’80s Mix Tape Anthology #bookblitz

’80s Mix Tape
A.J. Pine, Autumn Jones Lake, Bobbi Ruggiero, Gwen Hayes, Jenny Holiday, Karen Booth, Rachel Cowell
(Romance Rewind #2)
Publication date: February 9th 2016
Genres: New Adult, Romance

Save a Prayer by Karen Booth

Angie Dawson never wants to see Graham Whiting again, a complete impossibility living in Stourbridge,England, the town outside London where she and Graham grew up. His band, Banks Forest, is so hot in the UK they might as well be on fire. She can’t turn on the blooming radio or watch telly or look at a magazine without being confronted by the ’80s Fab Four, fronted by the sexy bloke she’d once called her boyfriend. Every girl in England wants him. Bloody bastard.

Desperate to escape the 24-7 Banks Forest overload, Angie takes a twoweek job working as a photographer at the Music Revolution festival in the US. Finally, she can set her mind on something other than Graham and what it was like before he started being such a wanker. Maybe she can sort out what to do with her life. If she’s lucky, she’ll meet a cracking guy who doesn’t think he’s God’s gift to women. The instant she steps off the plane, she learns how daft her plan was. Banks Forest mania practically followed her across the Atlantic. Her new job puts her in Graham’s sights and he’s dead-set on winning her back. He knows the perfect things to say, the right way to kiss her and make everything brilliant again. She wants him, she wants him to be the guy he says he can be, but he’s about to go on the road for a year. How does a reunion with her ex end up being anything more than a one-night stand?

Need You Tonight by Gwen Hayes

Jacob Stone is on the run for a crime he didn’t commit, but when he’s stranded with the only woman he’s ever loved by chance, the girl he abandoned to protect two years ago, he can’t deny the need to possess her one last time. Mind, body, and soul.

Typical good girl Becky McDonald has loved bad boy Jacob since they were kids, but even as she gives in to the passion only he can ignite in her, she hides the truth. The one secret that would bring him back is the lie she can never reveal.

One night of passion. One night of need. That’s all they can have, but it will never be enough.

Kickstart My Heart by Autumn Jones Lake

Russell“Chaser” Adams knows he’s destined to take over his father’s outlaw motorcycle club one day. With Chaser’s heavy metal band close to making it big, his father encourages him to pursue his music for now. Chaser straddles his Harley and heads across the country to the Sunset Strip.

Raised in a strict family with old-world traditions and their own secrets, Mallory Delov longs for glitter and glamor instead of blood and deceit. With her father serving time, it’s the perfect time to escape his domineering grasp and pursue her lifelong dream of becoming an actress.

After nailing her first audition, Mallory is offered the part of a playful vixen who torments the lead singer of the up and coming metal band, Kickstart. Her job description calls for lots of hair tossing and ass wiggling. Not quite the career she had in mind.

She didn’t plan to fall in love either. Unlike any man she’s ever known, she can’t help being drawn to the guitar player, Chaser. He’s sweet, yet dangerous. An irresistible mixture to Mallory.

On the surface they seem like complete opposites.

Little do either of them know how much they have in common.

867-5309 by Jenny Holiday

Jenny Fields is a crusader. The editor of her college newspaper, she never met a cause she couldn’t get behind. So when the administration announces it’s tearing down the historic art building, she’s on the case. All she needs to do is get Matthew Townsend, the art department’s most talented student, on board. If she could just get the moody genius to answer his phone…

Drummer Girl by A.J. Pine

Sam Walsh is done—done with college, done with guys, done with the whole scene. After graduation tomorrow, she’ll head home, ready to start her job as an elementary school music teacher in the fall. But her roommate coaxes her out for what she promises will be an epic last night, a night that ends up changing everything.

London Calling is the up-and-coming band playing at the local bar, and Sam can’t take her eyes off the sexy drummer. When he dedicates the drummer’s choice song to her, she knows the evening might be more epic than she’d imagined. Then one kiss turns her world upside down, making her question everything she thought she wanted out of her last night at school.

