his intention. Doesn’t beg for his life. He knows it’s over. So, he hits Vin the only way he can. “Your father’s the pussy for letting a chicken shit like you take over.”

Vin’s heel comes down hard on Angelo’s face, smashing his nose in. But he doesn’t stop there. He snatches the paperweight on his desk and flings himself to the floor, bashing Angelo’s face in, not stopping until the side of his temple caves inward.

To anyone eyeing me, it looks like I’m watching everything and immune to it all. Yeah. My face never gives anything away. That doesn’t mean my body’s not punishing me on the inside. I fight back the nausea working its way through my gut and how hard my heartbeat thunders out of control. Weakness in the mob and in life gets you killed. I need to live, despite how my sins have all but sliced my throat.

“Fuck,” one of the boys says, looking away. He’s new and probably has killed with his gun. But shooting someone is easy. Too easy. It’s not intimate. Not like killing someone with your bare hands like Vin just did.

Vin stumbles to his feet, out of breath and covered with plenty of Angelo’s DNA. His face twists as if angry, which makes him look good, but I know better. “Get rid of them,” he says, spitting out blood that hit his mouth.

“What about his men?” someone else asks.

“All of them need to go,” Vin says, falling back into the leather seat behind his chair.

“All right, boss,” another says.

Vin’s focus darts my way. He expects an approving nod from me. But he isn’t going to get it. As much as I’m a part of this shit, it doesn’t mean I like it.

Or that I don’t want out.

* * *

I climb into my Range Rover and shut the door tight. Vin’s hand is shaking as he takes a drag of his cigarette. I knew he wasn’t going to keep it together long, so I made it like he needed to be away from the cleanup in case someone heard the shots and called it in.

“Is Donnie coming?” he asks, sprawling across the back seat.

“Yeah. She’s picking out girls she thinks you might like. Says she’ll be right out.”

I snagged Donnie at a street festival a few blocks away after I secured Vin in my ride. She flung her arms around me and started crying when she saw me. I quickly pulled her off me and led her to Vin. Donnie cares as much as someone like her can, and mostly for all the wrong reasons. I know this and, maybe, she does, too, which is why we’re outside a strip club Vin owns waiting on her and whoever she’s recruiting to lift Vin’s spirits.

“How many girls is she bringing?”

“Two, maybe more,” I answer, not because she told me, more because this has become the norm.

“Yeah, she knows how to take care of me,” he says with a laugh, despite how his hand continues to tremble.

This isn’t the first time Vin’s killed with his hands or the first time I’ve watched him do it. That doesn’t mean it hasn’t fucked with my mind or given me more nightmares to stash in my memories. Christ, it took all I had not to puke, seeing all those bodies lying in a mound and the mess Vin made of Angelo’s head. But I still have a conscience. Real mob bosses surrender their’s to get what they need. If he’s going to be one, he needs to lose what’s left of his fast.

He takes another drag, his forced humor fading. “How long has Angelo been playing two sides?”

“No idea,” I mumble.

He straightens. “Then how did you know Angelo was in on it?”

I rub my eyes. I’m only twenty-seven and I already feel too old for this shit. “He tensed at the same time and in the same way Arturo and his second did.”

Vin curses under his breath and reaches for another cigarette. “I didn’t see shit and I was looking at them the whole time. How the hell do you pick up on these things?”

“It comes from the years I spent fighting,” I answer, looking out through my tinted windows and wondering what the hell is keeping Donnie.

“In the octagon?” Vin asks.

Vin knows I fought in the mixed martial arts circuit for a few years, just like he knows I fought anyone who messed with me on the street. We’ve known each other since we were kids and long before his father became the most feared man in Jersey. I’m not sure why he’s asking, but don’t bother to question it. Vin isn’t the same guy I once called a friend.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “It helped me anticipate my opponent’s next move.”

“You miss that shit?” he asks.

Considering I was on my way to becoming the next light heavy weight champion? Hell, yeah. Fighting in the MMA put money in my pocket and gave me a way to unleash my rage. But neither were enough when push came to shove. “It was all right,” I tell him.

