Cover Reveal: The Mix-Up by Melanie Munton

(Southern Hearts Club, #3)
Publication date: April 6th 2021
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance

She thought she accidentally slept with her boss…
Then she met his twin brother.

Real talk: I slept with my boss. Back before he even was my boss. Back when I had no clue who he was.

Real talk: My boss is an arrogant jerk. I hate him. If we didn’t work so well together, I would have told him exactly where he could shove his pompous attitude a long time ago.

Turns out…my boss has a twin. Identical twin.

Now I know why he’s always acted like our one night together never happened. Why he acted like he’d never met me before when I started working for him.

It wasn’t him that night. It was his brother.

A brother who’s just as gorgeous as my boss and a hell of a lot nicer.

Real talk: I’m kind of…bothered that it wasn’t my boss that night.

But that’s before certain revelations about that night come to light.

Excerpt

A thin manila file is dropped on top of my French fade manicure, halting my progress in the email I’m furiously typing. My fingers pause as I suck in a much-needed breath. Because only one person in this entire office would have the balls to do such a thing. And unfortunately, he signs my frigging paycheck.

I hear a muffled male voice and know he’s probably telling me to “turn off the squabbling, men-bashing drivel” and pay attention. That’s exactly what he called Kennedy’s podcast one day when he’d been curious to know what I was always listening to and had swiped up one of my earbuds before I could stop him.

I tap my Bluetooth earpiece, turning it off. But I don’t look at him. Why? People not making eye contact when they speak to him is one of his biggest pet peeves. 

Heh. Take that, prick. 

“Gee, sorry, boss man. Didn’t quite catch that.”

He pauses for a moment, probably to grind his teeth together hard enough to give himself a migraine. “Spec sheet for prospective client,” he grates in a low voice, referring to the file still balanced on my hands as I resume typing. “Look over their queries and come up with an approximate quote, as well as a realistic timeline for each individual project.”

My eyebrow notches up, though I keep my focus trained ahead. “I guess saying ‘please’ is too much of a time waster?”

“Yes. Since I know you’re going to do it regardless, that one syllable would have been a waste of my time and breath.”

I slowly nod at my computer screen. “Yep. Better save all that hot air for the next ass you have to blow smoke up.”

“Better than kissing those asses.”

I click my tongue against my teeth. “If I were you, I’d start puckering up because your personality is severely lacking in both charm and tact.”

“From the horse’s mouth, huh, duchess?”

Now, now, I look up at him.

Did I mention that Ryder Colson is a brutally beautiful man? 

Because of course he would be. 

His hair color is somewhere between dark blond and light brown, complementing his golden skin tone. It’s slightly longer on top and cut shorter at the sides. He always somehow manages to get that floppy part to sweep across his forehead at just the right angle to look suave. A small strand perpetually hangs over his left eyebrow, no matter how many times he shoves it back. His eyes are a soulful blue, his nose is long and straight, and day-old stubble claims permanent residency on his square jawline.

Worst of all, his bottom lip has this full, rounder thing going on that pisses off my neglected libido to the point that I want to dig my teeth into that flesh until I draw blood.

Easy, girl. Your momma didn’t raise no psycho.

Despite the casual leniencies that he affords his employees, Ryder never dons anything other than crisp, immaculately tailored suits. Hellaciously expensive ones that I’m pretty sure he has shipped in from London. As the owner and CEO, he frequently meets with clients, in and out of the office, so he always has to look professional. And flaming hot.

Damn him. 

Hey, I’m human. He’s sex on two legs. There’s nothing criminal about noticing it.

I dagger him with a look that would eviscerate a lesser man. And as much as it galls me to admit, Ryder here could never be categorized as lesser in any aspect of his life. “You could have just emailed this to me, you know. No need for these precious heart-to-hearts of ours.”

His navy eyes dance with something resembling amusement. “Now, what kind of person would that make me when I can clearly see how cutting me down at every opportunity brings you such joy?”

I narrow my eyes. “A prospect you’re more than familiar with.”

He smirks. “I don’t cut you down, duchess. I vex you. There’s a big difference.”

“The end result is the same no matter what verb you use,” I say through clenched teeth. “I can only assume your overall goal is to piss me off.”

He shrugs, like the apathetic jerkoff he is. “You do your best work when you’re exasperated. Part of my job as boss is to keep my employees motivated.”