Ben McCarthy is the guy behind the drums, the would-have-been 306 valedictorian who dropped out three years ago to follow his dream. Tomorrow he and the band leave for London, but for one unforgettable night, it’s just Sam, the music, and him. Can a girl with her feet planted firmly on the ground fall for the boy who reaches for the stars when the only result is a broken heart?

Young Teacher by Bobbi Ruggiero

Control freak Julia Powers hates surprises. With the skills of a ninja, she keeps her ad business and personal life in perfect order. That leaves zero time for fun, let alone men. But there’s nothing wrong with having a little crush on the guy she sees at lunchtime, is there? Sure, he’s a lot younger, but it’s only a crush. It’s not like she’s going to date him or anything.

Matthew Gordon wants nothing more than for his band Joyride to go national. While he waits for his big break, he spends his days working in a sandwich shop—a job he loathes—and teaching guitar on the side—a job he loves. His days get a bit more interesting when a mysterious woman comes in for lunch and hands him a list of her favorite songs. So imagine his surprise when she shows up at his door for guitar lessons.

Unfortunately, Julia can’t play guitar to save her life, and her frustration threatens to ruin any chance of her finding happiness—with herself, or in love. Will he ever be able to teach her that she’s perfect just as she is?

Just Like Heaven by Rachel Cowell

As a premed student, college junior Sarah Lattimore’s life is a carefullycalibrated system of studying, studying, MCAT prep courses, and more studying. She didn’t have time for a social life in high school, and she definitely doesn’t have time for one now. But when she walks into the first day of anatomy lab and sees her gorgeous TA, Sarah’s brilliant mind is suddenly racing in new directions.

Grad student Josh Chapman’s mom died of ovarian cancer when he was a teenager, and his grief and rage at the experience turned his future aspirations toward cancer research. But the unbelievably cute, nerdy, and possibly insane Sarah Lattimore is in his section, and she’s… distracting. But when admiring from afar turns to up close and personal, both their academic lives begin to fall apart. Sarah cares too much about her grades to stay with Josh and she breaks things off.

But when she makes a mistake in class that results in Josh facing expulsion, will this mean the end of his dreams? Or will Sarah realize in time that being with Josh was the smartest choice she’d ever made?

Goodreads / Amazon

Sneak a Peek at a couple of books from this anthology:

Excerpt from Save a Prayer by Karen Booth

I sucked in a deep breath through my nose and willed a smile onto my face. I was over Graham. I’d worked my way through it. And enduring thirty seconds of screeching girls at the newsstand was enough of a test for now.

I wound my way down to baggage claim, fetching my suitcase then out to the curb to wait for my ride to the city from an unknown volunteer for the Music Revolution Festival. Most parents would probably not be pleased by my new job, but mine were. Well, my mum was. I wasn’t sure about my dad. An award-winning photo-journalist, he hadn’t taken a picture in six months, nor had he spoken a word. Not since the stroke that left him paralyzed on one side of his body and unable to speak. Standing there, I couldn’t escape the self-doubt—first time in America, on my own, wanting to show Graham that I was not only over him, I was okay with what had happened, hoping like hell I could live up to even a fraction of my dad’s brilliance. Photographing Graham’s band left me at a serious disadvantage.

Just then a dodgy looking sky blue car wobbled past me at the curb, sputtering black fumes when it came to a stop. Dozens of band stickers blanketed the bumper—Joy Division, The Smiths, Blondie, and Tears for Fears were only the start. Out popped a girl with curly blonde hair, more blue eyeliner than I’d ever seen, and an arm loaded down with black rubber bracelets. “You must be Angie Dawson. I was told to look for a British redhead.”

My vision narrowed on her. “That’s me.”

She held out her hand to shake mine. “Welcome to Philly. I’m Darla. But people call me Gigi. I’m supposed to drive you to the hotel and make sure you have everything you need while you’re here.”

