Enchanting Readers One Author At A Time!

Monday, September 15, 2014

Release Day Blitz: Mine To Have by Cynthia Eden


Mine To Have
(Mine Series, Book #5)
by Cynthia Eden

Blurb:
New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Cynthia Eden continues her sexy “Mine” romantic suspense series with…MINE TO HAVE.

Is he a hero…or the villain?

When Elizabeth Ward sees Saxon Black rushing into the backroom of The Blade—a low end bar in Miami—she isn’t sure if he’s there to save the day…or just to raise some hell. But she’s being held hostage, and he’s her best hope of survival. Within minutes, she’s away from the jerks with the guns and riding fast and hard on the back of Saxon’s motorcycle. 

Death stalks them.

Saxon has been working undercover for far too long. When he finds sexy Elizabeth—with a gun to her head—he knows he will do anything to keep her safe. But once he gets her away from her abductors, the threat to her isn’t over. Someone has put a price on Elizabeth’s head, and if Saxon can’t keep her safe from the danger stalking her, then she’ll be dead.

Their lives are both on the line.

As their enemies close in, Elizabeth and Saxon must go on the run. And the longer they are together, the hotter their attraction for one another seems to burn. Saxon vows not to let anyone hurt her, no matter what he has to do, because he’s falling fast for Elizabeth. He’ll stop the killers on her trail, and then he’ll have her. Forever.

MINE TO HAVE.




Available for purchase at

         


Excerpt



“You can let go now.” His voice was the deepest, darkest rumble she’d ever heard, and it actually took a few seconds for his words to sink in.
            When they did, she was horrified. Her hands flew away from him and she shot off that motorcycle. A bad move, really, because her thighs were still shaking from the ride, and Elizabeth hit the ground. 
            Smooth move.
            She pushed up fast, though, and staggered to her feet. Elizabeth tossed away her helmet and ran.
            Unfortunately, she didn’t get far.  A big, strong hand caught her shoulder and spun her around. In the next breath, her back was being pushed into the nearby brick wall, and Saxon had her hands pinned above her head. He held her easily, her wrists trapped in one of his hands. 
            “Didn’t we cover this?” he muttered, and his voice, if possible, had gone even deeper. “No screaming, no running—”
            “No fighting,” she whispered back to him. “You said no…fighting. You never said I couldn’t run.”
            He laughed then. A sound that was as deep as his voice and sent shivers racing over her body. 
            A man wasn’t supposed to laugh when a woman was terrified.  She knew nothing about the guy except for the fact that she’d seen him shoot two men and beat the crap out of at least two more.  And he’d said he…wanted her.
            For an hour.
            “Please, let me go.” Elizabeth wasn’t above begging, not then. She just wanted to survive that night. To get back to her apartment and pretend this whole terrible nightmare had never happened.  “I won’t go to the police, I promise. I won’t tell them anything about you.” 
            His head came closer to hers. She couldn’t discern much about him in that moment, it was too dark, but she’d seen plenty in that terrible little room.
            Saxon. He’d been huge, filling that doorway. He had to be at least six foot three, and his shoulders had been so wide, his arms heavy with muscles.  He wore a faded t-shirt and loose jeans. He’d fought with a cold, vicious fury, and he hadn’t even broken a sweat when he’d taken down his enemies.
            I thought Kurt was scary. He’s nothing compared to this guy.
            “I don’t want to let you go.”
            Those words terrified her.  No, he terrified her.  He leaned even closer. She could feel the light stir of his breath against her cheek. She had a flash of being tied in that chair and looking up—and into a pair of dark and deadly eyes.
            And I asked him for help?  A desperate woman would do anything.  And she was desperate right then.  

