Thursday, July 27, 2017


 

 

 


 

 

★★★ EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT ★★★

BUTCHER

By Leann Ashers

 

“Fucking made for me,” he growls and gives me a deep, wet kiss. He slows down and rises on his elbows, which are on either side of my face. “Made for me,” he repeats. He slowly moves inside me and my toes curl. “I love you, my Shay.”

“I love my Butcher.”

He grins and presses his forehead against mine. I grip the back of his neck, holding him to me. We come together as one, staring deep into each other’s eyes.

“I have nightmares that this is a dream,” Butcher whispers and my heart breaks a little at his words. His dark eyes look deep into mine, his face scarred up and beautiful.

“It’s real. I am real.” I take his hand and press it to my heart. “This is yours.”

“I don’t deserve you, my Shay. But I am selfish and will take you any way I can.”

I shake my head furiously and grip his face between my hands. “I am the one who doesn’t deserve you, Butcher.” I kiss him deeply before placing my face in the crook of his neck. I feel Butcher relax into me and I close my eyes.

 

 

 


 

Butcher, the newest addition to the Devil Souls MC series by LeAnn Ashers is releasing August 3rd!

 

Add to your TBR: http://bit.ly/2jh5mIR

 



 

He stalked me from the moment he saw me. He watched me day and night.

 

Butcher is what everyone calls crazy. They see all the tattoos and scars and to be honest, to most people he looks downright scary. He’s dangerous. He is after all the enforcer to the Devil Souls MC.

 

But to me? He’s just Butcher. I see him. I see who he really is. I see a man who will do anything for the people he cares about. I see the man who will protect and love me above everything else. 

 

I am just as obsessed with him as he is me. I will die for him and he would kill for me. 

 

What everyone doesn’t know is I have the same crazy inside of me...

 

 



 

Haven’t read this series yet? 

Now is your chance to get caught up!

 

BOOK ONE IS ONLY $0.99!






 

About the Author


LeAnn Asher's is a blogger turned author who spends her days reading and writing She released her debut novel early 2016, and can't wait to where this new adventure takes her. LeAnn writes about strong minded females and strong protective males who love their women unconditionally.

 

 




 

 

THANK YOU!


The Duchess and the Highwayman
By Beverley Oakley
Beverley is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate and an ebook The Mysterious Governess.to randomly drawn winners 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
BLURB: 
A duchess disguised as a lady’s maid; a gentleman parading as a highwayman. She’s on the run from a murderer, he’s in pursuit of one… In a remote Norfolk manor, Phoebe, Lady Cavanaugh is wrongfully accused by her servants of her brutal husband’s murder. There’s little sympathy in the district for the duchess who’s taken a lover and made clear she despised her husband. The local magistrate has also vowed revenge since Lady Cavanaugh rebuffed his advances. When Phoebe is discovered in the forest wearing only a chemise stained with the blood of her murdered husband, she persuades the noble ‘highwayman’ who rescues her that she is Lady Cavanaugh’s maidservant. Hugh Redding has his own reasons for hunting down the man who would have Phoebe tried and hanged for murder. He plans to turn ‘the maidservant with aspirations above her station' into the 'lady' who might testify against the very villain who would see Phoebe dead. But despite the fierce attraction between Phoebe and the 'highwayman', Phoebe is not in a position to admit she's the 'murderous duchess' hunted across the land. Seizing an opportunity to strike at the social and financial standing of the man who has profited by her distress, Phoebe is drawn into a dangerous intrigue. But when disaster strikes, she fears Hugh will lack the sympathy or understanding of her unusual predicament to even want to save her a second time.