“Brilliant. Thanks.” I picked up my suitcase and followed her to the car. “The redhead I get, but what exactly makes me look British?”

Gigi shrugged, opening the car boot with her key. “I have no idea. People say stupid things, don’t they? Luckily you were the only ginger out here.”

“Ginger, huh? I take it you’ve been to England?”

“Yep. That’s what you call redheads, right?”

I nodded as she closed the trunk. “Absolutely.”

We climbed inside the car and after several attempts she got the engine running again. “First time in the States?”

“It is. I’ve been trying to get a magazine job as a photographer for over a year, and luckily, the guy at Music Maker got sacked after he was arrested for a fight in a pub. I just got hired.”

Gigi pulled onto a motorway and put in a cassette that started out with The Cutter by Echo and the Bunnymen, one of my favorite songs. With the windows rolled down, the early afternoon heat swirled our hair every which way while the car rattled as if it was held together with chewing gum and a few odd screws. “I’m just a runner,” she shouted over the music and road noise. “But I’m learning how to run sound and lights. I really want to go on the road with a band at some point. I’m such a huge music fan. I can’t think of anything more exciting than that.”

“Cool.” I didn’t offer more. Gigi would have to learn on her own how unexciting it could be to go on the road with a band, although touring with Banks Forest was likely a much higher-class affair now than it had been in the early days.

“Oh!” Gigi exclaimed. “I forgot. I have a message for you in my bag from the editor at Music Maker. They called for you at the production office this morning. It’s right in that side pocket. You can go ahead and get it out.”

I leaned down and slipped my hand into the outside compartment of Gigi’s black LeSport Sac. My heart picked up as I unfolded the paper. For the first time since I’d landed, I was thrilled by the prospects ahead, rather than dreading what would happen if things didn’t go right. I was finally a working photographer. I’d gotten a call at a major music festival production office from my employer.

For: Angie Dawson

From: Oliver Harvey, 7/11/85

Banks Forest and their road manager will meet you in hotel bar at 7 pm to discuss the band’s schedule.

And there it was. I was officially on my way. Back into the sights of Graham Whiting.

Excerpt from Need You Tonight by Gwen Hayes

Jacob’s eyes never rest. He glances at me briefly before scanning the swarm of disgruntled travelers around us. The logical side of my brain says that he is just being careful. People on the run have to be hypersensitive to their surroundings. The illogical poster-girl-of-a-train-wreck side thinks he just wants to get away from me as soon as possible and is looking for a break in the crowds.

“Where were you going?” he asks. Probably to be polite.

“Florida. You?” Stupid girl. “Never mind. That was dumb. You can’t tell me where you are going or where you’ve been or probably even what you had for breakfast yesterday.”

“It doesn’t really matter where I was going,” he says, glossing over my sarcasm like he always does. “Nobody’s getting out of Detroit alive tonight.” He looks at his watch. “I guess I should try to book a room.”

I follow his wrist back down to his side with my gaze. God, nothing has changed. Even his wrists turn me on. Focus, Becky. “Good luck with that. Hotel rooms are going to be scarce.”

“I suppose you already have one.”

I shrug. “You know me.”

Awkward silence.

“You look good, Becky.”

Though they are kind, the words bite into my tender heart with razor sharp teeth. They are so tame compared to the last time he told me how I looked. When he said he couldn’t get enough of my hot little body. That I made him so hard every time he looked at me. My face was forever etched in his mind.

Now I look “good.”

I smile through the jagged pain because that is what you do when it hurts to breathe. “Thanks. I don’t suppose we could grab a cup of coffee, could we?” I don’t know why I said that. Why did I just say that?

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. It’s risky.”

Two years. I have missed him every day for two years. “We’re random strangers in a crowded airport today. Is it really so dangerous?”

He rubs his chin, scratching at the light dusting of stubble. “You’re not a random stranger, Becks.”

I shrug. “Nobody here knows that.” What if he says yes? What would it be like to forget, just for one hour, all the things that haunt me? Just take a step out of time. “It’s coffee, not a dark alley. I’ll help you make calls to hotels first.”

