Read an excerpt from The Baby Bombshell by Victoria James

Publication Date: April 10, 2017
Genres: Adult, Entangled: Bliss, Contemporary Romance

Lily Cookson has a few rules for the New Year, the most important being don’t fall for Jack Bailey. The gorgeous, rugged man returned with a new look and a determination to win her back, catching her off guard. After a forbidden night in his arms, she vows never to let it happen again. But when morning sickness kicks in a few weeks later, Lily realizes staying away from Jack just got a whole lot harder.

Jack Bailey left Shadow Creek behind five years ago when his world imploded around him, knowing it would be best for everyone if he was gone…including Lily. It took him a long time to get his life back on track and grow into the kind of man she needs him to be. Now he’s determined to prove to Lily that he’s back for good and ready to commit, but the secrets she’s holding onto are nothing compared to the bombshell he drops…

Excerpt

She squeezed her eyes shut and he took that opportunity to close the distance between them, gently folding her up in his arms until all she could breathe was him. She stood there, not hugging him back, but not pushing him away. His chest was hard against the side of her face. His hands were in her hair and she knew all she had to do was lean back slowly and his mouth would be on hers. But she wasn’t ready for that, because she knew all her control would be gone at that point. Instead, she breathed in the scent that was him. It was like she was home.

All at once, her past and her present, her pain and her joy was all here, wrapped up in the one man she needed more than anyone. God did she want to believe in him. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she felt him shudder before his strong arms held her tightly. “Lily, there’s been no one.”

She wanted to push him, but instead ended up clutching two fistfuls of his shirt. “I can’t ever get back together with you. It doesn’t matter that you claim you still love me, that you never stopped loving me. It doesn’t matter that it’s New Year’s Eve and you, the love of my life, are back in town and looking so good that all I want to do is jump you,” she said, blabbing an embarrassing mile a minute, hating that she had no filter when she was drunk and that she had a tendency for theatrical, dramatic jabbering. “It doesn’t matter that we’re here. Alone. Two adults with a past but no hope for a future.”

“Lily.”

“I don’t trust you anymore,” she whispered, aware that she was pulling him in closer as she spoke. God, he stilled smelled like Jack. He felt like her Jack. She closed her eyes, feeling his hands on her wrists, pulling them off his chest. His hands cupped each side of her face, and she felt the calluses, such a contrast to the tender way he was holding her. Oh God, she was such toast. One night. She could do one night.

His lips hovered over her mouth, and it took all her self-control not to whimper. “Give me tonight. One night to prove to you that we still belong together.” She reminded herself to breathe normally, but it was so hard to breathe normally with Jack whispering about a night together. His beard scraped against her cheek as he whispered in her ear, and her knees threatened to buckle. “I wrote to you every day. Every single day, because it made me feel close to you, because I missed you so damn much.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tilting her head up, surrendering, as his words impacted her until she couldn’t defend herself anymore. “One night. Then tomorrow my new number one New Year’s resolution is going to be ‘no more Jack Bailey.’”

There was the tiniest hint of a smile, like he was making a resolution of his own, before his mouth finally captured hers in what had to be the best reunion kiss of all time.

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About the Author

Victoria James is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance.

Victoria always knew she wanted to be a writer and in grade five, she penned her first story, bound it (with staples and a cardboard cover) and did all the illustrations herself. Luckily, this book will never see the light of day again.

In high school she fell in love with historical romance and then contemporary romance. After graduating University with an English Literature degree, Victoria pursued a degree in Interior Design and then opened her own business. After her first child, Victoria knew it was time to fulfill her dream of writing romantic fiction.

Victoria is a hopeless romantic who is living her dream, penning happily-ever-after’s for her characters in between managing kids and the family business. Writing on a laptop in the middle of the country in a rambling old Victorian house would be ideal, but she’s quite content living in suburbia with her husband, their two young children, and very bad cat.

Sign up for Victoria’s Newsletter to stay up to date on upcoming releases and exclusive giveaways, follow her blog for daily antics and insight into her daily life, and get to know her on twitter and Facebook. She loves hearing from readers!