Vin takes a few more drags before he says, “I want you to think about watching my back full-time. I’ll pay you a hell of a lot more if you do.”

Any other boss would just tell me this is what I’m doing and not give me a choice. But for all Vin’s not the same guy I once knew, he was there when my world imploded around me. And in hiring me to watch his mistress, he’s able to keep me on the mob payroll without staining my hands with their blood. That doesn’t mean I haven’t made a lot of people bleed. It only means I haven’t killed anyone. Yet.

“I make enough watching your gumad,” I respond.

Vin doesn’t like my answer, but he doesn’t push it. After what went down with Angelo and with his second serving time, I’m the only person he completely trusts. But, despite our friendship, the time’s coming when I’ll no longer have a choice but to do what he wants.

In killing Arturo, Vin will either gain respect from the other bosses or turn them against him and the family. I don’t think any of the higher-ups want war, but they’re greedy and looking to expand their domains. My gut tells me that when Vin’s father Carmine dies, the cards unfold. But they won’t be in Vin’s favor, and if he doesn’t wise up fast, none of us will make it out alive.

The back door to the strip club opens and Donnie steps out, leading three laughing and almost naked women in clear heels forward.

“I won’t forget what you did for me today, Sal,” Vin says, right before the women pile in.

He won’t. I know that. Just like I know I added a nail to my own damn casket the day I went to him for help.

I’m supposed to take Vin and his dates back to Donnie’s. But Vin’s not waiting to get there. I crank the engine when I hear his zipper yanked down and the first sound of smacking lips. He groans, likely relieved the day is finally going in the direction he wants.

“You, go take care of my buddy, Sal,” he says between sharp intakes of breath.

I stiffen and not in a good way when a blonde with more hairspray than brains falls laughing into the front seat. With a hard stomp, I step on the brake and set my SUV in park. She’s already naked by the time I reach into the center console and shove a condom in her hand.

She huffs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I’m not.”

She looks insulted, but I don’t care. She’s going to do what Vin’s paying her to do, whether I want her to or not. It takes a while for me to get hard enough for her to roll the condom in place. Once she does, she immediately buries her face in my lap.

I lean my head back against the headrest. I should enjoy what’s happening. And at one point I did, seeing it as the perks of the job.

Now, all I wonder about is how my life became what it is, and how I’ll ever survive it.

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About the Author

Cecy Robson is an author of contemporary and new adult romance, young adult adventure, and award-winning urban fantasy. A double-nominated RITA® Finalist, Winner of the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence, and published author of more than twenty titles, you can typically find Cecy on her laptop or stumbling blindly in search of caffeine.

Connect with Cecy online: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Newsletter | Bookbub | Goodreads | Amazon Author Profile

Spotlight: Everyday Enchantments: Musings on Ordinary Magic & Daily Conjurings by Maria F. DeBlassie

Winner of the Pinnacle Book Achievement Award in the New Age Category for 2018!

Everyday Enchantments is a love letter to the magic of everyday life, the sweet moments and the profound that we often overlook in our hurry to get from one place to the next. What if we had the power to unplug from our daily hustle and bustle and conjure a more profound way of living rooted in natural mysticism?

We do. All it takes is the whispered wish for more everyday enchantment breathed onto a dandelion head. This collection of essays reminds us to escape into the ordinary, find beauty in a simple cup of tea or rereading a beloved novel—and joyfully let our world turn upside down when synchronicity strikes in the form of wrong turns down forgotten lanes and unexpected midnight conversations with the moon.

This book is a study in what it means to live deliciously, joyfully, and magically. And it’s an invitation to conjure your own bliss—-because let’s face it: we could all use a little more magic in our lives.

Excerpt

ENCHANTMENT: A spell wrapped in a noun. Three syllables. One state of being.