“You’re confusing infuriation with motivation.”

He slides his hands in his pockets, far too casually. “And yet I know you’ll have that to me by the end of the day. Seems my methods are effective. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?”

My teeth clamp down on my tongue to silence the instinctual vitriol.

I’ll do a swan dive into a river of boiling lava before I ever admit that he’s right.

I can’t resist a challenge. He knows I’m going to bust my ass every day at work, no matter how acerbic our conversations get. Something about Ryder’s demeanor toward me, his work ethic, and his general expectations of his employees have always lit a fire inside me, making me want to rise to the occasion. It’s irrational—and just plain idiotic—how much I’ve wanted to impress him from day one. Ever since I found out that my boss has absolutely no memory of sleeping with me, I’ve been determined to prove myself. 

So help me Mary Magdalene, I will make him remember me.

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About the Author

Traveler. Reader. Beach-goer. St. Louis Cardinals fan. Pasta-obsessed. North Carolina resident. Sarcastic. Bit of a nerd.
Author of the Cruz Brothers, Possession and Politics, and Timid Souls series, Melanie loves all things romance, comedies and suspense in particular because it’s boring to only stick to one sub-genre! From light-hearted comedies to sexy thrillers, she likes to mix it up, but loves her some strong alpha males and sassy heroines.
Go visit Melanie’s website and sign up for her newsletter to stay updated on release dates, teasers, and other details for all of her projects!

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Spotlight: The Silent Speak by Val Collins

Publication date: February 23rd 2021
Genres: Adult, Thriller

“There’s a lunatic out there who butchered five innocent people and nobody is looking for him.” 

Aoife Walsh has plenty keeping her busy—finalising her divorce from her manipulative husband, settling into her still-new relationship with Detective Conor Moloney, and trying to win the trust of his teenage son. So for the moment, her fledgeling career as a freelance journalist has been put on hold.  

Then comes the horrific news that an entire family has been slaughtered in their own home. Aoife is shocked to discover two of the victims were members of her on-again-off-again book club. Even more disturbing is the revelation that the police believe it was a murder-suicide. 

That’s when Aoife receives a tantalising offer. Lisa, the main suspect’s sister, will grant Aoife access to the victims’ extended family for an exclusive news story—if Aoife will help find the real killer. Moved by Lisa’s unwavering belief in her brother’s innocence, Aoife agrees to help.  

As she digs into the secrets of her fellow book club members, Aoife discovers potential suspects everywhere: people having affairs, a jealous husband, and a power-hungry business partner who’s clearly hiding something. 

Aoife keeps pulling at the threads of the story, untangling more and more deception. Is the killer really dead and buried? Is it someone Aoife already knows? Could the lunatic be closer than Aoife ever imagined? 

You won’t be able to put down this twisty thriller from international bestselling author Val Collins.

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

She read the note again.

Twice in the past three years, similar notes had been splashed all over the newspapers. She knew immediately what it meant, but her brain wouldn’t allow her to process it. For several minutes she just stared at it. Her lips formed words that never came. When her brain caught up, it went straight to denial.

This could not be happening.

Things like this did not happen in ordinary families.

Not in families like hers.

She pulled down the door handle. The door was unlocked. That was a good sign, right? She would go into the house and find everything exactly as it had always been. There just had to be some simple explanation for that note. Yes, she nodded to herself, relieved to have come to a decision. She nudged the door open and put one foot on the wooden floor. The house was eerily quiet. No kids running around. No noise from the kitchen. 

‘Now don’t panic,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Everything will be fine. Just go inside.’ 

She tried to lift her foot, but her brain wouldn’t cooperate. Hands shaking, she pulled out her mobile and dialled 999. She was still frozen in the doorway when the police arrived.

ONE

It took Aoife a few seconds to realise Conor wasn’t listening. His eyes were focused on a point behind her head, and his face had taken on that wooden expression, the only expression he had shown her in the first few months of their acquaintance.

‘Is something wrong?’