I don’t wait for an answer; I just grab his hand and pull. He’ll follow. He’ll roll his eyes, act a little miffed, and go along with me just like he always used to. Because he didn’t say no. He said he didn’t know if it was a good idea. Semantics are everything with a guy like Jacob Stone.

Twenty minutes later, after fruitless phone calls for a room, Jacob takes a long pull from his coffee and sits back in his chair, defeated. “How did you score a room? Wait, don’t tell me. You reserved it days ago, didn’t you?”

“The storm isn’t a surprise. They’ve been tracking it for a while.”

Jacob looks out the windows across the terminal. “It looks like a hurricane out there. It’s getting dark, too.”

The airport is stuffy and hot, with the temperature rising as the untraveling passengers’ moods get hotter. “I know you’ll say no, but you are welcome to crash in my room. It’s better than the floor at the gate.”

“That’s a bad idea.” Jake shuts down, just like he always did. That means no.

Now is make-or-break for what’s left of my pride. The interlude was pleasant, in its own way, but I am a realist now. A step out of time can’t take me a mile. I’ve learned the hard way that real life encroaches too soon. He’s broken my heart for the last time. I won’t beg again. This time, I’ll be the one to walk away.

“Suit yourself.” I push away from the table, slinging my carryon over my shoulder. “I’ll leave a key for you at the desk, Mr. McDonald, in case you should change your mind.” I walk just past the table and stop without turning around. “Take care of yourself.”

I miss you.

And that is that.

GIVEAWAY!

Blitz-wide giveaway (INTL)
  • $25 Amazon Gift Card

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by:

ButtonXBT1

Deadline (Fo Love of Country) by Jessica James #CoverReveal #PreOrder #BEP @jessicajames

deadlinePreorder Blitz

3D-book-stack-promo (1)

Book Title: Deadline
Author: Jessica James
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: April 9, 2016
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

Goodreads Button with Shadow

book blurb

He’s a relentless homicide detective. She’s an uncompromising journalist.
Neither desires to work together—but they’ll never uncover the truth alone.

Landing a front page headline isn’t why reporter Caitlin Sparks is investigating a string of suspicious deaths connected to the U.S. State Department. She has a personal stake in finding the killer.

Detective Blake Madison has a connection to the murders too, and will risk anything to uncover the truth. But a journalist is the last person he’d rely on to help him solve a crime—especially one whose trail of evidence leads back to him.

Joining forces becomes essential as the body count continues to grow. Someone powerful doesn’t want the truth to come out—and will stop at nothing to make sure no one talks.

On the run with nowhere to turn, the couple devises a plan to expose the killer. The risk is great and the chance of success small, but the ultimate outcome is something neither one of them envisioned.

excerpt

Caitlin stood in the dining room and surveyed the large, ornately carved table and twelve matching chairs. A fire glowed in a large-mouthed fireplace that boasted a beautiful cherry-colored mantel. Gracing the walls on the other three sides were foxhunting paintings—typical of dining rooms in this part of Virginia.

“Here you go.” The detective set the mug down on the table and took a seat. His sleeves were rolled up now and the tie had disappeared completely. The way his dark hair and complexion stood out against the crisp, white shirt he wore made him look a little more amiable and pleasant than the last time they’d met. But when he leaned forward with his arms on the table, Caitlin could see why he had such a reputation as a menacing interrogator. The look in his eyes turned intense and commanding—the kind of look that both drew her in and made her want to run away. Fast.

“I don’t usually do this.”

“What’s that?”

“Talk to reporters.” He exaggerated the word to make clear it was a profession extremely distasteful to him.

Caitlin refused to be intimidated or swayed. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, matching her sarcasm with some of his own. “And just to be clear, I’m no longer on the case so I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Excuse me?” Caitlin’s tone revealed her confusion and surprise.

“I told you I’m off the case.” He appeared surprised that she was surprised.