To live with Enchantment is to see beyond the brick and mortar that make up your home and into the magic infused within its frame. It is made up of stories and dried bay leaves and dreams whispered into the heads of dandelions. Of bare feet on carpeted floors and the smell of burning sage. Crystals—amethyst, citrine, amazonite, smoky quartz—winding in and around your books; all the better to magnify their magic. It is to peel back the layers of your day-to-day and search for that elusive energy that winds its way up your spine and outward into your life. Let the snake at your base wriggle free of its coil to climb up to your shoulder blades and across your open back. There is no room for tightly stacked discs here, just the taste of joy when the sun licks your skin.

You might find it at the bottom of an empty teacup. Your future written in soggy leaves, or in the whisper of trees, their leaves rustling and murmuring secrets only they can understand. Sometimes they are kind enough to translate for you—if you listen long enough. If you shower their roots with distilled love songs and feed them the black earth from your compost. It’s there, too, when you run your tongue along the grooves and ridges of a well-loved sentence. It’s everywhere. Even in the spaces you think have lost hope, like the junk drawer where you keep your faded dreams, stray screws, and half-forgotten heartbreaks along with wine corks and a few rubber bands. They’re not lost, just resting like seeds in the earth before they are ready to break open.

That is the first syllable.

The second is to learn from Enchantment, to listen to Coyote's call when he plays his tricks. Coyote loves his tricks. And you should too. What delicious messages wrapped in matted fur and a lolling tongue! All he wants is for you to take that leap of faith when only you can see the soft earth on the other side of the cliff. Don’t you know that you have wings? They are just rusty from disuse. Just listen to Coyote’s long-winded stories (he does so admire himself) and watch the flick of his tail. All he asks is for you to trust him, even if he can’t be trusted; his les- son is real, hard as onyx in your palm, ephemeral as the desert rain that you feel in your bones when all you see is a cloudless sky. No weatherman can ever map the storms and sunshine work- ing their way across your body.

Coyote has no room for logic, just the reason in his unreason.

Just those perfect coincidences set in motion by the padding of his paws. You are raw power, he says, a spark of the universe set in motion. And you must trust this power that is you, that is the earth, that is the beating of your heart. A rhythmic tattoo forever pounding out your path, however many times you try to stray from it. All Enchantment asks is that you absorb the wisdom of the moon and the stars, and the prophesying of the seeds burrowed deep in the dirt. Coyote is there to make sure you listen, even when the rest of the world prefers your ears stopped with cotton and your heart beating as slow as melting snow in winter.

And the third syllable? To conjure. Here you weave your spell with vowels and conso- nants and beeswax candles. You seal them with pure starlight and a handful of chamomile. Then you burn away the dry brush and the brittle ideas that don’t hold up against the moonlight. There is no room here for literal…things or the people who think them. Not if you want to create. Not

if you want to believe that the most important part of your everyday occurs in the moments oth- ers can too easily overlook. (Seldom can you find a person strong enough to brave the stillness or wade into the bottomless waters of imagination.) You make your life here, in the infinite poten- tial of seconds and minutes and hours unfurling into vines and roots. Because when you are look- ing for everyday enchantment, it finds you. Always. And if you let it, it will settle inside your skin and feed your soul with dreams grown ripe under the sun’s caress. It drops you deep down into the rich earth and forgotten caves buried between heartbeats—places that many are too afraid to venture inside. For how can you absorb the marvelous, if you do not recognize it re- flected in yourself, feel it settle in your bones like so much calcium?

That's Enchantment.

A three-syllable spell wrapped in a noun, planted in the earth and nourished with moon- light. Let the roots stretch to the underworld and the leaves unfurl toward the heavens. Walk across the star-kissed bridge made of hollyhock seeds and strong will. There is your passage into the unseen universe.

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About the Author

Maria DeBlassie, Ph.D. is a native New Mexican mestiza blogger, award-winning writer, and educator living in the Land of Enchantment. Her blogging life started as a year-long journey to write her back into happy, healthy, and whole through daily posts about life’s simple pleasures, everyday magic, and radical self-care. That year-long experiment turned into a lifestyle, a book, a press—and her ongoing blog, Enchantment Learning & Living. She is forever looking for magic in her life and somehow always finding more than she thought was there. Find out more about Maria and conjuring everyday magic at www.mariadeblassie.com.