Conor didn’t appear to hear. He pushed back his chair and walked away. Aoife glanced behind. She saw a woman hurry towards him. They met in the centre of the room. The woman wore jeans and a rain jacket. She had shoulder-length chocolate-brown hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was a little older than Conor, probably in her mid-thirties. Not stunningly pretty by any means, but good looking. She was gesticulating wildly as she spoke. Conor answered her in a low voice. For the sake of appearances, Aoife picked at her food, but she concentrated hard, trying to catch their words above the noise of the crowd. Conor’s voice was a low hum, but she clearly heard the woman say ‘not answering my calls’ and ‘what do I have to do to get…’

Abandoning any pretence at politeness, Aoife turned in her chair and stared. Conor now had his hand on the woman’s arm and was leading her towards the exit. She jerked her arm away. Her eyes met Aoife’s. She said something which Aoife didn’t catch and tried to push past Conor. Conor’s hand was on her arm again, but this time his grip was tighter. The woman tried to yank her arm away but was unable to get free. There was a lull in the conversation as people watched the drama. The restaurant manager approached. He and Conor exchanged a few words. The manager took the woman’s other arm and they led her to the door. The woman struggled but couldn’t escape. As the manager went to close the door behind her, she turned to face them. Again, her eyes met Aoife’s. She was crying.

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About the Author

Val Collins is the author of the award-winning psychological thriller GIRL TARGETED, the international bestseller ONLY LIES REMAIN and her new release THE SILENT SPEAK. All three books feature heroine Aoife Walsh.

A native of Ireland, Val began reading at the age of three and still devours books at the rate of one per week. Her favourite authors range from Philippa Gregory and Sophie Kinsella to Lee Child and Linwood Barclay.

Join Val online at valcollinsbooks.com, and on social media @valcollinsbooks.

Connect:

https://valcollinsbooks.com/

https://www.facebook.com/ValCollinsBooks/

https://www.instagram.com/valcollinsbooks/

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17645296.Val_Collins

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Spotlight: The Juice By Janet Stilson

A substance that gives users almost god-like powers of charisma supercharges an espionage roller coaster ride and thrilling romance in Janet Stilson’s new sci-fi cyberpunk novel

In THE JUICE, Jarat Ellington is just an exile from Elite society, trying to lead a simple life, when a genius friend drops an explosive mystery in his lap. The old pal, Thom Tseng, created a priceless chemical substance called the Juice that turns mildly charming people into extraordinarily charismatic beings, known as Charismites. But the Juice is stolen, and Thom killed.

With the help of a secret organization, Jarat goes on an obsessive quest to uncover the deadly adversary who now controls the Juice. He must fight his intense attraction to a Charismite named Luscious Melada—once a dirt-poor, homely teen who, with the help of the Juice, transforms into an extremely magnetic starlet. And he goes up against Petra Cardinale, a powerful, ambitious media executive with a secret agenda.

If you love the cyberpunk science fiction of William Gibson; the dystopian world of A Handmaid's Tale; or sci-fi detective novels, add THE JUICE to your reading list!

Excerpt

Note: This excerpt is the opening pages of THE JUICE, Chapter 1, which is told from the perspective of Jarat Ellington, one of three main characters in the novel.

The rachitty-dunk, rachitty-dunk of the subway car had me in a deep state of zenitude, so when a giant tomahawk slashed two inches from my face, I didn’t blink. But I had to smile. 

The ax was part of a giant graffiti hologram of Señor KickingBird. The cartoon character was looking boyish as ever—his jovial face sticking out of a beaded Indian buckskin outfit. And his headdress was so madly yellow and pink that the car was stained, as if by colored glass.  

The other passengers smiled at the holo, thoroughly entranced. It gave them something to do other than staring at me. Not that I blamed them. My mass of pewter and black hair, scruffy faux-ostrich leather jacket, ripped cowboy boots—and most of all, my golden skin tone—were so different from their drab, ragged clothing and more varied complexions. The underground was the province of the lower class, not the extremely small Elite ranking of society that I’d been born into nearly 30 years before. My clothes were more offbeat than most Elites, who were artfully groomed, but it didn’t hide my origins.

As Señor KickingBird went through his antics, a school chum, Thom Tseng, came to mind. In younger days, when we were at MIT in Massachusetts, the two of us had personal holo graffiti collections. We were obsessed with finding every single version of KickingBird on the OuterNet. It was a diversion from all the serious frustration we were going through trying to make some experiments work at school.

There in the subway, KickingBird went through a blur of slasher moves leaping from seat to seat like a big ol’ butterball, never speaking, just whooping. As a grand finale, he sunk his tomahawk into the ceiling, causing a red rain to sparkle down and fill the floor with a virtual lake of fizzy pomegranate juice. The bedraggled people around me went wild with applause.