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Read an excerpt from Her Scottish Mistake by Michele de Winton

Publication Date: April 10, 2017
Genres: Adult, Entangled: Lovestruck, Contemporary, Romance

Aspiring blogger Janie Milan is finally on her dream trip to Thailand. But when an unfortunate piña colada incident lands her in the path of a hot Scotsman, Janie finds herself dying to find out what’s under his kilt. Only the frustratingly sexy man isn’t who he’s pretending to be…

After cutting a deal to keep his brother safe, Scottish heartthrob Blaine Galloway is hiding from the press. But his secret identity starts to slip the second he meets small-town blogger, Janie. Now the press is hot on their heels and Blaine’s life is tumbling into a tabloid-sponsored hell. Coincidence? He’s not so sure.

Excerpt

Janie looked the guy dead in the eyes again and boom, her ovaries practically melted. The way those blue eyes looked at her? Lethal. The light shifted, and through the lust fug clouding her vision like fog, she changed her mind. They weren’t blue eyes. They were some sort of crazy, ocean full of sequins with blue curaçao punch mixed together eyes. And were they sparkling? Hells yes they were. It took everything she had not to melt into a blubbering mess, but she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to do that ever again, so she straightened. She could talk to men. She would talk to men. That was part of what she came here for.

“Boston, cute name. Not very Texan, but cute. What sort of dog is he?”

Gawd, that accent. What was it, Scottish? Did someone forget to tell McDashing that this was Thailand and not the set of Outlander? “A stupid one,” she said keeping her voice as steady as she could as she waited for the lust fog to lift. “Likes to chase mice down holes down at the tractor sheds and gets stuck with his ass waving in the air all the time.”

He chuckled, and those eyes were sparkling and they were looking at her like she was supposed to say something more. Like she should do something. Hell, those eyes almost wrapped her up and took her to bed. Girlfriend, you need to sit down a second. Guy could be a serial killer and you’re lust-whoring after his eyes and insisting he come to your room? Since when do you do that? Janie gave herself a little shake. She’d clearly only just gotten out of Little Acre in time before she lost all sense of reason. Putting a hand to her stomach, she tried to still what felt like a giant herd of Thai elephants rather than butterflies trampling through her intestines. What the heck was that? There were no feels to be felt here. She blinked hard to try and focus, and the lust fog finally lifted.

“Boston is a mongrel. Floppy thing, a bit like Ryan Gosling’s mutt. Not that you care about Ryan Gosling enough to know what his dog looks like. Or even know who Ryan Gosling is. Still, Boston’s mine and despite his stupidity I love him to bits. Saved him from getting himself shot.” Janie made herself shut up. Oversharing much? “Anyway. I’m Janie. My room is over there, I’m as normal as a steering wheel on a tractor, and you’re still dripping.” She pointed to his shirt.

He looked down and sighed. “So I am.” Unbuttoning the first couple of buttons, he pulled the shirt over his head to reveal an intricate tattoo that took up most of his left chest and shoulder. And also… Holy six-pack of heaven. Her fingers itched to touch it, to smooth the dampness away. The elephants in her stomach trumpeted their agreement.

Then he put his hand in his shorts pocket. “Och, damn and bollocks.”

“What?” Janie managed to get the words out past the saliva. Heck, at least she wasn’t openly drooling.

“My cell. It’s got your cocktail on it.”

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About the Author

It’s no wonder that Michele’s first romance has a little sparkle of the stage tucked into its pages as she was a performer long before she got adicted to the page. Being a writer was not what she was supposed to be when she ‘grew up’ but then neither was a dancer. Her poor parents. They thought that when she toddled off to law school they’d bred a responsible, useful adult and instead they got a performer and word junkie. 

She now writes full time in a studio surrounded by the whisper of wind in the trees and only intermittent interruptions from her young son, husband and hunger pangs. She’s based in New Zealand (land of beaches and hobbits) loves chocolate, yoga, sunshine, her boys and happy endings.

You can get in touch through facebook or twitter or through her website and blog www.micheledewinton.com

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Read an excerpt from Bay Song by Noelle Adams

Her mother used to say you can feel the truth in your throat. Maybe when her story is finally told, she'll be able to breathe again.