About the Author

USA Today Best-selling author Cynthia Eden has written over twenty-five novels and novellas. She was named as a 2013 RITA® finalist for her paranormal romance, ANGEL IN CHAINS, and, in 2011, Cynthia Eden was a RITA finalist for her romantic suspense, DEADLY FEAR.
Cynthia is a southern girl who loves horror movies, chocolate, and happy endings.  She has always wanted to write (don’t most authors say that?), and particularly enjoys creating stories about monsters–vampires, werewolves, and even the real-life monsters that populate her romantic suspense stories.

Cynthia’s foreign sales for her books include translations to Japan, Germany, Thailand, Greece, and Brazil.
(Back in the day…) Cynthia graduated summa cum laude from the University of South Alabama where she studied Sociology (because people interest her) and Communication (because she likes to write about said people).  Cynthia has worked as a college admissions counselor, a teacher, and as an editor. But now, Cynthia is thrilled to be spending her days making up stories.

You can find Cynthia at

          







Presented By 




Friday, September 12, 2014

Release Day Blitz & Giveaway: Americana Fairy Tale by Lex Chase



 Americana Fairy Tale 
(Fairy Tales of the Open Road #1)
by 
Lex Chase

Blurb:
Modern fairy-tale princess Taylor Hatfield has problems. One: He’s a guy. Two: His perfect brother Atticus is the reincarnation of Snow White. Three: Taylor has no idea which princess he is supposed to be. Four: Taylor just left his prince (a girl) at the altar. Despite his enchanted lineage, Taylor is desperate to find his Happily Ever After away from magic, witches, and stuffy traditions. Regrettably, destiny has other plans for him. Dammit.

When word reaches Taylor that Idi the Witchking has captured Atticus, Taylor is determined to save his brother. He enlists the help of rakish and insufferable Corentin Devereaux, likewise of enchanted lineage. A malicious spell sends Taylor and Corentin on a road trip through the kitschy nostalgia of roadside Americana. To save Atticus, they must solve the puzzles put forth by Idi the Witchking. As they struggle, Taylor and Corentin’s volatile partnership sparks a flash of something more. But princesses have many enemies, and Taylor must keep his wits about him because there’s nothing worse than losing your heart… or your head.