Contact Links

Website: www.mariadeblassie.com/blog/

Facebook: www.facebook.com/EnchantmentLL/

Twitter: www.twitter.com/EnchantmentLL

Blog: www.mariadeblassie.com

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mdeblassie.writer/

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/mdeblassieell/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/37690869-everyday-enchantments

Cover Reveal: Faithful by Frankie Love

Faithful
Frankie Love
(The Mountain Man’s Babies, #10)
Publication date: April 18th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

The moment I saw her I knew.

Knew that we would have a future, a family, a forever.

Her father says she’s too young, too naive, too innocent.

But she is more than he knows.

She’s the love of my goddamn life.

And nothing will get in our way.

Then a tragic accident rewrites our love story.

She is gone in the blink of an eye.

But this mountain was made for miracles, and I’m fighting for ours.

I have faith in the impossible.

Faith in us.

And nothing will stop me from being the man she needs.

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Author Bio:

Frankie Love writes filthy-sweet stories about bad boys and mountain men. As a thirty-something mom who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in
love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters. She also believes in the power of a quickie.

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Spotlight: Jules by Giulia Lagomarsino

Jules
Giulia Lagomarsino
(Reed Security, #12)
Publication date: March 18th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Julian swore he would always love her. He said he would never leave her. He’s about to break that promise. If only she would listen. If only she would trust him. But how much crap can one man take? It’s time to move on.

Ivy wants Julian more than anything, but she’s won’t trust anyone with her secrets. Now it’s too late. He doesn’t want her, but she needs him more than ever. If only she could make him understand. If only she had told him sooner how she felt, but that train has left the station and her life is going to hell. She should have told him she loved him when she had the chance.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

“You really are f@&king stupid,” Ice sneered. “Why don’t you just kick her puppy while you’re at it.”

“She doesn’t have a puppy.”

“That was sarcasm, a$$hole. Getting your brain scrambled has made you a real dumb f@&ker.”

“What was wrong with what I said?”

“You just reminded her that you still don’t remember her after you kissed her.”

“Yeah, it’s true. That’s why I said it.”

“Well, f@&k. There’s your first problem,” Ice grumbled. “You never tell the truth.”

“I thought honesty was always best.”

“Nooo. No, no, no.” Chris agreed with him, which I found a little odd, which meant it was probably the right answer. “How’s dinner?”

“Fantastic,” Ice said. “Never had a better steak.”

“Honey, did you put that bill in the mail?”

“Of course, honey. I know that bill was important,” Ice smirked.

“Was it good for you?”

“Best head of my life.”

“That’s an important one,” Chris said urgently. “Never forget that one. She wants to know that she’s the absolute best and you’re never thinking about any other woman going down on you.”

“You lie to her about sex?” I asked incredulously.

“They do it too,” Ice shrugged. “You’re the best I’ve ever had. You made me come so hard. Your dick doesn’t fit. All of those are lies they tell us to make us feel ten feet tall. You know for a fact that they still think of past f@&ks because we do it too. And then there’s that lie about coming so hard when you know they were faking it. And come on, we all know that a dick can only be so big and it’s definitely going to fit because they can squeeze a baby out of their vaginas.”

“Lies are a healthy part of any good relationship,” Chris agreed. “They’re for your benefit and hers, so use them, but use them wisely.”

“Well, I’m glad that you gave me this advice now, after I already f@&ked things up. What the hell do I do now?”

Author Bio:

I'm a stay at home mom that loves to read. Some of my favorite titles are Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Horatio Hornblower. I started writing when I was trying to come up with suggestions on ways I could help bring in some extra money. I came up with the idea that I could donate plasma because you could earn an extra $500/month. My husband responded with, "No. Find something else. Write a blog. Write a book." I didn't think I had anything to share on blog that a thousand other mothers hadn't already thought of. I decided to take his challenge seriously and sat down to write my first book, Jack. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed writing. From there, the stories continued to flow and I haven't been able to stop. I hope my readers enjoy my books as much as I enjoy writing them. Between reading, writing, and taking care of three small kids, my days are quite full.