For six years, Holly has lived a reclusive life--with the Chesapeake Bay, the wild animals on her property, and dark memories as her only companions. Then she meets Cade. He's smart and handsome and sensitive and sexy, and he simply will not go away. He wants to know all about her, and Holly starts to wonder if she can open up her heart again.

Cade comes back to his hometown for a break, barely holding on to the fraying edges of his true-crime writing career. He needs to write another book, and it needs to be a success. When he meets Holly, he knows there's a great story hiding beneath her haunting beauty and her complete isolation. He's going to be the one to tell that story.

Even if he breaks both of their hearts in the process.

Excerpt

Copyright © 2017 Noelle Adams

As he walked back, he dried his face and chest. When he reached her, Holly was stretched out on her towel, her body displayed in a way that sent a surge of desire through him, most of it centered in his groin. Her suit was pretty much transparent now. The strings and fabric were stretched and thin. That bikini must be twenty years old.

“I’m exhausted,” she said, her eyes closed and arms stretched up above her head. Then she squinted at him in an exaggerated glare. “Why aren’t you tired too?”

He almost laughed at the irony. He must be a better actor than he thought. “I am,” he admitted, lowering himself to sit beside her on the sand. “I feel like I might just fall over.”

“Good.” She was doing that suppressed smile thing, and it made her face look absolutely enchanting—almost as attractive to him as her body.

He couldn’t keep his eyes from crawling over her long limbs and firm curves though. She was only a few inches away from him, and her breasts alone made him want to howl. He felt the erection that had tightened earlier get a little harder as he gazed at her. Soon it was going to be uncomfortable.

“Don’t get too turned on,” she said without opening her eyes. “Nothing is going to happen.”

“I know that. But there’s not any sense in trying to reason with my body. It does what it does, no matter how sternly I lecture it differently.”

She chuckled, and he was irrationally pleased that he’d managed to amuse her. She opened her eyes to meet his again. “If it’s going to be a problem for you, then you’ll need to leave. This isn’t an invitation.”

“I know it isn’t. I’m not a lumbering buffoon who thinks a body is only there for me to touch. It’s not going to be a problem for me.” He noticed that she didn’t offer to cover up. That was interesting and not a normal response for a woman—at least for the women he’d known before.

She wasn’t taking any responsibility at all for the state of his body, even though she was lying next to him mostly naked.

“Good. Then you can stay for a little while.”

“Thanks.” His voice was dry but not sarcastic.

She smiled again and relaxed on her towel, obviously enjoying the feel of the sun and the breeze.

Cade adjusted his position and tried to enjoy it too, although his mind was whirling with too many questions and responses.

“It doesn’t bother you?” he asked after a minute.

She turned her head to look up at him. “What doesn’t bother me?”

“My sitting here staring at you like this.”

“You weren’t staring just now. You were looking out at the bay, trying to get less turned on.”

She was exactly right, although how she’d realized it with her eyes closed he had no idea. “But I was staring at you earlier. It doesn’t bother you?”

“No. Why would it?”

“I don’t know. A lot of women are self-conscious about people staring at their bodies. And since you seem to be… reluctant to socialize, I would have thought it would be harder for you.”

“No. I think people are self-conscious because they want other people to think well of them, more so about the parts of them that are most intimate. I couldn’t care less about whether you like my body or not.”

She was speaking the truth. He could tell. It was so different from what he was used to that he had trouble wrapping his mind around it.

“And lying here like this doesn’t feel very intimate to me anyway. I’d far rather you see me naked than set foot into my house.”

She was telling him the truth about that too. He wondered whether something was in the house that made it so off-limits or if it was just a private sanctuary that no one but her could ever enter.

There were still far too many questions about her than answers. He might have seen her mostly naked, but he had barely scratched the surface of who she was.

He wondered why she’d allowed him to swim with her this evening, why she wasn’t sending him away now.

“You interest me,” she said at last, as if she had read his mind. “I can’t quite figure you out.”

“Same here,” he said, speaking only the truth.

“No one has really interested me in a long time.” Her words drifted off as if she was speaking to herself.

He didn’t give her the answer out loud, but the same was true of him. He wanted—needed—to know more about her. It made him feel alive, so alive that he wondered if he’d been living half-dead for the past few years.