~*~*~*~*~*~ Excerpt: This excerpt occurs after Phoebe has fled Blinley Manor in the carriage of villainous Wentworth before she’s held up by a highwayman who tells her he also is pursuing Wentworth. In this scene, Mr Hugh Redding, who has his own personal agenda for seeing Wentworth brought to justice, takes Phobe to the cottage he’s been renting from a miller and his wife. The young woman sent Hugh a narrow-eyed look. “I hope I will not have to impose upon you for too long, sir.” Hugh was about to say he hoped not too but he wanted to make up for his ungentlemanly manners of before so he remained silent. No doubt the girl had every intention of milking the situation to her advantage, he thought as he scratched her particulars onto the piece of paper that would form part of the inevitable investigation. He could see it in the worldly look in her eye for it was usual for a servant who knew her place to drop a demure gaze to the floor when a superior addressed her. What were the colour of her eyes? He glanced up again. A very pretty blue. Unwittingly, he found himself examining her lips. Even caked with mud he could see they were rose-bud shaped. Very kissable lips. Annoyed at the direction his thoughts were taking him he returned to writing up the location where he’d met Phoebe, and what she’d told him while he wondered to what extent the girl used her very kissable lips to her advantage. He’d have to be on his guard. “That really depends on what you can tell me about this villain Wentworth.” His tone was grim. He must make it clear he’d not be a soft touch. He put his pen down and tapped the paper in front of him. “Let me be plain. I want Wentworth’s head on a platter and I think you want that too. After all, he’s the reason you’re in this unsettling predicament. While the servants draw your bath, let’s make the most of what you remember while it’s fresh in your mind. What were Wentworth’s precise movements in the time leading up to this terrible event?” “His movements…sir?” “Yes, I believe he’s a common visitor to Blinley Manor.” Hugh cleared his throat. “Even though I’ve been in the area a short time, it wasn’t hard to learn the local gossip with regard to the peccadilloes your mistress enjoys with Mr Wentworth.” “How dare you!” Despite himself, Hugh laughed at her outrage. She’d been pacing in front of the fire place, stepping round the tub which had been pulled in front of the fire. Now she stopped and swung round to face him, her hands on her slender hips as she thrust out her bosom. She looked as if another slanderous word would unleash her little hand in a stinging slap across his cheek. Hugh was uncomfortably aware of a frisson of excitement at the thought. Instead he raised a supercilious eyebrow as he said, “If only we all had such loyal retainers, Phoebe. You do Lady Cavanaugh proud. Now where do you suppose your fine mistress has fled? Perhaps she and Mr Wentworth planned this vile murder together. It’s the kind of thing clandestine lovers are wont to do—especially if the husband gets wind of the fact he’s being cuckolded.” Her eyes blazed and she trembled with visible anger though seemed unable to offer a coherent reply. Hugh rose. “Into your bath, my girl. You are beyond filthy, I don’t need to tell you. It’s not necessary to fill it to the top, Withins. A couple of buckets are all that’s needed to get the dirt off.” When she began to protest he took pity on her. “All right, you can be like your lovely, sinless Lady Cavanaugh, just for tonight, and soak to your heart’s content. Withins!” He recalled his manservant. “More water, then. No, don’t look at me like that? I have to humour the lady if she’s to furnish me with the information I need on that rogue Wentworth.” He went to the door, opening it and bowing with a flourish. “And now, Phoebe, we will leave you to soak in private.” “Thank you, sir.” Her tight-lipped response followed him into the passage as Mrs Withins passed him from the opposite direction, carrying a bundle of white linen underthings and a full, bulky gown belonging to the venerable miller’s wife, a stocky creature who was about three times the girth of young Phoebe. It was an incongruous thought that Phoebe, whom Hugh had seen sheathed only in her chemise with her prettily turned ankles peeking out from just below, would soon be thoroughly covered up by the thick woollen garments that were all the miller’s wife seemed to have in her trunk. He’d been unwise to give in and allow her a full bath. Next, she’d be asking him to provide her with a new dress; though he shook his head as he wondered why he’d think such a thing. He’d only just met her and tomorrow or the next he’d be returning her to where she’d be looked after by relatives until she found a new situation. But there’d be a trial. There’d have to be if Phoebe was the witness she claimed and could testify against her former master. ~*~*~*~*~*~ 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:
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Tuesday, July 25, 2017

       

Down in Whynot, NC, there are three things that hold true: 1) life moves just a little bit slower, 2) family means everything, and 3) you don’t mess with history.

When his family decides to sell a home that’s been part of their history for over a century, Lowe Mancinkus is madder than a hornet. To add insult to injury, the woman who purchased it is some fancy pants, city girl looking to fix it up and sell it off. Doesn’t matter that she’s sexy as hell or that just being near her gets his blood racing like never before. That home belongs to his family, or at least it did until she came to town.

Well that just won’t do, now will it?

From the moment that she laid eyes on the historical home in rural North Carolina, Melinda Rothschild knew Mainer House was something special. The perfect escape from life in New York City, Melinda signed the papers and set to work restoring the house to its natural beauty. That is until an angry Lowe showed up on her doorstep one day. With a scowl on his handsome, chiseled face. And a shotgun in his strong, muscular arms.

