Friday, December 15, 2017

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Chaos and Control, an all-new standalone from Season Vining is available NOW!

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Title: Chaos and Control

Author: Season Vining

Release Date: December 11th

When Wren Hart returns to her sleepy little Midwest town after years on the road, she finds the last thing she’d ever expect—a reason to stay. And that reason has a hard body, a knowledge of vinyl, and a crooked smile that sends her reeling.

Preston is a gorgeous, mysterious man, whose life is ruled by routine and order. Yet somehow, he finds Wren and her wild ways captivating. While their relationship grows in a delicate dance of chaos and control, the danger Wren thought she'd left behind during her travels is inching ever closer…and just may destroy them both.

Excerpt:

“Want to tell me what you’re thinking about?” Preston’s gaze flicks to my mouth and up to my eyes. “Kissing.” Hope ignites a fire inside me. “And how do you feel about kissing?” I see his Adam’s apple bob, and he taps the side of his glass with his index finger. “It’s easier when I’m drunk. The alcohol seems to take the edge off.” I frown at the thought of this. Needing alcohol to dull your senses seems like such a waste. I try not to give him a sympathetic look. I know he doesn’t want my pity . “That’s too bad,” I say, letting my palm rest on his knee. The song changes, and I grin at the familiar beat. “Kissing is one of my favorite things. I mean, sex is good, but kissing is much more intimate. Don’t you think?” Preston shrugs at me, but I see that I have his undivided attention. “First there’s the build up. Innocent touches,” I say, dragging my nails up his thigh, “and mutual flirting just to let the other party know you’re open to the idea. There’s that slow burn in your body. It builds every time you catch the other person staring.” Preston listens intently, finishing his whiskey. He licks those perfect lips, and my fingers tighten around my glass, holding on to the last of my control. “Every time you drink or take a bite of something, your full attention is brought to the mouth. You imagine what those lips will feel like. Will they be soft and submissive? Or hard and possessive?” I sip my drink while he pours himself another. “And which do you prefer?” he asks. His normally deep voice is even lower and gritty. It reminds me of the static scratching noise when an album finishes playing. “I like both—individually and at the same time. I like to be owned by a kiss.” Preston leans back on the couch and sips his drink again. He stares out at the store. “Seems like a lot of pressure for a kiss.” SBPRBanner-ALTL-CR2-5

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About Season:

Hi. My name is Season Vining. I have written poetry as long as I can remember. There are hand-written odes to flowers, mermaids and New Kids on the Block tucked away somewhere in my mother’s house. Later, things grew darker. Lines of teenage angst, the cruelties of high school and woes of unrequited love fill random pages of school notebooks. With maturity came a longer attention span and a desire to pen short stories. Eventually, I was inspired to write my first manuscript by reading other stories. I found myself wishing for this storyline or that character and one day asked myself, “Why don’t you write it?” I love a bit of adventure and danger mixed in with my romance and you’ll find that in each story I tell. I love to hear from fans, so feel free to reach out to me on social media or through my website. Thanks for being awesome! In the simplest terms, I am a designer, an author, a philanthropist, a bookworm, a cook, inked, a night owl, and always a student. seas1

Connect with Season:

Stay up to Date with Season by signing up for her mailing list here: http://www.seasonvining.com/join/