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About Noelle Adams

Noelle handwrote her first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and currently resides in Virginia, where she reads any book she can get her hands on and offers tribute to a very spoiled cocker spaniel.

She loves travel, art, history, and ice cream. After spending far too many years of her life in graduate school, she has decided to reorient her priorities and focus on writing contemporary romances.

If you'd like to contact Noelle, please contact her at noelle.s.adams@gmail.com. Or connect with her on TwitterFacebook, and Goodreads.

Read an excerpt from The Mourning Ring by Sarah Parke

Sixteen-year-old Charlotte Bronte lives to tell stories. She longs to improve her fortunes through her writing. Charlotte’s father expects her to leave behind her childish fantasies in order to set an example for her three younger siblings.

But the Bronte children hold a secret in their veins—a smidgen of fairy blood that can bring their words to life.

When Charlotte discovers that the characters from their childish stories exist in an alternate world called Glass Town, she jumps at the opportunity to be the heroine of her own tale.

The city of Angria teeters on the brink of civil war and Charlotte and her siblings must use their magic and their wits to save its people from a tyrant with magic abilities. But entering the fictional world means forfeiting control of their own creations. If they fail, the characters they have come to know and love will be destroyed.

Charlotte is determined to save the city and characters she loves, but when the line between creator and character becomes blurred, will she choose her fantasy or her family?

Excerpt

Sixteen-year-old Charlotte Brontë sat in the cramped, stuffy coach and cursed the pitted road that led to Haworth. Nestled in West Yorkshire, the village was a day's ride from the Roe Head School. Beside Charlotte sat an old man in a squashed beaver hat who reeked of sweat and tobacco. A pair of young ladies with stiffly posed limbs perched on the bench across from her. They had nearly identical doll-like features. Charlotte felt boorish in comparison.

Her brother Branwell said she had a face only an artist would appreciate. Her features were symmetrical and well-proportioned. Her mouth was small and budlike, but her lips were pale. She would always be childlike in stature, and her brown hair lacked the volume and luster which was fashionable.

What was the point of being part-fairy if one couldn't benefit from otherworldly beauty? It wasn’t fair.

When the coach pulled to a stop at the crossroad about a mile from the village, Charlotte clambered over the other passengers. Once her boots hit the hard-packed dirt, she drew in a lungful of fresh air, like a swimmer resurfacing. The coachman handed down Charlotte's small trunk, barely sparing her a glance before flicking his whip across the horses' flanks and driving away.

Charlotte stood, watching the coach grow smaller. She extended her arms above her head and stretched for the first time in hours. Then she grabbed the handle of her trunk and began dragging it toward the village. The dirt road turned to a setted stone lane as the ground climbed steeply beneath Charlotte's tired feet.

The Pennines which divided England into east and west like the spine of an immense, sleeping dragon, made the terrain steep and rocky. Charlotte perspired through her bonnet and muslin gown as the June sun beat down on her back. The weak breeze failed to relieve her discomfort.

Not for the first time, Charlotte wished her father was a country gentleman, or a city merchant, instead of a poor village parson. Perhaps then her family could afford their own coach and she wouldn't be forced to drag her belongings home like a traveling vagabond. Her best friend Ellen Nussey's father was a merchant in York and the family owned a coach and two horses.

It had only been a few days since they had parted, but Charlotte missed Ellen desperately. They had been near inseparable since Charlotte began her studies at the Roe Head School the year before. They enjoyed the same books and detested the same dull-witted girls. Though the Nussey family was better-off than most, Ellen was never selfish or mean.

The Nussey's had a home in York, but they spent most of the summer months at a seaside resort in Blackpool. Charlotte envied her friend and pitied herself, swatting at a gnat that buzzed around her face. She might have gone to Blackpool (at Ellen's invitation) if her father had agreed to the arrangement. But Charlotte was needed back at the parsonage to look after her siblings.

Besides, her father had reminded her, it would have been unfair to take such an extravagant vacation and leave her younger siblings behind.

Charlotte loved her sisters and brother, but she would have traded them in an instant to escape the perpetual dampness in Haworth, even for a day. Summers in the village were slow and hot. The thick air blowing over the bogs smelled of decay.