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Spotlight: Built by Maggie Marr

Built: An Enemies To Lovers Second Chance Bad-Boy Billionaire Alpha Romance
Maggie Marr
Publication date: March 19th 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

I hate Jake Warner. Loathe. Can. Not. Stand. No matter how sexy he looks in his jeans with that low-slung tool belt. He had his chance with me and he blew it Big. Time. He’s not getting a second-chance no matter how long I stare into this ice-blue eyes and think about those full lips or his dimples when he smiles. We may have to work together, but that absolutely doesn’t mean that we’ll get back together. Nope. No way. No matter what my heart says, this time I’m listening to my head.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

“I hate you, Jake Warren. Loathe. Detest. Can’t stand to be around you. I—”

A wicked-slow smile spreads over Jake’s face. A smile that I’m almost willing to risk losing my job over to wipe from his smug mug.

Almost.

One of the reasons I hate that face so damn much is that Jake’s face is perfect. Not perfect in the sense that it’s got nothing wrong with it, because there’s that tiny scar that cuts through his right eyebrow from when he fell out of the tree in Mrs. Gibson’s front yard trying to get my cat, Mr. Biggles, down from the maple tree. Jake was ten and I was seven. That moment, in my childhood, when Jake played Prince Charming to my weeping Damsel in Distress resulted in four stitches, a broken arm, and a saved Mr. Biggles.

But none of that matters now. None of it.

That was twenty years ago and ever since I returned home and took the job at Ryan & Sons Construction, my Dad’s construction company, there’s been nothing, and I mean nothing charming about Jake Warren. In fact everything about him has been downright loathsome.

I. Hate. Jake.

I should get a tattoo. Or maybe a t-shirt.

No matter how perfect his face and body are—those two things don’t matter because I can’t stand his full, cupid-bow lips and indented cleft chin, and I definitely detest his square jaw with high-cut cheekbones. And his dark brown, curly hair and ice-blue eyes that seem to see right through every part of me.

Like this very moment, he’s standing so close to me that I can practically feel his muscles pulsing beneath that sweaty white Stanford t-shirt he’s wearing.

Show off.

So what if you went to Stanford and have perfect biceps and work with your hands and wear a tool belt slung low on your hips.

So. What.

Jake stands in front of me with his hands on his hips, with those lips—those damned pillow-cushion lips—nearly even with my eyes, like he’s some kind of crown prince because he can lift a two-by-four, swing a hammer, and hang drywall…he stands there in his dirty Levi’s with that hip cocked, staring right at me. Knowing full well that he was the boy that saved my cat, kissed me when I was twelve, and saw me naked at sixteen.

And broke my heart at twenty-one.

Well, I’m not naked today. Nope, today I’m pissed. I stand in front of him just back from an afternoon meeting with a Chinese investor who may or may not want Daddy’s company to build two hundred new homes, with my hand on my hip, my tablet in my hand, ready to tell Jake Warren why he should never, never, never speak to a client because that is my job as the front-facing newly minted sales team at Ryan & Sons Construction, and while I’m deadly serious, Jake’s eyes are…are…wickedly playful.

Asshole!

His damn ice-blue eyes are wickedly playful in this completely inappropriate way that causes my nipples to harden and my lady-bits to tingle like they do nearly every day that I work with Jake. Which for the last ten months has been every damn day.

Nope. I hate him. Loathe. Detest.

“Becca”—he lifts an eyebrow and his gaze streaks up and down my body—“you know you love me.” His words are honey. Sweet and slow and slick and sticky and they pull me to him almost as certain as if he’d taken that big strong arm of his and snaked it around my waist and pulled me close.

Which he didn’t do, and in fact hasn’t done in what seems like nearly a lifetime, and another reason why I absolutely can’t stand this man.

“Love you? Ha! I just told you I can’t stand you. Do you even listen to me Jake Warren? Do you listen to anyone? Ever?” I wave the tablet for emphasis because the email I just got from a client—a very important client—proves yet again to me that a) Jake Warren never listens and b) he should be fired so that c) I can run Daddy’s construction company like I was meant to do without any interference from this clown.