When one of her pilots is shot down behind enemy lines, Lieutenant Theresa Brenner will stop at nothing to save her before she’s captured and tortured, even if it means being part of the dirtside team led by Colonel Cameron McAllister. Bren might respect the way the colonel commands his men, but she’ll never trust Cam—no matter how charming he is—because he was responsible for her brother’s death. Colonel Cameron McAllister has a covert mission behind enemy lines to team with the Ilari rebels and overthrow the bloodthirsty dictator who’s torn their planet apart. The last thing he needs is to get sidetracked searching for a downed pilot, especially since it means having Lieutenant Theresa Brenner tag along. Not only doesn’t the frosty pilot have the ground game to keep up with his seasoned group, she’s a potential distraction with all those gorgeous blond curls of hers—and she might be just like her brother, whose foolhardiness got his men killed.
Jess has been making up stories ever since she can remember. Though her messy handwriting made it hard for anyone else to read them, she wasn’t deterred and now she gets to make up stories for a living. She loves loud music, a good book on a rainy day, and probably spends too much time watching too many TV shows. Jess lives in regional Victoria, Australia, with her very supportive husband, three daughters, two border collie dogs, and one cat who thinks he’s one of the kids.
Forsaking Hope
Fair Cyprians of London By Beverley Oakley
Beverley is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here
About the Book: 
Two years ago, she missed their secret assignation and disappeared without a trace. Now the divine "Miss Hope" is in Felix Durham’s bed - a 'surprise cheering-up gift' sourced by his friends from London's most exclusive brothel. Felix is in heaven - and he wants to stay there. So does Hope, but she can’t. Hope Merriweather lives by a code of honour – even if she’s a prostitute. Having sold her soul, she’s prepared to sacrifice everything else to protect what she believes in. Even if honour – in her eyes – comes at the cost of thieving and breaking hearts. Including her own.
Available for preorder here:
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Excerpt: 
Chapter One Wilfred Hunt. If there was a name to tip Hope into the abyss of despair she was hearing it spill from Madame Chambon’s lips now as the older woman directed Hope to take a seat in the reception room, presumably so Madame could loom oppressively over her. With her hands on her ample, expensively padded hips, Hope’s benefactress—procuress, employer and gaoler were other monikers—sent Hope a beetling look that needed no interpreting: Regardless of Hope’s true feelings, Hope must project the required show of warmth and delight at being the chosen one. Madame patted the side of her faux curls. Years of hot irons had reduced her hair to the texture of wool but her crowning glory these days was supplemented by the lustrous locks of those girls who dared cross her – before they were thrown back into the street from where most had come. Nevertheless, Hope had to make her resistance clear. Surely Madame who knew her history would understand her loathing for this man, above all others. “I shan’t do it,” she whispered. There was little evidence of the willful child and wild adolescent who’d been the despair of her family. “I won’t—” Outside, the noise of the traffic rumbling over the cobbles and the shrill calls of competing vendors settled upon the tense silence. Madame Chambon’s other girls, ranged around the sumptuously appointed room on red velvet upholstered banquettes, watched the exchange with prurient fascination. Hope knew it had been a calculated ploy of Madame’s to conduct her interview in public so that Hope would serve as an example to them. No one crossed Madame Chambon. The shrill cry of a fishmonger caused Madame to look pointedly out of the window. With something between a smile and a sneer, she smoothed a Marcel wave. “Is that where you plan to return, Hope? The gutter?” Her nose twitched and in the sunlight that filtered into the room, the grooves chiselled between mouth and chin were thrown into harsh relief, highlighted rather than hidden by the thick powder she used to conceal her age. Madame Chambon’s comfort, now and into retirement, depended on obedient girls. Hope knew that as well as anyone. She’d had to bury her rebellious streak just to ensure food in her belly. The Frenchwoman raised a chiselled brow and began to pace slowly in front of her girls. A painter with an eye for beauty would have been ecstatic at capturing such a spectacle on canvas. The discerning young man about town who visited 56 Albemarle Street was frequently rendered ecstatic by the range of delights Madame Chambon's girls offered in addition to the visual. “You forget yourself, Hope. I put a roof over your head and deck you out as handsomely as Mr Charles Worth ever did for his most discerning customer.” There was acid in Madame Chambon’s tone. “But for me, you'd be starving and glad of the pennies you could trade for a grubby stand-up encounter in a dark alley.” Madame Chambon thrust out her bosom and breathed through her nose, her response a calculated warning to the other girls arranged in various languid poses about the ornately decorated reception room that intransigence would not be tolerated. “Mr Hunt has requested you.” She paused and when Hope remained silent, though her stance and expression left no one