As she trudged over the crest of the hill, panting slightly, the storefronts, public houses, and flats that lined both sides of the narrow street came into view. Their stone faces were blackened with soot and mold. The street was fairly quiet in the afternoon heat. Two familiar shapes stepped out of the shadows of The Black Bull Tavern and hurried toward Charlotte.

One was tall and dark-haired, wearing a white linen shirt tucked into a pair of boy's trousers that were too short for her long limbs. The other shape was smaller, with honey-brown hair spilling out from beneath her bonnet.

Charlotte's younger sisters, Emily and Anne, came to a halt before barreling through Charlotte. They embraced her in a tangle of limbs, talking quickly over each other.

"Welcome home, Charlotte!" Anne cried.

"We've been waiting for nearly an hour. You didn't use to walk so slowly," Emily said.

Charlotte smiled and returned her sisters' embraces. As they stepped back, Charlotte studied them from head-to-toe.

Emily had grown over three inches since Christmas. She would be as tall as their father by the time she turned fourteen. Emily still had some softness in the curves of her face, but her limbs were long and thin. Charlotte suspected Emily wore their brother's clothes because her dresses were too small. It was something their father would likely overlook. Charlotte made a note to take stock of Emily's wardrobe and let down her hems, if needed.

Anne's small, gloved hand was cool against Charlotte's palm. Though she was only twelve, and the baby of the family, Anne had a stoic, serious demeanor. Aunt Elizabeth said she had an old soul. Anne smiled at Charlotte, her delicate upturned nose and violet eyes reminding Charlotte of the fairy blood that ran through their veins.

Emily took one of the handles of Charlotte's trunk, leaving Charlotte to grasp the other, and together they carried it between them down the street.

"Papa will be glad to have you home again," Anne said.

"Yes, and now that you are home, we can get back to writing," Emily added.

Writing was serious business for Charlotte and her siblings. Three years ago, a set of toy soldiers had inspired the siblings to create an imaginary realm called Glass Town. The political machinations and romantic trysts between the characters of Glass Town’s main country, Angria, had occupied the Brontë children for many long winter nights around the parlor fire.

"It's been too long since I visited Angria," Charlotte said.

"Really, Charlotte, it's been awful without you! Anne and I have been forced into exile!" Emily exclaimed.

"What do you mean?"

Anne spoke up. "Not quite exile, really. But Branwell kept fighting all of our ideas for Angria because--"

"He has become a tyrant! So we have created our own country. We call it Gondal."

"That sounds very interesting. I look forward to hearing more about it," Charlotte replied. "Speaking of our brother, where is Branwell?"

Emily huffed and blew a stray lock of hair off her sweaty cheeks. "He was working on Latin with his tutor when we left. He was in a foul mood, too,"

Charlotte wondered if Emily was referring to Branwell or his instructor. Knowing Branwell's attitude toward Latin, it was probably both.

Unlike Charlotte, who was sent away to the Roe Head School for Young Ladies, fifteen-year-old Branwell was educated by their father and professional tutors from nearby Bradford. He had burned through his fair share of tutors, as well.

Charlotte could picture her brother's face, as ruddy as the thin reddish hair that ran wild upon his skull, his tongue knotted as he stumbled over Latin conjugations. The round spectacles on his hawkish nose magnified his small, dark eyes when he glared down at his textbook.

"Perhaps I'll speak with Branwell after his lessons and we can devise an alliance between Angria and Gondal."

The road, which had leveled out in the village, began to pitch upward again as they approached St. Michael and All Angels Parish, the church where Charlotte's father had been appointed perpetual curate twelve years before.

It was a plain structure, nothing like the drawings Charlotte had seen of the minster in York, but it was a testament to the solid, sturdy West Yorkshire parishioners who built it. The single turreted tower housed a bell that rang to celebrate weddings and mourn the dead. The large leaded-glass window at the far end of the nave flooded the altar with light on sunny mornings.

The churchyard behind the parish housed Haworth's dead. Men, women, and too many nameless children crowded together, filling the empty spaces beneath the mossy ground. Some children might have been afraid to live so close to the dead, but Charlotte and her siblings were comforted by the smells of frankincense, freshly turned earth, and grave mold.