Is it getting hot in here?

Melinda’s about to get a lesson on life in the south, but Lowe is about to learn a lesson of his own – this city girl doesn’t back down from a fight.

Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Google Play | Kobo

   




EXCERPT: 
“Looking good, Lowe Mancinkus,” I hear a woman call out as I stretch upward to paint the top of the frame around the window. Turning my head to look over my shoulder, I see Lynette Carnes getting ready to walk into Sweet Cakes across the street. She’s our town’s very own Daisy Duke. By that, I mean she struts around in miniscule jean shorts, high heels, and a sleeveless blouse tied off just underneath her very ample chest.

She’s definitely nice to look at, although she doesn’t have much going on above the cleavage.

“Morning, Lynette,” I call back. “Lookin’ good yourself.”

She grins and blows a kiss at me before walking into Larkin’s shop.

The front door opens and Mely steps out onto the porch, carrying a cup of coffee. There’s no doubt in my mind she witnessed that exchange from the other side of the doorway. It’s obvious by the pinched expression she has on her face. Still, she brings the coffee over to me and sets it on the porch rail.

“Thanks, darlin’,” I tell her as I go back to brushing paint over the layer of primer I’d put on a few hours ago. I’d decided to work half a day here at Mainer House, not because I was anxious to get the work done, but because I wanted to be around Melinda Rothschild.

She may not be strutting around in little shorts and a low-cut blouse, but she is most definitely a prettier picture than I’ve ever seen around these parts. She’s wearing a white sundress with a halter top, and her shoulders are lightly tanned with tiny freckles. Her legs are long, bare, and perfectly adorned with nothing more than a pair of simple white sandals. Her silky blonde hair is pulled away from her face at the top of her head and she looks like a breath of fresh air.

Mely leans against the porch rail, crosses her arms low under her breasts, and watches me work for a minute. I wonder if she likes what she sees.

I think so.

There was going to be another kiss last night if Morri hadn’t managed to ruin that little moment. And while I’d never stoop to mention this to Mely, I’m pretty sure he’d been hovering at the top of the stairs, just waiting to ruin it.

“Much better than hot pink,” Mely says as I continue to apply paint to the casing. I have no clue what the hell I was thinking when I painted her house pink. It was an attention getter and since the two people whose attention it got were Mely and Judge Bowe, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out I might have been pulling on her metaphorical pigtails a bit.

“I should have this finished by tomorrow,” I tell her. “Then all will be right again.”

“Odd since it took you a single night to do the damage,” she quips. I don’t look back at her, but I hear the laughter in her voice.

“Well, neon pink isn’t all that easy to cover up,” I tell her with a laugh.

She snickers and I can’t believe she was trying to get me thrown in jail last week. My how the mighty have fallen.

“When in Rome and all that,” Mely says and I turn to look at her from my perch on the ladder. She jerks her chin over her shoulder in the direction of Sweet Cakes. “Is that the standard southern girl uniform?”

Chuckling, I cut my eyes over to Sweet Cakes where sexy Lynette just disappeared into. I’m not about to tell Mely that I have actual carnal knowledge about that southern girl, even if it was back in my younger years.

Looking back to Mely, I take in her stylishly sweet dress that doesn’t reveal much but is still sexy at the same time. Giving her a wink, I say, “There’s nothing standard about you, Melinda Rothschild, so I’m advising you to stay away from that look. I think you’re mighty fine just the way you are.”

 




      Juliette Poe is the sweet and swoony alter ego of New York Times Best Selling author, Sawyer Bennett. A fun-loving southern girl, Juliette knows the allure of sweet tea, small towns, and long summer nights, that some of the best dates end sitting on the front porch swing, and that family is top priority. She brings love in the south to life in her debut series, Sex & Sweet Tea. When Juliette isn’t delivering the sweetest kind of romance, she’s teaching her southern belle daughter the fine art of fishing, the importance of wearing Chucks, and the endless possibilities of a vivid imagination. Twitter |Facebook | Instagram      

Saturday, July 22, 2017
























Pre-order exclusively via

Coming July 31st
















































Matthew

Drafted first round pick when I was seventeen, playing first line at eighteen, branded NHL's bad boy at nineteen. At twenty-three I was cut from the team and living back home with my parents. A knock on the door brought an opportunity I couldn’t turn down. All I had to do was prove I learned from my mistakes, so no way would I fall for a chick with a pouty mouth even if I wanted to spend all day devouring it.