Available to purchase 





Excerpt




“I’m getting a shower,” Taylor said and quickly shuffled into the bathroom. In the silence, Taylor pressed his back to the door and slid to the floor. He clamped both hands around the crotch of his shorts and hissed through clenched teeth, “Stop, stop, stop, please, stop.”
He had to stop thinking about his dream. And thinking about Corentin in that way. Corentin wasn’t even his type! And Corentin’s type was clearly not a raging homo-sheckshual. By all of Taylor’s understanding, Corentin’s breed of redneck was of the misogynistic racist variety. Taylor paused. Was he just telling himself that? Taylor mentally felt around the edges of the dream. He flinched with the dirty feeling.
Shower. He needed a shower. Now.
He picked himself up off the floor, then staggered to the tub. The enamel had seen better days, with that lovely rusty ring around it. The shower curtain seemed to be a repository for all assorted natures of DNA. Taylor gingerly touched it in an effort to move it just out of the way enough to turn the faucet. Scuffed up and mottled with rust, even the faucet made him wince. He ripped off a sheaf of cheap toilet paper to use to turn the faucet on. First the water belched into the tub, then after a few rude bubbling gurgles, ran in a steady stream. It wasn’t particularly warm, however. Taylor surmised he didn’t really need a hot shower anyway.
He disrobed, dropping his clothes in a heap on the floor. But on second consideration, he didn’t have anything else to change into. What he had on his back was it. Like his cum-stained cargo shorts. Yuck. He scooped his clothes off the floor and hung up his shirt on the towel rack. He’d have to do something about his shorts, because they’d smell and get uncomfortably crusty. He chuckled. He would never have predicted how contentious he’d become about cleanliness until he only had one change of clothes for the foreseeable future.
As the tub faucet ran to get some marginable level of lukewarm, he cranked the faucet in the sink. He let the water run over the crotch of his new shorts and scrubbed them as best he could with the questionable cracked soap bar.
Corentin knocked once on the door. “Come on, man. Gotta pee.”
“Hold your horses,” Taylor huffed. “Let me get in the shower first. Great Storyteller Almighty.”
Taylor hustled and wrung out his shorts. He hung them also on the towel rack and finally hopped into the shower before poor pitiful Corentin could have an accident on the floor. Some self-reliant huntsman he was. Couldn’t he go out back and take a piss on a tree? Of course, there would likely need to be some nature of tree on the premises.
Taylor jerked the curtain across the tub for privacy and instantly regretted taking a fistful of it in such haste. “Okay! It’s safe.”
“I heard princesses were prissy, but I didn’t think it applied to male princesses,” Corentin said as he walked in.
Taylor could see the outline of his body through the haze of the shower curtain. He pushed himself back against the far wall to gain some distance. A small gap remained between the curtain and the shower wall, and he carefully peeked. With a familiar clanking of a belt buckle followed by a zipper, Taylor instead sent his gaze upward to Corentin’s face and his bare shoulders. Corentin had done away with his shirt, and Taylor’s face heated with the view. Corentin was lean, like a panther, his tattooed skin pulled tight over his biceps and hard abs. He finished, flushed, and turned away to zip his pants. Taylor pressed his fingers to his lips at the sight of the rise of Corentin’s tight rear as he shifted to the sink and washed his hands.
He studied himself in the mirror while Taylor stared through the shower curtain.
Corentin swung open the door and called behind him, “Don’t use all the hot water.”
“O-oh-okay,” Taylor croaked, his face hot from gawking.
The door shut with a click, and Taylor sighed with the relief. He looked down at himself in disappointment. Taylor was filthy from dirt, sweat, and whatever else was lurking in Corentin’s disgusting truck. He turned, reaching for the cracked soap bar. The blacked grooves in the soap made him reconsider. He reached for the mini Johnson & Johnson shampoo bottle and uncapped it. After a careful sniff, he tried to make sure it wasn’t rancid and questioned if it was possible for shampoo to go rancid. Figuring he would chance it, he scrubbed himself down with the terrible No More Tears formula.
He breathed one more time, trying to cope with the lukewarm water, and then decided it was time to face the reality of a nasty motel room with a man he didn’t trust who made him blush. He shut off the water and carefully maneuvered out of the shower without touching the petri dish that served as a curtain.
Taylor considered his clothes. His shirt could use airing out, and his shorts were a definite no. His only option was a towel around the waist. He didn’t even like that option in high school, let alone in the middle of nowhere with the current company. Ringo was there, though. That made it better. Ringo would save him.
Covering himself, Taylor took a breath. On a mental count of three, he turned the doorknob.
And the chill of the overworked window unit hit him square in the bare chest.
Fuck,” Taylor gasped and scuttled to the bed. He immediately wrapped himself in the threadbare blanket, which didn’t help at all. He had a string of curses on his tongue when he finally glanced up and saw Corentin.
More specifically, saw Corentin’s tattooed torso.
Corentin, on the other hand, busied himself with making notes in his monstrosity of a book. His brow would furrow every time he underlined something with a determined gesture across the page. He seemed not to notice Taylor’s open staring at the intricate black ink of an oak tree drawn in the style of Gustave DorĂ©. The trunk of the tree was a full sleeve with the roots growing from Corentin’s left wrist, and at his shoulder, the branches twisted in a windblown manner across his collarbone, shoulder blade, and a few branches even curled at the base of his neck.
Taylor swallowed. At least it explained why Corentin was so covered up for June weather. But something was strange about the tattoo. There were seven boughs, but only one had leaves.
Corentin kept making notes and didn’t look up. His brow furrowed into an even angrier contortion, and he wrote faster. When he apparently ran out of space, he flipped his book to sit horizontally and wrote in tiny print in the margins. He hesitated, tapping his pen on the paper.
Taylor pulled the blanket higher on his shoulders. The steam from his body captured under the blanket helped in making the chill of the room bearable.
Corentin scribbled again in his book. He frowned and scribbled in a repeated gesture. He shook his pen with a flick of the wrist and tried again. He grunted and threw the pen. “Fuck,” he said and went fishing in his messenger bag. He feverishly reached around, looked in, and then reached around again. He puffed a sigh and upturned the bag onto the carpet.
A palm sized bottle of liquid bounced across the floor and Corentin scrambled to snatch it midtumble. He glanced at Taylor and offered a smile. “Hand sanitizer. Can’t go anywhere without it.” He quickly shoved the bottle into a side pocket of his bag.
Taylor said nothing, merely watching the bizarre display as Corentin poked through the crumpled receipts, hair ties, old cracker wrappers, and various unidentifiable crumbs and wadded-up trash. He also flipped through a collection of condoms in shiny magenta wrappers and printed with hearts and lips. Taylor tightened his grip on the comforter and his face heated. Well, at least they were cherry flavored or something?
Corentin shook the bag again, and Taylor remained silent.
As a roll of duct tape tumbled out.
And then zip ties.
Taylor’s eyes snapped wide. Corentin had fucking huntsman death tools on him at all times. He shivered and scooted back on the bed. He judged the distance from the bed to the door in case he needed to run at a moment’s notice. Obviously a naked guy running down the interstate would get some attention. But he hadn’t seen any cars on the interstate since they ended up here. He nibbled at his lip. Maybe if he stole Corentin’s truck? That seemed like a good idea.
“Ah!” Corentin said, clearly relieved he apparently found a pen, and ignored the zip ties and duct tape. He resumed his furious scribbling.