The Brontë's home sat on the hill above the churchyard. The parsonage was built from the same grey York stone as the church. In winter, everything in Haworth was beige and grey, but when spring arrived the moors surrounding the village came alive with shades of green, lavender, and blue.

Anne opened the front door and disappeared into the house, but Charlotte paused on the threshold. She took a deep breath, filling her nose with ghost-like scents of Tabby's cooking, spilled ink, and book dust. The stories and characters that had lain dormant in her mind during the school year now stirred and stretched.

Emily cleared her throat and pushed the trunk into Charlotte's hip. With one last glance at the fading afternoon light, Charlotte entered the house, pulling the trunk and Emily along with her.

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About the Author

Sarah Parke writes fantasy and historical fiction (sometimes at the same time) for young adult readers and those young at heart.

She has a MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from the University of Southern Maine’s Stonecoast MFA program. Her work has been published internationally, most recently in the July 2015 issue of The Writer magazine.

For more information, please visit Sarah Parke’s website. You can also find her on FacebookTwitter, and Goodreads

Spotlight: Prey by Kaye Blue

One look, and I know I’ll have her. One taste, and I’m insatiable. One wrong move, and I’ll lose her forever.
 
I’ve never met a woman who was worth the time and hassle of a relationship. I’ve got my hands full leading the family.
 
Nya, though…she’s not jut a pretty face and smokin’ body. She’s a woman who knows exactly what she wants and isn’t afraid to take it. After one night with her, I need more.
 
But the next morning, someone tries to kill me. At first I wonder is she set me up, know that I’m so gone for her it might have worked. But her fear when she finds out who I am, what I do, proves to me that she’s a target too.
 
And now the ones who want me dead are about to learn just how far I’ll go to protect what’s mine.

Exclusive Excerpt

“How did my car get here?” I said.

“I arranged it,” he replied.

He looked straight ahead, seemingly fascinated with the one-car garage on my small cottage-style house before he looked at me. “I would like to make a promise to you, Nya,” he said, his gaze intense, almost unnervingly so.

“Promise?” I asked, gaping as I stared at him. I was worried about my life, and he was offering me a promise?

“Yeah. A promise. No harm will come to you. I won’t allow it,” he said.

The fierceness of his voice, the look in his eyes, made me want to believe him, made me believe him, even though I had no reason to, even though everything told me I shouldn’t. I tried to hold to common sense, ignore that illogical yet tantalizing desire to trust him.

“I’m just supposed to accept that?” I said, searching his eyes, unwilling to give in to the easy trust that seemed so out of place.

“Whether you accept it or not is unimportant. It’s true,” he said.

“Why?”

“Why what?” he asked.

He’d spoken quickly, but I sensed something in the question, could see that he wanted to avoid answering what we both obviously knew was the topic at hand.

“Why are you going out of your way for me?” I asked, deciding to put the question on the table.

“I’m not going out of my way for you,” he said.

The gruffness of the words, the way he wielded them almost like a weapon should have put me off, but they rang hollow to me. It would be stupid to allow myself to read into them, let myself think they meant something that they didn’t, couldn’t. But somehow I knew no matter what he said, despite his cavalier attitude, he felt something for me.

That something might simply be obligation, but I was still buoyed by it. Comforted in some small way.

“So why?” I asked.

The intensity in his eyes grew, became almost an inferno. “I’m a Murphy. I protect what’s mine.”

I was too stunned to respond, but the implication of what he’d said was clear. And, disturbingly, welcome. To belong to Patrick, be his…

My body was instantly inflamed.

Fortunately, Patrick didn’t linger, but instead got out, rounded the car, lifted me from the passenger seat, and deposited me inside the house. He pressed my key into the palm of my hand and then gave me my purse.

He held my gaze for a long moment, but then he left without saying a word.

I closed the door, but stood behind it, listening as Patrick drove off, fighting against the near-instant sadness, the emptiness I felt without him.

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About the Author

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Cover Reveal: Stand by A.L. Jackson

From NYT & USA Today Bestselling Author A.L. Jackson comes the next seductive, unforgettable Bleeding Stars Stand-Alone Novel…

Zachary Kennedy has never been known as a fighter, but he’ll never regret fighting for her…

I’m Zee Kennedy.
Quiet. Reserved. Predictable.
When my brother died, everyone thought I was just the good guy who stepped up to take his place in the band.