in any doubt as to her horror regarding this enforced assignation, went on. “Remember what I told you—what I tell all my girls when they first come here? The past must be forgotten the moment you step over my threshold. You are reborn, remodelled, refashioned into the most exquisite delectation of womanhood. A marquess, a prince, is well recompensed for the tidy sum he hands over in order to enjoy your sparkling wit, to converse with you in French, or if he chooses, on philosophy…to enjoy your charms…and,” she added significantly, “your gracious hospitality and tender ministrations to his needs. That is our agreement and you are no different. If Mr Hunt wishes you, Hope, to attend him at his residence then you will go.” Faith, one of the kinder girls, patted Hope’s arm in silent solidarity. Hope didn’t expect any of them to speak up in her defence. Not when they all relied on Madame Chambon as much as she did to provide them with the necessities of life. Anything more than that was part of a strict contract that indentured a girl for life unless she was able to secure a generous benefactor to settle Madame's severance bill. The fine clothes were part of the charade, necessary to entice a more elite clientele. Hope’s exquisite wardrobe did not belong to her though she'd have forsaken all the dupion silk and Spitalfields lace for the freedom of the gutter and to be mistress of her own destiny – and her body - if she could only be sure of a plate of gravy and potatoes every second day. Closing her eyes, she hung her head, the carefully coiffed curls that fell forwards brushing against her tear-streaked cheeks. It was as well that they not be in evidence. Tears, weakness, vulnerability were like a red rag to a bull where Madame Chambon was concerned. “How long…do I have to prepare myself?” She was not so stupid she couldn’t admit defeat when there was no alternative. Obduracy was beaten out of one, but tears ensured a girl got the very worst next assignment. Their clients weren’t all marquesses and princes, though they did require a very fat pocket book. “Tomorrow.” “Tomorrow.” Hope repeated it in a leaden tone, and stared at her hands, clasped in her lap; white-knuckled. As white as the rabbit-fur that edged her fashionable black-and-white striped satin cuirass. Hope had the tall, slim figure suited to the scandalously tight tie-back skirts that were all the rage, the back flowing into a train adorned with elaborate swags and trimmed with bows. She'd turned heads the length of Oxford Street as she’d promenaded along the pavement following a walk through Hyde Park earlier that afternoon. In fact, for the first time in two years, she’d almost felt happy as she’d pretended a sense of freedom in the afternoon sun, blocking her mind to the prison to which she was returning. She drew in her breath and forced herself to be brave, knowing the punishment she’d invite for daring to speak her mind. “Please tell Mr Hunt I will see him again under sufferance.” Madame Chambon’s voice was surprisingly caramel. “Well then, now that you have made your objection clear, Hope, you will be pleased to hear that Mr Hunt’s desires are not only motivated by fond memories of your no-doubt mutually satisfying congress. I believe he wishes to acquaint you with news of your family.” Hope hid her shock. “I have no family.” With care, she modified her tone so it was as leaden as before though emotion roiled close to the surface. “Not even a sister?” Hope raised her chin. Here was the chink and Madame knew it. The woman did her research. Aware that the other girls who surrounded her were tense with anticipation, Hope struggled not to respond. Camaraderie existed at surface level but one never knew when it might profit one to have the dirt on a fellow prostitute. It was, clearly, another reason Madame Chambon had chosen to make this conversation public. “Mr Hunt will see you at nine tomorrow evening,” said the so-called Frenchwoman who, it was whispered, was from the gutters of Lambeth, not Paris. “At his apartments in Duke Street. Now go and prepare yourself for Lord Farrow. Married to a monolith like the venerable Lady Farrow, he likes his girls vivacious and free-spirited. There’ll be less coin in your pocket if you sully the transaction with that long face, Hope.” ~*~*~*~*~*~ Author Info: 
Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first her 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Unfortunately drowning her heroine on the last page was apparently not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.
Twenty-six years later Beverley was delighted to receive her first publishing contract from Robert Hale (UK) for a romance in which she ensured her heroine was saved from drowning in the icy North Sea.
Since 2009 Beverley has written more than thirteen historical romances, mostly set in England during the early nineteenth century. Mystery, intrigue and adventure spill from their pages and if she can pull off a thrilling race to save someone’s honour – or a worthy damsel from the noose – it’s time to celebrate with a good single malt Scotch.
Beverley lives with her husband, two daughters and a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy the size of a pony opposite a picturesque nineteenth century lunatic asylum. She also writes Africa-set adventure-filled romances tarring handsome bush pilot heroes, and historical romances with less steam and more sexual tension, as Beverley Eikli.
You can get in contact with Beverley at:

Heroes of Westhorpe Ridge
Holiday Series Boxed Set
By Kryssie Fortune
Kryssie is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate and 3 ebooks of Submission, Secrets, and the Soldier to lucky winners during the tour. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter. Remember there is a chance to enter every day, so please follow us along on the tour. You may find the tour locations here About the Boxed Set: Kryssie Fortune's holiday series, Heroes of Westhorpe Ridge, is now available in a convenient e-boxed set!
Marriage, Mobsters, and the Marine: Abigail Montgomery, a small town schoolteacher with zero self-confidence, dreams of the Dickensian Christmas her family never enjoyed. Each month she attends a masked BDSM club, but her next visit will be her last. If she doesn’t marry within the next year, her brother won’t inherit Montgomery Hall. Desperate, she advertises for a husband. Jared Armstrong, a former Marine sharpshooter and occasional Dom needs $125,000 to get his family out of a hole. His solution--to marry Abigail Montgomery for her money. His only regret is his wife won’t accept his spanking lifestyle. Gradually, Abigail comes to dream of making their marriage real, but she promised Jared a divorce two years after their wedding. Can they share some Christmas magic as their relationship faces extortion threats, a kidnapping, and an attempted murder? Or will Jared break her heart when he walks away?

Sex, Scandal, and the Sheriff: Jasmine Stewart (Jazz to her friends) falls for the blond stranger when he spanks and seduces her at a Washington soiree. Later, when she discovers her flatmate is trying to draw her into a spy ring, she goes to the authorities. The ensuing publicity costs her her job, her security, and her future. Starting over in Westhorpe Ridge is her only option. Sean Mathews, former SEAL and Westhorpe Ridge’s sheriff, can’t forget the woman he spanked when he visited Washington, but he thinks she’s a spy. When she turns up in Westhorpe Ridge, he tries everything to make her leave town. Despite their misunderstandings, though, they can’t keep their hands off each other. As Year’s Eve looms, the spy ring resurfaces. Jazz will need all of Sean’s SEAL prowess to survive. But because his wounded leg cost him his speed in the water, will it be enough?
Desire, Deceit, and the Doctor: Twelve years ago, Mandy Devlin moved away from her friends and family--under threat. If she returned in the next ten years or told anyone who fathered her baby, her boyfriend’s great-aunt would bankrupt her family. She’s a single mom who dreams of her lost love and a good spanking. When she’s finally free to return to Westhorpe Ridge, the last person she expects to see is Adam--the man she loved and lost so long ago. Dr. Adam Montgomery doesn’t know he has a son. Thanks to his great-aunt’s will, he has nine months to find a bride or he loses Montgomery Hall and the fifteen million dollars she left him. Although he seduces Mandy on his first night home, he still believes she betrayed him twelve years ago. No way would he marry a woman like her. As Valentine’s Day looms, someone tries to kill Mandy. Is Adam trying to get rid of her? Or can Mandy trust him to protect them? Note: All of the books in this set were previously released as single titles. Buy Links: 

Excerpt from Marriage, Mobsters, and the Marine
FOR ABIGAIL, CHRISTMAS felt like the loneliest time of the year. Once her father died, her mother had drifted through life, uncaring. There’d been no presents or decorations, not even a special dinner. Adam had often stayed at college, saying he needed to keep on top of his studies. Abigail had bottled her sorrow, not even telling her brother how much she ached to sing carols around a family tree or cook a Dickensian Christmas dinner for the people she loved.
Abigail still enthused over the things she had planned for her class. “I’m pushing for a field trip to Red Heart Canyon where the Cherokee nation once gathered to celebrate the winter solstice. Local history needs preserving. You see, some yahoos took exception to their temple ceremony and massacred half the gathered women and children. History records it as another land grab by the European settlers.”
Jared frowned. “That’s rough.”
“The way we treated Native Americans sucked,” Abigail agreed. “Rumor has it Red Heart Canyon is haunted by the women the settlers killed. There’s an old mine shaft cut into the side of the canyon, but no one ever found any gold. On a more cheerful note, Mandy’s going ahead with her costume party for Ben, followed by another one with a sit-down dinner for the adults. My class is real excited about it. It’s the Saturday before Christmas, but you need to plan your costume. I’ve got mine already.”