“Yes, and I’m off the story. But I thought we were sharing.”

“Minor correction. You’re sharing.”

Caitlin blinked. And blinked again. She thought he must be joking, but the expression on his face did not suggest that intent. “If you’re no longer actively working the case, why am I sharing with you?”

He lifted his mug and took a drink of coffee as he pondered the question. “I don’t like what I’m being told. I want to see if you have anything to substantiate my gut feeling.”

Caitlin stood her ground. “In my world, sharing implies that we both give a little.” She closed the file and pushed out her chair. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Hold on.” He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and stared at her a moment.

Caitlin hated the way he was able to combine unnerving intensity with disinterested detachment. She wondered if it was a natural habit of his or if he had been trained by the military to remain remote and aloof even in the most distressing situations. His body language revealed nothing, and his facial expression, as usual, was that of a stone. She didn’t like being around people she couldn’t read.

“So you came all the way out here, and now you want to negotiate?”

Caitlin was stunned, both by his self-assurance and his assertion. “Negotiate? I didn’t realize I was going to have to negotiate. I’m pretty sure the word you used in your email was share.”

“Okay, maybe negotiate is the wrong word. How about co-op-erate?” He drew the word out, pronouncing each syllable.

Caitlin couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “So you lured me out here on the pretext of sharing, and then have the gall to think you can bully me into providing information with nothing in return?” She stood. “You can call it negotiation or cooperation or even collaboration for all I care, but you want to know what I call it?”

He didn’t answer, but she thought she saw a hint of amusement in his eyes, which infuriated her even more. She was too angry to think of a word to call it, so she pushed in her chair and turned to leave.

“Hold on.”

His commanding voice stopped her in mid-stride. It took everything within her to turn around, but what she saw when she did surprised her.

Madison was fingering through a stack of folders in front of him, intent it seemed on locating one in particular. “Have you seen the autopsy report?” His voice was casual, as if the last few minutes had never transpired.

“Of course not.”

He lifted his gaze for just a second at the tone of her voice, and then went back to searching through the manila folders. Finding the one he wanted, he pushed it over to where she had been sitting, and then picked up his coffee mug. “Take a look.”

Caitlin stared at the file and then back at his stone-cold face. “From the Hillside murders?”

He gave a single nod of affirmation, but he didn’t look happy about it.

meet the author

Jessica James is an award-winning author of military fiction and non-fiction ranging from the Revolutionary War to modern day. She is the only two-time winner of the John Esten Cooke Award for Southern Fiction, and was featured in the book 50 Authors You Should Be Reading, published in 2010.
Her novels have been used in schools to teach visualization techniques and are available in more than one hundred libraries including Harvard and the U.S. Naval Academy.
James stays active working part-time as a stagehand where she assists with shows ranging from country bands and stage plays, to operas, symphonies and ballets. She resides in Gettysburg, Pa., and has a passion for old dwellings and first edition books.

DEADLINE

social media websiteblognewsletter signuptwitterFacebookyou tubepinterestGoodreads

preorder the book

smashwords-draft2digital

amazon usamazon UKB&NsmashwordskoboiBooksgiveaway a Rafflecopter giveaway

500x500 BEP Square

 

Prisoner of Prophecy Book Blitz with Casey L Bond

Title: Prisoner of Prophecy
Author: Casey L. Bond
Genre: YA Fantasy
Publisher: CHBB
Blurb:
The only two things that seventeen-year-old Solara longs for, are the very things that she can’t have. True love isn’t an option when you’re told who to marry. Freedom isn’t possible when you’ve been held captive your entire life.
Just when things in her life seem to be falling into place, she learns that she’ll never be free to live or love as she would like. She is a prisoner of prophecy. The dead have been resurrected to guide her. The fallen angels who prowl the Earth want to manipulate her. And the most frightening monsters of all are human.
Can Solara love the one boy prophesied to betray her? Will she learn to embrace her destiny, or will she be crushed by the weight of the world on her shoulders?