Then the vision stopped. My skin prickled as the face transformed into a gold saucer, and then into Thom, with his mashup of Asian features. The left side of his face was mutilated with flaming wounds, and there was a black hole where his eye should have been. His right cheek was covered with ghoulish bruises, and his mouth quivered with pain.

Under normal circumstances, nobody could look down his nose as arrogantly as my friend. He had a self-confident swagger, and his eyes were constantly flickering as the computer chips in his head worked on multiple lines of thought. It was hard not to envy his brilliance.

It took considerable effort to hide my horror at his gruesome transformation. No one in the subway car was reacting. This last part was a private vision from Thom directly to me. I swiped the air like I was merely taking a call on my mobile so that nobody would think I was talking to the holo.

 “Blazing hell! What happened?” I whispered.

Thom’s blood-crusted lips croaked out, “The Juice. They took it.”

“They? Who’s they?”

There was just shrill, silent terror on his face. He didn’t know; that seemed clear.

As far as I knew, I was the only other person who knew about his bizarre concoction, the Juice. The consequences of it getting into the wrong hands could be deep, and dire. 

“Where are you?” 

“Mt. Sinai. ICU. But leaving.” 

“But you look so –”

“Have to. Now.” 

“Okay. Where do I meet you?” 

Thom’s head started to jerk, and then the graffiti faded. With a circular hand movement, I snatched the feed and stored it in my mobile two seconds before it disappeared completely. 

Five hundred pounds of hulking bot cop plowed down the subway aisle toward me. Everyone cringed. The New York security forces had embedded sensors in the wall paint about the size of dust motes. They recorded the movements of every single person, knew everything about them. If there was any evidence that discord was about to break out, they showed up. No doubt my zooming heart rate and sweat glands gone wild had triggered the bot’s sudden appearance. 

I pretty much despised the whole surveillance system—the constant invasion of privacy and the monitoring of even the most trivial actions. So when the thing stuck its snout in my face, I punched it hard, which sent a thrill through the car. The other passengers were stunned. An abundantly sized lass sitting opposite had such frightened rabbit eyes. Her tight blouse, the color of overcooked Brussel Sprouts, waved up and down with her breath. 

The bot raised a tentacle to slam me. But it backed off as the data readout emanating from the mobile stud in my ear informed it that I was Jarat Ellington, son of Evander Ellington. My father was the CEO of Silverton Enterprises, one of the most powerful companies in United America. The nation that stretched from the state of Canada down to Argentina.

“Is everything okay, Mr. Ellington?” 

“It will be if you suck my cojones.”

The thing attempted a laugh, but it came out more like a cough. As it retreated, Rabbit Eyes curled her mouth into a grin. 

There was no time to think any more about that. Thom was all that mattered. In a split second, my mobile displayed all the contact numbers I’d ever had for him on a private air screen, which was composed of nothing but colored lights. Every single number was no longer in service. In two minutes, I’d navigated through a maze of Mt. Sinai numbers and found the right one for the ICU unit’s nurses’ station. An actual human answered the phone. I told her who I was looking for in a half-whisper, trying to keep the conversation as private as possible in the subway car.

“Thom Tseng is no longer here,” said the dullest voice on the planet, mangling the name. Tom Zeng. That’s how it sounded. But there wasn’t time to correct her.

“Can you tell me where he went?” I swiped the air and turned on the mobile’s visual feature so the receptionist could see my pleading, harmless expression. 

Her hollow-eyed face popped into view as she swiped through information in the hospital database. “And who are you?”

“His brother.”

“It says here that he doesn’t have a brother.”

“I’m the closest thing to it. Please. I need to take care of him.”

Her tired expression grew sad. “He doesn’t need that anymore.”

She was telling me he was dead without saying the words because that would have gotten her into trouble. There was no doubt of that. I felt as if my chest was filled with bleeding tears.

“That’s not possible.” How could Thom have ever managed to create a holo graffiti when he was so close to the end? It was confounding: he’d come back in my life out of the blue, told me about the terrible theft, and then died?

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Where do I visit him?” It was too hard to say the words “his remains.” 

“Only real family members can do that. Security would have your head before they let you through.” 