About the Author: 
Kryssie Fortune writes the sort of hot sexy books she loves to read. If she can sneak a dragon into her paranormal books she will. Her paranormal heroes are muscular werewolves, arrogant Fae, or BDSM loving dragons.  Kryssie likes her contemporary heroes ex-military and dominant. Her heroines are kick ass females who can hold their own against whatever life - or Kryssie - throws at them. Kryssie's pet hates are unhappy endings, and a series that end on a cliff hanger.
Her books are all stand alone even when part of series. Plot always comes before sex, but when her heroines and heroes get together, the sex is explosive and explicit. One review called it downright sensual.
Kryssie's Social Links:
Facebook | Twitter | Blog | Website   
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Title: Dreams Collide
Series: Collide Series #2
Author: Kristina Beck
Genre: Contemporary Romance (Standalone)
Release Date: December 5, 2017

Tina craves adventure, food, and her new client, restaurant owner Gerry. At sixteen, Tina was full of energy, fearless, and desperate to get out of New Jersey. But her dreams shattered when her mother died tragically. She was thrust into the role of mothering her family while hiding the horrible truth of that day.
Now that Tina feels she’s paid her penance, she wants to rediscover the ambitious girl she used to be. With her new dream job and a move to Hoboken, it’s her time to spread her wings. Tina’s first client is a restaurant owner who tempts her—not only with food but with himself. She’d felt this kind of attraction only once before in college and is flooded with memories of an unforgettable kiss. One of her biggest regrets.
Gerry desires anonymity, a new life, and the beautiful website designer Tina. 
Gerry fled Germany to escape the destruction of his reputation. After months of staying under the radar, he opens a restaurant in New York City. When he hires a website design firm, Gerry finds himself working closely with Tina—whom he had a taste of years ago and now finds a sweet indulgence.
Even as they admit their attraction to each other, an unexpected circumstance threatens to separate them again. Will their love be strong enough to give up their dreams? Or will someone be left behind?






     “No complaints from me. You look good, but I don’t know how you stay fit when you’re surrounded by food all day.” I gesture with my hand toward his body.
     “You love food and have a great body.”
     “Excuse me.” I point my finger back and forth between us. “Just friends, remember?”
     “What? You just said the same to me. Friends can’t say that?”
     A boat passes us a little too closely, and I say to the couple, “We’re just friends.”
     “It doesn’t look like it to me,” the woman says. She winks at Gerry.
     He stops rowing. “Oh. I’m sorry. Should I have said you’re as hot as the chili in the ├ęclair you ate? Or as hot as the Sahara Desert? Or so hot that I’m counting the days on the calendar until my hands and lips can burn on your bare skin.” He clenches his jaw.
     I can’t see his eyes through his sunglasses, but I can feel them.
     Holy shit. He’s serious. My hormones are screaming let him.
     “You’re thinking about it too. Admit it.”
     I remain silent and look out at the water. No way am I admitting that. Hide your emotions.
     “I guess it’s going to be a long night. I’m not moving this boat until you admit it.” He lets go of the oars.
     I jump up and step closer to him to grab them.
     “Don’t jump up like that. The oars are attached. We’re fine,” he says as he tries to stabilize the boat.
     It wobbles enough that I lose my balance, falling face first into his lap. Your face is in his lap. Get up! But what if I like it? Get up!
     I push off him to escape the awkwardness. His arms wrap around my waist, preventing me from moving away. We’re face to face as I rest on my knees. I take his sunglasses off to reveal his heated eyes.
     “Why couldn’t you just admit it?” he says with a low voice, his eyes glancing at my lips. “Now look what happened. Not that I mind.”
     I whisper, “I think about it all the time. You all the time.”
Copyright ©2017 Kristina Beck








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A Jersey girl herself, Kristina was born and raised in New Jersey, USA, for thirty years. She later moved to Germany and has lived there for over thirteen years with her German husband and three children. She lives in the farthest southwest tip of Germany, surrounded by beautiful vineyards and a perfect view of the Black Forest. She is an avid reader of different genres, but romance always takes precedence. She loves coffee, dark chocolate, power naps and 80’s movies. Her hobbies include writing, reading, fitness, wine tasting, and forever trying to improve her German-language skills. 







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