Award-winning author Casey L. Bond resides in Milton, West Virginia with her husband and their two beautiful daughters. When she’s not busy being a domestic goddess and chasing her baby girls, she loves to write young adult and new adult fiction.You can find more information about Bond’s books via the following links:
Website: www.authorcaseybond.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorcaseybond
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorCaseyBond

Buy Links:
.99 cents 1/25-1/27, 1.99 1/28-1/30
Amazon: http://amzn.to/20rsSQ2




The behemoth of a man, extremely tall, broad, and muscular with long flowing amber hair and cobalt-blue eyes walked toward me. I countered his progression by moving backward toward the fire, toward Faric, and toward safety.
His skin was luminous and without flaw. He was dressed in what I could only describe as a white loincloth with a golden plate of armor over his chest and some sort of engraved gold-armored plates on his forearms and shins. His enormous feet were clad in leather sandals with laces crossing one another on their journey up his ankles.
He inched toward me, and I heard a loud whoosh rush past my ears. I grasped them and sunk to my knees, unsure of what had caused the loud sound and wind turbulence at the same time. I looked back up at the mountain of a man and saw a pair of beautiful stark-white wings spanning at least ten feet to his sides. I clasped my mouth at the sight of him.
I could hear Faric approaching hurriedly, and then I heard him cry out as if in pain. The angel glowered in his direction, and his arm extended toward Faric, who was pinned against a tree by some invisible force. He panted and grunted in battle against the pressure of the invisible restraint.
“It is time, Solara,” the man said with a melodious tenor voice. He stepped toward me, lowering his hand.
I looked at Faric, still plastered to the tree despite the angel dropping his hand.
Before I could look back at him, I was hoisted into the air by an invisible force as well. With one strong beat of his wings, the angel lifted himself off the ground and hovered across from me, maybe twenty feet away. I looked down at Faric, and terror flashed through his eyes as they met mine. I started to panic. My breath expelled in short, ragged huffs. I frantically tried to look for whatever was suspending me in the air but could see nothing.
The angel smiled and lifted me higher toward the canopy.
“Let me down. Please, I beg you. Let me down.”
He just looked at me before turning to survey the area behind him. I heard another whoosh before my hair lashed my face.
Hovering beside the angel was another beautiful man with short dark hair, light-gray eyes, and sun-kissed skin. His armor was similar, except had black metal to match his onyx wings.
He smirked and looked arrogantly at the white-winged angel. “Sorry, I’m late.”
 The white angel laughed heartily and said, “Do you not grow tired of hell, brother?”
The dark angel laughed and said, “My hell is currently situated on Earth, and so I am thoroughly enjoying the sins in which I am currently able to partake.”
“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt, but put me down.” I pointed toward Faric. “And let him go.”
Both angels burst into laughter as I was whipped around to face away from them. My hair was blown over my shoulder, exposing my back completely.
The white angel’s voice resounded through the forest. “Chosen one, you will now receive the mark of the Creator.”
Terror flowed through my veins as just as his voice boomed and reverberated through the forest. Crows flew from their perches, blending with the black of the sky, leaving an ever-fading cacophony in their wake.
It can’t be that bad to get this mark thing, right? I mean, the examiner looked over every square inch of my back to try to find it, so it must be small.
I looked back over my shoulder in time to see the white angel draw a long, glistening sword from behind his back. It shone with light, and he approached so fast, I couldn’t even comprehend how he’d moved. Deep, hot pain flashed down the length of my spine.
Before I could even scream, I heard a sickening crack behind me and looked back still trying to recover from the sword’s slice. The dark angel’s whip dripped with flame before I saw a flash. A searing pain blazed across my shoulder blades from left to right. The scream released from my throat didn’t even sound human. My vision blurred, and my muscles fell limp and useless against the blinding pain.
As my head bobbed on my chest, I caught a glimpse of Faric, still pinned against the trunk of the oak below. He was screaming and thrashing against the invisible forces that held him, looking up at me.
Then all went black.


Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee by Julia Kent #bookblitz

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee
Julia Kent
(Shopping for a Billionaire #6)
Publication date: February 26th 2015
Genres: Comedy, New Adult, Romance

All of our best dates end up in the emergency room….

I planned the perfect proposal. Plenty of lobster, caviar, champagne and–her favorite–tiramisu. The perfect setting. The perfect woman. The perfect everything.

Dad gave me my late mother’s engagement ring, platinum and diamonds galore. Shannon wouldn’t care if I slid a giant hard-candy ring on her finger instead of a three-carat diamond designed to impress. But my future mother-in-law, Marie, will pass out when she sets eyes on that rock, which will give us two minutes of blessed silence. That woman talks more than Kim Kardashian flashes her naked backside on the internet.

I was going to make it perfect, from the color of the tablecloth to the freshness of the roses. And it was perfect.

Until Shannon swallowed the ring.

* * *

Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancée gives near-billionaire Declan McCormick the chance to tell his story in this continuation of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Shopping for a Billionaire series.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble

Only $.99 for a limited time only!

EXCERPT:

Shannon has no idea how many layers of beauty she has. And that’s exactly why she’s so exquisite.

When I was sixteen, the year before my mother died, Mom took me and my little brother, Andrew, to New York City for a long weekend. Pulled us out of school over the objections of the headmaster at our academy. Mom didn’t care. We spent three nights at the Waldorf Astoria, skated at Rockefeller Center, had the best seats at the top Broadway musicals, and dined on the finest footlongs you could get for $3. Loaded with mustard and sauerkraut, plus a cream soda or two.

(Do you have something against footlongs? Too bad. Two teenagers can only handle so much caviar and lobster.)

What I remember most about that trip, and what Shannon reminds me of every moment I look at her, was our trip to the Museum of Modern Art. Mom insisted we go, and Andrew and I rolled our eyes like sets of dice at a craps table.

And then.

And then I got it, right there in front of a Vincent van Gogh masterpiece. In art history class we’d covered this painting in detail. We were taught the biography of Van Gogh, how he came to create the series of paintings, his motivation, and his flaws. We’d dissected the meaning so thoroughly that I felt like I could recreate the art by automation, our elite prep-school instruction clinical and impeccable.

Standing in front of the painting, a few feet away, with my eyes trailing the curve of brush strokes, my mind taking in the nuance of color, my senses dazzled by the sheer essence of the whole, I halted. Froze. Was completely in the painting’s spell.

You can study something in the abstract. Know it’s real somewhere out there in the world, and understand intellectually that what you read in a book or what you’re told by someone else is true.

You have to stand in front of it and have it stare back at you, though, to really know it.

That’s how I feel when I look at Shannon. Every single time my eyes find her. Shannon’s smile is warm and sweet, yet better every time she flashes it at me. Her honey-colored hair shines in the sunlight but looks richer when it’s tangled, in bed, highlighted by the moon and messed by me. Those warm eyes see only me when we’re together. That luscious body craves my touch. My hands. My…all of it.

When I’m with her, the world is more nuanced. Deeper. Authentic. Real.

She’s a work of art, one of a kind. And one I get to hold next to my body, tuck away in my heart, and…grow old with.

I have planned the perfect proposal. No footlongs and sauerkraut, unfortunately, but plenty of lobster, caviar, champagne and—her favorite—tiramisu. (What is it with women and tiramisu? It’s cream, cheese, sugar, cake and rum, not some magic potion that generates mouth orgasms. My Y chromosome scratches its head in confusion, but hey, if it’s her favorite…I give my woman what she wants.)

Dad gave me Mom’s engagement ring, platinum and diamonds galore, a monstrosity he’d bought for her nearly four decades ago as his business took off. The ring is designed to impress. I doubt Shannon would care if I slid a giant hard-candy ring on her finger instead of a three-carat diamond.

And, frankly, I don’t care, either. But the thought of my Shannon sharing such an important part of my mother’s life makes my chest swell. Only Shannon—and my mom—can do that. Only love can do that.