About the Author

Lex Chase once heard Stephen King say in a commercial, “We’re all going to die, I’m just trying to make it a little more interesting.” She knew then she wanted to make the world a little more interesting too. 

Weaving tales of cinematic, sweeping adventure and epic love—and depending on how she feels that day—Lex sprinkles in high-speed chases, shower scenes, and more explosions than a Hollywood blockbuster. She loves tales of men who kiss as much as they kick ass. She believes if you’re going to going to march into the depths of hell, it better be beside the one you love. 

Lex is a pop culture diva and her DVR is constantly backlogged. She wouldn't last five minutes without technology in the event of the apocalypse and has nightmares about refusing to leave her cats behind. She is incredibly sentimental, to the point that she gets choked up at holiday commercials. But like the lovers driven to extreme measures to get home for the holidays, Lex believes everyone deserves a happy ending. 

Lex also has a knack for sarcasm, never takes herself seriously, and has been nicknamed “The Next Alan Moore” by her friends for all the pain and suffering she inflicts on her characters. She is a Damned Yankee hailing from the frozen backwoods of Maine now residing in the burbs of Northwest Florida, where it could be 80F and she’d still be a popsicle. 

She is grateful for and humbled by all the readers. She knows very well she wouldn't be here if it wasn't for them and welcomes feedback.


You can find Lex at

               

Giveaway







Presented By


Monday, September 8, 2014

J.L. Vallance's "Madness" Blog Tour


Tour Stops

September 8, 2014
ZCrazyAngel's Escape

September 9, 2014

September 10, 2014

September 11, 2014

September 12, 2014

September 13, 2014

September 14, 2014

September 15, 2014

September 16, 2014
deal sharing aunt

September 17, 2014
The Consummate Reader

September 18, 2014
Three Chicks
Bookworm Bridgette's World

September 19, 2014
Ramblings of a Book Lunatic

September 20, 2014

September 21, 2014

September 22, 2014
Momma's Books





Madness
By J.L. Vallance

Blurb: 

I never wanted to fall in love.