Karrie

When my father gave me a job, I had no idea it would be to babysit some washed up NHL player. He wanted me to be his chaperone, his overpaid babysitter. I thought it was a joke. Then I met him, Matthew Grant. I wasn’t prepared for this particular bad boy. He’s not only hot but he’s arrogant and kinda sweet in a 'you make me crazy' kind of way.
Basically now that he’s finished screwing up his life, he’s decided to turn mine upside down.


She’s the first thing I’ve ever wanted more than hockey.

He’s the guy I know I should stay away from.

But what if this thing that started out so wrong turns into something so perfect?


























   Matthew Cooper Stone is my stepfather, the Cooper Stone who’s the best person to ever skate. He holds every single record that’s out there because he’s just that fucking good.
   “What the fuck are you doing?”
   I didn’t even have a chance to say hello before Cooper’s voice filled the room. I groaned and turned over to see that he was on speakerphone. My finger must have touched it by accident. “Matthew, seriously, I’m one second from flying out there and yanking you off the fucking ice.”
    I was twenty-one and already being benched and scratched.
   I was no chump. I was drafted first over all. The day still played in my mind. “The Los Angeles Royals choose Matthew Grant.” The minute my name was said, I sat there in shock while my little sister was yelling and my mother, Parker, had tears running down her cheeks while her face lit up with happiness and pride. Cooper was the first to grab me and stand me up.
   “Go get that fucking jersey.” His voice was loud in my ear. My mother was next. “I’m so proud of you, Matthew, so, so proud.”
   I kissed her cheek and walked down the stairs toward the stage from where the general manager, the owner, and the coach all looked at me. When I walked on stage, I tried to hold my tears in.
   Taking the owner’s hand in mine, I shook it and thanked him. Putting that jersey on was surreal. Posing for pictures was a blur. I got so drunk that night I don’t remember much, except Cooper having to carry me inside while I pledged my love to my mother, my sister, and the trees around us.
   Usually, once you get drafted, you start off on their farm team, but not me. I was on the starting line. I was up to my ears in silicone. There would be a different girl every night, everyone wanting to get a piece of me. The star of the team. Then my game started to slip. The late nights took a toll on me and my body. Three years later, I was sent down to the farm team. You’d think I would wake up, but no, not me. I just partied harder. I was on the front page of almost every single tabloid magazine that you could think of.
   Every single summer I went back home, spending the time training hard with Cooper riding my ass, promising him that I was out of the party phase, but the minute my feet landed back in L.A., it was back to the booze and the puck bunnies. Another three years later, I was put on wavers. When no one picked me up, I packed up and went back home. For two years, I played hockey at home in charity games, till the GM from the New York Stingers came knocking at my door. Robert Western.
   Cooper, Mom, and I sat down with him. My hands shook with nerves, my legs bouncing with happiness that someone actually wanted me.
  “We want to offer him a one-year contract, with certain rules.” He eyed me and then Cooper. I knew Cooper had called in a favor.
   “What is it?” I asked, holding my breath.
   “Chaperone.”
    I was about to get up and say fuck that when Cooper put his hand on mine and blurted out, “He’ll do it.”
   I looked at him while he glared at me. My mother put a hand on top of her husband’s. United. Always.
   Robert slapped his hands together. “Matthew, you, my friend, are going to bring another cup to New York.” He got up to shake my hand and then Cooper’s, slapping him on the arm. “Who knows, you may also knock this asshole off a throne or two.”
   Cooper laughed out loud, but I knew he would be the one egging me on, the one daring me to push him off. He would also be the first one coming to congratulate me if I ever did it.
   He had come into my life when I’d needed a male figure the most. I just hadn’t known it. He showed me that you can fall in love with your whole heart and everything will fall into place. He showed me that you fight for what you want. But most of all, he showed me that love is a gift and once it’s given, you cherish it.
   So now here I am on the plane getting ready to land in New York. I have to meet the owner of the team and the PR people tomorrow at noon. I scroll through my social media sites while I wait for the doors to open. My sister is tagging me in old photos of us from Mom and Cooper’s wedding. Feels like it was just yesterday. When you see the way Cooper looks at my mother, you know he loves her with all his heart. He would walk to the ends of the earth for her.
   I press the heart emoji on the picture and then hear the ping of the seat belt sign telling us we can stand up. I grab my leather jacket and slide it on, put on my aviators, and grab my leather duffel bag. Walking out of the plane, I nod at the two flight attendants, who both slipped me their numbers. Numbers I left in the side of the seat.