“Oh, I hear you, Becca,” Jake says, those ice-blue eyes gazing right past me and toward the open doorway and the construction office filled with support staff and other guys that work for Daddy on various construction crews, all of which Jake Warren heads up. “I think everyone in the entire firm hears you too.”

“Fuck you,” I silently mouth. I take two steps backward, and press my stiletto to the office door, between us and the rest of the company and kick the damn door closed. “Private enough for ya?”

“Guess it depends on what you have in mind, Tiger.”

Heat floods my neck. No one. No. One. calls me Tiger—or no one has since Jake did all those years ago and there have been a whole lot of years, plus one college degree, an MBA, and a failed (very public) engagement since the last time Jake stood this close to me and called me Tiger.

“Becca,” I say between gritted teeth. “That’s Becca to you. Or, if you prefer, you can call me Ms. Ryan,” I say.

“Riiiiiight.” He takes a step closer. “And what if I prefer Tiger?”

I swallow and don’t move because deep down inside as much as I currently hate Jake Warren, I actually, if I’m honest, prefer him calling me Tiger too.

Author Bio:

Maggie Marr is the USA Today Best Selling author of hot contemporary romance. She spends her days working in entertainment and her nights writing. Maggie loves all things pop culture and when she isn't writing, she's reading or binge-watching Netflix. Never miss a new release, sale, bonus content, or extras by signing up for Maggie's newsletter here: maggiemarr.net

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Spotlight: First: Sandra Day O'Connor by Evan Thomas

The intimate, inspiring, and authoritative biography of Sandra Day O’Connor, America’s first female Supreme Court justice, drawing on exclusive interviews and first-time access to Justice O’Connor’s archives—by the New York Times bestselling author Evan Thomas.

She was born in 1930 in El Paso and grew up on a cattle ranch in Arizona. At a time when women were expected to be homemakers, she set her sights on Stanford University. When she graduated near the top of her law school class in 1952, no firm would even interview her. But Sandra Day O’Connor’s story is that of a woman who repeatedly shattered glass ceilings—doing so with a blend of grace, wisdom, humor, understatement, and cowgirl toughness.

She became the first ever female majority leader of a state senate. As a judge on the Arizona Court of Appeals, she stood up to corrupt lawyers and humanized the law. When she arrived at the United States Supreme Court, appointed by President Ronald Reagan in 1981, she began a quarter-century tenure on the Court, hearing cases that ultimately shaped American law. Diagnosed with cancer at fifty-eight, and caring for a husband with Alzheimer’s, O’Connor endured every difficulty with grit and poise.

Women and men who want to be leaders and be first in their own lives—who want to learn when to walk away and when to stand their ground—will be inspired by O’Connor’s example. This is a remarkably vivid and personal portrait of a woman who loved her family, who believed in serving her country, and who, when she became the most powerful woman in America, built a bridge forward for all women.

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About the Author

Evan Thomas is the author of nine books: The Wise Men (with Walter Isaacson), The Man to See, The Very Best Men, Robert Kennedy, John Paul Jones, Sea of Thunder, The War Lovers, Ike’s Bluff, and Being NixonJohn Paul Jones andSea of Thunder were New York Timesbestsellers. Thomas was a writer, correspondent, and editor for thirty-three years at Time and Newsweek, including ten years (1986–96) as Washington bureau chief at Newsweek,where, at the time of his retirement in 2010, he was editor at large. He wrote more than one hundred cover stories and in 1999 won a National Magazine Award. He wrote Newsweek’s fifty-thousand-word election specials in 1996, 2000, 2004 (winner of a National Magazine Award), and 2008. He has appeared on many TV and radio talk shows, including Meet the Press and The Colbert Report, and has been a guest on PBS’s Charlie Rose more than forty times. The author of dozens of book reviews for The New York Times and The Washington Post, Thomas has taught writing and journalism at Harvard and Princeton, where, from 2007 to 2014, he was Ferris Professor of Journalism.