I lived a life tainted by mental illness and the stigma that came with it. That illness almost claimed my life once and I had a promise to keep¬¬, a promise that I would live, no matter how much it hurt. All I craved in life was marginal happiness, a little success, and an unfractured mind. I longed for the normalcy that the rest of the world thrived on while fearing the intimacy that could snap the thin thread with which I held onto sanity.

I may not have had it all, but I was close...until he crashed into my world.

He turned everything upside down and shifted the scales of my balanced world. He was charming and charismatic with a healthy dash of trouble and volatility rolled in. He was completely and perfectly damaged. I tumbled hard and fast.

I fell in love with Rory O’Neill and our world was little more than madness....and it was fucking beautiful. 




Available for purchase at 

   



Excerpt


“What do you want from me, O’Neill?”
Rory released a heavy sigh, leaning back in the chair. He studied me carefully, as if he were attempting to solve a puzzle. He could try for the rest of his life; I was one jigsaw he’d never be able to solve.
“To date you,” he replied simply, and I belted out a laugh.
“Why?” I asked, continuing without allowing for an answer. “You are the type that goes on dates to get the prize at the end. You got the prize, buddy. You didn’t even have to work for it. If you are coming back because you think I’m a big skank-bank and you can get a withdrawal whenever you want, you’ve got the wrong girl.”
It was his turn to laugh. It was an erotic sound that put my already frayed nerves on a higher, more precarious edge than they had been. I followed his posture and leaned back, but instead of holding my stomach in gut busting laughter, I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Is that what you think this is?” he gasped. “Christ, I could have slept with at least seventy women since you.”
“Is that supposed to win me over?”
“Yes,” he answered seriously. “I have no problem picking women up.”
I didn’t doubt that. Hadn’t since the night I’d met him. It was the charisma, the mega-watt smile, the sultry sex-filled voice. His body, smile, voice, and touch promised a good night in the making if one simply took his hand.
I want to take his fucking hand. . .
“Good, then you won’t be alone tonight,” I replied, moving to rise from the table when he reached out and grabbed my arm, stopping me.
“I don’t want other women, Francesca. I want you,” he said, the smile missing from his face.
“I’ve wanted nothing but you since November.”
I shook my head.
“I’m not like other women, Mr. O’Neill.”
“Please, call me—”
“Rory, it doesn’t matter what I call you. The message will remain the same.”
“Didn’t you ever stop to think that maybe that’s what I like about you?” he countered.
No, no I didn’t. Being different is what set me apart—in a bad way. That’s what makes people dislike me. Not that I mind that—being disliked. I’ve spent the majority of my life being different, being an outsider. I am the woman that I am, with the issues I have, and that fact will never change. I’m proud of the obstacles I have overcome and look forward to defeating the ones that are waiting in the wings.
“You don’t know me to know whether you like me or not,” I argued. My dad had always told me I’d be great for the debate team.
“I know what I felt with you.”
“You felt tequila,” I replied. “And my vagina. Go find some Cuervo and a willing participant and repeat.”
“First, I have a high tolerance. That tequila barely touched me. Quit trying to downplay what happened between us. Take a little responsibility.”
“Ha!” I belted, placing a hand over my mouth. “Listen, we had a really great time. But I don’t date, I don’t do romance or happily ever after. That’s not written in my stars.”
“What is written in your stars?” he asked with a quirk of the brow.

“A bright future with me, myself, and I.”


About the Author

J. L. Vallance is a wife, mom, and nurse by day, while posing as a writer by night. Plagued with an overactive imagination, a lover of all things supernatural in nature, she has an extraordinary flair for the dramatic that adds flavor to life. There’s little in her world that Otis Redding and buttercream icing can’t fix. And of course, coffee always helps too. True story.


             



Giveaway

One single anchor bracelet
One anchor and infinity bracelet
One anchor necklace with stamped pendant that says "You are my anchor".
One necklace with a gun charm and a stamped pendant that says "I keep a close watch on this of mine".
And two ecopies of Madness