   Fresh start. It’s time to make my parents proud of me. Time to show the world that Matthew Grant is here for good this time.
   On my way to my hotel in Times Square, I look out the window of the yellow cab zigzagging its way through traffic. Nothing in the world beats the cab drivers in New York City. You sit back and hold your breath while you pray to not end up being slammed forward. We reach the W hotel. I swipe my card through the card holder in the back, thanking him. I don’t even have time to close the door before he races off from the curb.
   I enter and check in without having anything to say. The woman at reception starts going through her routine talk. I cut in. “What floor is the gym on?”
   She smiles at me, telling me the information while giving me her private number in case I have any other questions.
   I nod at her and then walk up to my room. It’s the size of a closet. Welcome to New York. I take my phone out to send a text to Cooper.     
   Landed. Going to work out.
   Be good.
   I’m always good.
   Okay, then behave.
   I laugh and throw the phone on the bed, and then get my workout clothes out of the bag. I grab my headphones and make my way to the gym.
   I have texts from Allison, my sister, and Tom, who is married to my aunt Meghan and is an ex-NHLer, wishing me luck. But the one that makes me laugh out loud is from my Aunt Meghan, telling me that my dick won’t fall off if I don’t use it. I’m about to answer her when the elevator beeps, signaling I have arrived at the gym floor.
   I walk to the gym and scan my card so I can get in. Usually, these hotel gyms are almost empty, but not this time. A girl is jogging on the treadmill, but I don’t make eye contact with her.
   Grabbing a towel from the basket in the corner, I walk over to the other treadmill, look down at the buttons, and turn it on.
   I start off slow while Drake fills my ears, but that doesn’t last long before I crank it up and push myself hard. I’m in the best shape of my life, thanks to my mom, Cooper, and Tim. They didn’t let me sit down and drown my sorrows in bonbons and booze. They had my ass skating at the crack of dawn. In the gym pushing and pulling. Meaning I’m the biggest I’ve ever been. My shoulders are wider, my waist leaner, my arms bigger.
   I’m sweating up a storm, so I look over to see if the girl is still running on the treadmill, which is my first mistake. Not only is she next to me running as fast as me, but she’s in a sports bra holding up a perfect set of tits, her stomach bare, her abs defined but looking soft, and her little booty shorts not keeping anything back. She isn’t tall. Her blond hair swings in the air while she’s looking at the iPad she has in front of her. Is she watching the Kardashians? Jesus. She must sense me watching her because she looks over, which is when I feel the earth move under my feet. Her eyes are crystal blue, so blue it’s like I’m looking into the ocean. I almost trip over my own two feet, but I recover and smile at her. I turn my head forward and continue running till my legs feel like they’re going to snap in two.
   Getting off the treadmill, I whip my soaking shirt off and throw it over my shoulder before I grab a water bottle and drain it all. I notice she’s slowing her speed. She shuts off the treadmill, dabbing her face with the towel that she has near her. She takes the water bottle, drinking in a good amount.
   I start to walk out of the room when she gets off the treadmill. I stop right before we collide with each other, then put out my hand, giving her the right of way.
   “Thanks,” she says, her voice soft, sweet, pure.
   Following her out, I watch her ass swing in front of me. I don’t even notice she stops and I crash into her, grabbing her shoulders and making sure she doesn’t fall on her face because I was staring at her ass. “I’m sorry, I was…” I’m sure I don’t have to say anything to her because my cock is nestled in her back.
   She shrugs my hands off her shoulders while she presses the elevator button. We stand here not saying anything while we wait. What can you say? Sorry my dick poked your back? Sorry I was watching your sweet ass instead of watching where I was going? Silence is golden right now.
   When the elevator arrives, I wait for her to walk in before entering and see that we are on the same floor. Great. The ride lasts no longer than a second before the door opens and she sprints out, away from the crazy pervert who poked his dick into her back. I head to my door and see she’s in the room right next to mine. I want to say something, anything, but by the time I look up, she’s already in the safety of her own room.  
















When her nose isn't buried in a book, or her fingers flying across a keyboard writing, she's in the kitchen creating gourmet meals. You can find her, in four inch heels no less, in the car chauffeuring kids, or possibly with her husband scheduling his business trips. It's a good thing her characters do what she says, because even her Labrador doesn't listen to her...

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