It seemed more than likely that the Ellington name wouldn’t clear the way in this particular instance. I managed to thank the receptionist and swiped away the call. 

The rachitty-dunk, rachitty-dunk of the subway car grew louder. Shoulda kept up; shoulda kept up, it clacked. I hadn’t spoken with Thom in years, didn’t have a clue what sequence of events had led my friend to this final point. 

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About the Author

Janet lives in New York City with her husband and two mischievous cats. To learn more about her, visit janetstilson.com, or connect with her on Twitter @janetstilson.

Spotlight: Jackson by LaQuette

Publication Date: 2/23/2021

Restoration Ranch may have been the first step on her road to redemption…but Jackson Dean will be the last mile.

Aja Everett longs to turn her old family ranch into a place where anyone can find rest and healing. But her big heart’s bound to get her in trouble if she’s not careful—someone wants her gone, and they’ll do whatever it takes to drive her away from the land that’s her lifeblood. Whether she’s willing to admit it or not, she needs help.

She needs a man like Ranger Jackson Dean.

Jackson doesn’t trust love. He once made the mistake of following his heart and all he’d gotten was pain in return. But when city-slicking do-gooder Aja Everett asks for his help, he can’t stay away…and as attraction sizzles and protective instincts flare, she may be the only woman able to restore the heart of this Texas Ranger.

Excerpt

Jackson Dean made his way inside the Texas Rangers’ Headquarters and headed straight for his office.  It was early in the morning and he wanted nothing more than to still be in his bed.  Unfortunately, a call from his boss, Major Hargrove, put the kibosh on that plan. 

He twisted the knob and switched on the light, waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness flooding the room.  He remembered how happy he was to get an office of his own.  The room was nothing much to speak of.  A typical windowless space in a government building made of white concrete walls and filled with metal furniture. But no matter how bland it was, he was still proud to have his name etched on the door because it came with his promotion to team leader eight years ago. 

Today, it looked almost exactly the same as it had when he’d first been given the keys.  But at the moment, when sleep hadn’t yet completely let loose its grip on him, boundless pride wasn’t the emotion he was experiencing.  No, it was more like annoyance and frustration grating on his nerves at having to come in early after working in the field late last night. 

He dropped his bag on a nearby chair and headed straight for the coffeemaker on top of a metal filing cabinet.  Fresh, frequent, and plentiful caffeine would be the only thing to keep him from getting an insubordination write-up in his personnel file, so he opened a couple of bottled waters and poured them into the machine 

A tap on his door grabbed his attention.  He glanced up from it and rested his eyes on the yet-to-start dripping coffee machine and groaned. 

“Someone must want me to get a write up.” 

Another tap and he pushed away from the filing cabinet and opened the door. 

“Morning Jackson,” Major Hargrove didn’t wait to be invited in.  He just assumed the open door was all the invitation he needed.  “Thanks for coming so quickly.” 

“I’m still half sleep,” Jackson groaned as he stepped away from the door and made it back to his coffee pot.   

“At least you had the chance to go to sleep, I’ve been up for about twenty-four hours since I got this call just before I was about to head home yesterday.” 

Jackson stared through narrowed slits.  Hargrove didn’t play with his time.  He stayed when necessary, but he was obsessed with him and his rangers having a clear work-life balance.  Nothing kept him from punching out at six in the evening unless there was a real emergency.  “You made it sound like it was life or death that I came in at,” He raised his left wrist pretending to read the wide-faced watch there. “ass O’ clock in the morning.  What’s going on Major?” 

His boss slid a file on Jackson’s desk and took the seat in front of it waiting patiently for Jackson to fill the mug he’d grabbed the second the alarm on the machine told him his brew was ready. 

“You’re not gonna put any milk or sugar in the rotgut?” 

“No sir,” he replied, sitting down and taking a long slow sip.  “I like it the way it is: strong and black, just like me.” 

He took another sip before opening the file.  The first thing that caught his attention was the picture of a woman in a fitted designer dress.  Not that he knew fashion from foam rubber, but the way the black material hugged her full curves, he was certain it had been made or at least tailored, just for her. 

“I’m not gonna be ready to read this without at least another cup.  Just give me the highlights.  Who is she?” 

His boss crossed an ankle over his knee and tilted his head.  “She’s the niece of a friend.  A judge in Hill Country.  Her property has been vandalized and the judge needs someone to look into it.” 