No one knew what I was hiding. The one thing I’ve been fighting for.

For six years, I’ve never lost focus.

Not until one chance encounter with Alexis Kensington.

Now she’s become my greatest temptation.
I knew better than to touch her, but now that I’ve had a taste, I can’t get enough.
Her kiss becomes my air. Her body my salvation.

She needed a savior and somehow she became mine.

Taking her was a betrayal. But keeping her means risking everything.
One look at Alexis Kensington, and I know she’s worth the fight.
Will my past continue to keep me down or will I finally find the strength to pull myself up and Stand…

Excerpt

His voice was low. The word might have been a question had it not glided across my skin like familiarity and warmth. “Alexis.”

I barely nodded, my response a whisper as my heart fluttered and sped. “Alexis.”

His gaze dipped for a moment, tracing me head to toe. As if he needed reassurance I was here. Something about it felt so intimate and private, as if maybe when he’d chipped away that piece of my soul he somehow knew he held it, too.

“I hope it’s okay I’m here,” he said, forcing my attention back to his eyes.

A lump grew heavy in my throat and I swallowed around it, nodding as I tried to find my voice. “Of course it’s okay.”

Maybe I should have been hearing warning bells. A thousand caution flags tossed in the air and raining down around me. Because there was something about this brilliant boy that screamed trouble and mayhem. Undoubtedly, this man wore his own beautiful brand of destruction.

And I was the fool who always seemed to run straight for it. Diving right into the middle of it without having the first clue what was waiting for me.

“I’m Zachary Kennedy. Friends call me Zee,” he said, shifting on his feet as if he were wondering what he was doing here.

I could feel the pull of the soft smile at the side of my mouth. “I know who you are.”

“Is that so?” he asked. Something about it rang with a tease.

I nodded.

Of course I did. He was the drummer for one of the biggest rock bands in the world.

And I realized that probably put both of us at a disadvantage. No doubt he had women throwing themselves at him any time he walked off a stage or into a room. Wanting a taste of fame or maybe a name to drop, salivating over this boy simply for who he was.

It didn’t help he had to be the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.

But this was different. The staggering need I felt to know him more. Not the boy pinned to Pinterest boards labeling him a sexy, tattooed bad boy. Not the boy splashed across the tabloids with their speculations and judgement.

The real man.

This man made up of flesh and bone. The man who rushed into an alley in the middle of the night to defend a complete stranger. The man who’d tenderly rocked me in his arms while I’d felt the controlled rage radiating from his body.

The one who now stood in my doorway, spinning my mind with how he could both look so powerful and vulnerable.

My insides shook, and I took a step back and widened my door. “Would you like to come in?”

A smile crept to his mouth that would be my complete undoing, this tug of full, soft lips framed by his beard. He tilted his head to the side. “You’re awful brave to be inviting a complete stranger into your house.”

I lifted my chin and met his gaze. “A complete stranger who put his life on the line. A stranger who stood between me and a gun. You could have died, and I very well might have if it wasn’t for you. Trust comes in a lot of forms, and I’m pretty sure you’ve already earned mine.”

About the Author

A.L. Jackson is the New York Times & USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance. She writes emotional, sexy, heart-filled stories about boys who usually like to be a little bit bad.

Her bestselling series include THE REGRET SERIES, CLOSER TO YOU, as well as the newest BLEEDING STARS novels. Watch for the next installment STAND, coming Spring 2017.

If she’s not writing, you can find her hanging out by the pool with her family, sipping cocktails with her friends, or of course with her nose buried in a book.

Be sure not to miss new releases and sales from A.L. Jackson - Sign up to receive her newsletter http://smarturl.it/NewsFromALJackson or text “aljackson” to 24587 to receive short but sweet updates on all the important news.

Connect with A.L.: Facebook  | Reader Group | Author App | Bookbub | Twitter: @aljacksonauthor | Instagram: @aljacksonauthor | Snapchat: @aljacksonauthor

Giveaway

Grand Prize: Bleeding Stars Signed Book Bundle (includes first 5 books in Bleeding Stars Series)

Second Prize: $25 Amazon Gift Card

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