Jackson felt his brow inching higher into his hairline.  Something about the way Major Hargrove said “someone” scratched at his bullshit meter. 

“What do the locals have to say about it?” 

Hargrove lifted an open palm before letting it fall back to his knee.  “Not a thing.  There’s some bad blood between the local sheriff’s department and Ms. Everett.” 

Jackson shifted in his seat, the coffee plus his boss’ preliminary recount was starting to sketch an outline to this tale of a spoiled judge’s niece using her uncle’s connections to get what she wanted.     

“Anyway, the judge wants to make sure this is taken seriously.  Especially since the vandalism has escalated from fence posts and a scaffold being knocked down to her barn being burned to the ground yesterday.” 

Jackson sat up straighter. “Anyone hurt?” 

“Minor cuts and bruises on Ms. Everett.  Her uncle called me while she was being seen at the hospital.  Asked me to get her a protective detail and send a team out to investigate.” 

“She pointing fingers at anyone?” 

Hargrove stood up and tapped on top of the beautiful woman’s picture.  “Don’t know.  But you can ask when she gets here.  I assigned Jennings and Gleason to her protective detail overnight.  They’re bringing her in first thing this morning so she can swear out a statement.  Get your team together and figure this thing out.”  He walked toward the door confident his orders would be followed.  And they would be.  Jackson might give his boss shit, but he always got the job done. 

He looked at the picture of one Ms. Aja Everett again.  He ran his finger slowly over the high cheekbones that turned her eyes into barely-opened slits as her wide grin smiled back at him.  “Why would anyone want to harm you?” 

***

Excerpted from Jackson by LaQuette. © 2021 by LaQuette. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

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About the Author

LAQUETTE writes savvy, sexy contemporary romance. She is the 2016 Author of the Year Golden Apple Award Winner, 2016 Write Touch Reader’s Choice Winner, and a 2018 Passionate Plume Finalist. She is an advocate for the #WeNeedDiverseRomance campaign. LaQuette, a native of Brooklyn, lives in Pennsylvania with her family. Learn more about her at LaQuette.com

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Spotlight: In Command by Aileen Erin

(Aunare Chronicles #2.5)
Published by: Ink Monster LLC
Publication date: February 23rd 2021
Genres: Dystopian, Young Adult

Amihanna di Aetes is used to fighting, surviving, and relying on her strength to get through the hard times. She thought the worst was over when she accepted her engagement to Lorne ni Taure, the High King of the Aunare, and claimed her place as the future High Queen.

It should be easy to slide into her new role. How hard can it be living in luxury with your soulmate after growing up alone on the streets?

But the more she learns about the Aunare and their politics, the more she realizes that the true test of her strength is just beginning.

Amihanna di Aetes is in for the battle of her life if she wants the Aunare to accept her.

*In Command is a 65K novella that takes place between Off Balance and On Mission (Books 2 & 3 of the main Aunare Chronicles). The series can be enjoyed without reading this story, but you can’t enjoy this story without reading the series.

Excerpt

“Almya. I’m not wearing—”

A throat cleared, and I didn’t even turn around. “Roan. Best friend or not, I’m going to murder you if you keep coming in here.”

“Not Roan.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Lorne.

He was leaning against the edge of the door, watching me with his aquamarine gaze that seemed to see through me. My heart picked up, and I could feel myself giving him a stupid grin, but I couldn’t stop it. “Hey.”

“Hi.” His gaze ran down my body and slowly back up, heating every inch of me. “As fashion-forward as I usually am, I think it’s probably best if you find something else for the meeting. Quickly.”

I turned back to Almya, who was still smiling—although now it looked too forced—and holding out two dresses for me to choose from.

She held one out a little farther, giving it a little shake. “This one would look lovely on you, and it’s perfect for the—”

I shook my head. “If you would just listen to me—”

“Amihanna. My love,” Lorne said softly. “I’ve been standing here for a moment, and I heard more than enough about what’s going on. The thing to remember—”

“Is that I hate dresses,” I said to Almya, hoping that she would listen. “Hate. Dresses.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

I turned to him, annoyed and struggling to remember that I wasn’t annoyed at him. “What?”

“The thing to remember is that you are the future queen. Not Almya.” He gave her a short, pitying glance before focusing on me again. “You decide what you do, what you say, what you wear.” He slowly walked toward me as he spoke. “So, put something on already.” He brushed a quick kiss on my lips.

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About the Author

Aileen Erin is half-Irish, half-Mexican, and 100% nerd–from Star Wars (prequels don’t count) to Star Trek (TNG FTW), she reads Quenya and some Sindarin, and has a severe fascination with the supernatural. Aileen has a BS in Radio-TV-Film from the University of Texas at Austin, and an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. She lives with her husband in Los Angeles, and spends her days doing her favorite things: reading books, creating worlds, and kicking ass.

Connect:

https://inkmonster.net/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7190350.Aileen_Erin

https://www.facebook.com/inkmonster.net

https://twitter.com/aileen_erin

https://www.instagram.com/aileenerin/

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Spotlight: Fighting for Someday by M.M. Koenig

Genre: Contemporary Romance 

Bri McAndrews is the envy of every girl at Chamberlain and the one every guy wants at their side. What most people don’t know is that there’s so much more to her than the picture-perfect life everyone sees on the surface. Being the daughter of a power-hungry senator has her under constant scrutiny. Even though she’s used to being in the spotlight, it’s becoming harder to meet her father’s expectations. When Trey Donovan stereotypes her as just another spoiled, rich kid, she’s more than determined to show him he’s wrong about her, and she doesn’t care about the consequences it will have for her at home.

After giving the most popular guy in school a beat down he’ll never forget, Trey Donovan becomes more than just the new, all-star quarterback at Chamberlain. He’s the bad boy from the south side every girl is dying to have on their arm. Unfazed by his new popularity, Trey isn’t about to let his guard down. But keeping everyone at a distance becomes a challenge, especially whenever Bri is nearby. She’s way out of his social stratosphere and the one girl he shouldn’t even consider pursuing.

As Bri and Trey grow closer, more than a few vengeful people have a problem with it. Can their budding new relationship survive when so many people are set on keeping them apart?

**This book is a prequel to the Secrets and Lies series.*

Excerpt

My back hit the couch and I gasped to catch my breath after he pulled away. He stole a quick kiss, making my body tingle everywhere. I shoved at his chest and whined, “Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish, Trey. And as far as the card goes, I think you’re a better fit for it.”

Trey picked up a practice test from the coffee table. “Sorry, Bri. Your lips were taunting me. I’m taking this and then I promise I’ll pick up where I left off.”

I released a disgruntled huff and snatched my prep book. Somehow, an hour and a half passed and my vision was close to the cross-eyed point. I tried to work out my Calculus equation, but it made no fucking sense. When the numbers blurred together on the page, I placed my pencil into the book, slammed it shut, and tossed it on the floor. I kept my legs on Trey’s lap, but laid on my back, closed my eyes, and massaged my temples until the lingering pain between them faded. 

Trey caressed the tops of my thighs before moving to below my naval. I peeked at him and he eyed me like I was his favorite dessert. All the delectable tingles from earlier shot through every part of me. He straddled my legs around him and intertwined his tongue with mine. I gave way to it for a moment before giving his bottom lip a gentle bite and leaning back.

I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to study, mister.”

Trey kissed along my neck and I rocked into him after he sucked below my earlobe. He nibbled on it and kissed along my jaw. Once he reached my lips again, he devoured my mouth until neither of us could breathe. 

He gave my nose a delicate kiss and rasped, “I am studying, baby.”

I panted. “What exactly are you learning, babe?”

Trey ran his hands up my sides and across my ribcage. “I can’t get those last two flashcards out of my head. I’m taking note of every curve on your body. I’m sure it’ll be relevant if any anatomy questions pop up on the test.”

I placed soft kisses along his jawline, loving how his stubble made me quiver. He brought my lips to his and picked up on our vigorous tongue dance. Our hands wandered all over as our mouths consumed one another. After we took a moment to get some much-needed air, I was on my back, staring at him as he hovered above me. 

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About M.M. Koenig 

M. M. Koenig enjoys being active and has a variety of interests that coincide with her passion for life. Always one to try new things, she has acquired a variety of skills. Her sarcastic nature and multitude of experiences tend to find their way into her novels.

When she has free time and isn't writing, she spends as much time as she can with friends and family. To fuel her soul, she is constantly looking for new music, movies, and books to keep the writer's block at bay.

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