Plus, Marie will pass out when she sets eyes on that rock, and that will give us two minutes of blessed silence. That woman talks more than Kim Kardashian flashes her naked ass on the internet.

“It’s not as if your brothers are planning to tie themselves down to one woman any time soon, if ever,” Dad had said when he gave it to me. He’s about as sentimental as a pet rock. After having it resized to fit my future fiancée, it was ready to rest on yet another McCormick woman’s finger.

It was going to be calculatedly perfect, down to the color of the tablecloth and the freshness of the roses.

And it was perfect.

Until Shannon swallowed the ring.

 

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.

Website / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads

 

GIVEAWAYS!

GIVEAWAYS
Individual Blog Giveaway:
For an entry for one (1) ebook copy of Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee. Leave me a comment below and tell me if you are a Julia Kent fan (like myself), and if so, what is your favorite book. Open internationally.
Blitz-wide giveaway (INTL)
  • $50 iTunes gift card

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by:

XBT250

Unwanted Girl #NewRelease Day Blitz with MK Schiller

Title: Unwanted Girl
Author: MK Schiller
Genre: Multi-Cultural, Contemporary Romance
Blurb:

When a man loves a woman
Recovering addict Nick Dorsey finds solace in his regimented life. That is until he meets Shyla Metha.  Something about the shy Indian beauty who delivers take-out to his Greenwich Village loft inspires the reclusive writer. And when Shyla reveals her desire to write a book of her own, he agrees to help her. The tale of a young Indian girl growing up against a landscape of brutal choices isn’t Nick’s usual territory, but something about the story, and the beautiful storyteller, draws him in deep.

Shyla is drawn to Nick, but she never imagines falling for him. Like Nick, Shyla hails from a village, too…a rural village in India. They have nothing in common, yet he makes her feel alive for the first time in her life. She is not ready for their journey to end, but the plans she’s made cannot be broken…not even by him. Can they find a way to rewrite the next chapter?


I am a hopeless romantic in a hopelessly pragmatic world. By day, I don a magic cape, calculator (sometimes an abacus), and an assortment of gel pens for my work in the world of finance. But by night, I sit by the warm glow of my computer monitor, and try to create passionate heartwarming stories with a healthy dash of humor and spice.

I am a wife and mother of two loveable, but angst-ridden teenagers, that provide great material for my craft. Although I love to write, I am a reader first and enjoy nothing more than curling up with a good book and some tasty Italian (the food, of course!). I hope you enjoy my stories. 


She shrugged. “The writing’s good, but I didn’t care for the characters.”
“Why not?”
“They felt one-dimensional. He comes across as a womanizing, self-indulgent fool.”
Nick arched his brow, his lips quirking into a grin. “He’s got his faults, but I wouldn’t describe him that way.”
“As bad as he was, though, the heroine was even worse. She seemed stupid and fake…almost vapid. She was always getting herself into trouble and falling into hot water.” Encouraged by his amused smile, she continued, “And I refer to hot water in the literal sense. The one I read, the girl was suspended from the ceiling over a pot of boiling water until Max Montero swooped in at the last minute.”
“It was acid, and he likes saving beautiful women from danger. What’s wrong with that?”
“She could have saved herself, or better yet, not gotten into the situation. And he…well, he could have been nicer to her in general.”
“Not every hero comes in a one-size-fits-all package, Shyla. Don’t hold back, though. Tell me what you really think.”
“Okay, I will. I can appreciate a different kind of hero, but I’d like one with a functioning set of scruples. In the scheme of things, these books don’t deserve shelf space with the others. They definitely fall into the dime store drivel category.”
“Ouch,” Nick said, pouring himself another drink. “I don’t think you understand the concept of sarcasm.”
She opened and shut her mouth as the realization hit her. “You were joking when you asked me to tell you what I really thought?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry about it.”
“So, what do you do for a living?” she asked, anxious to change the subject. It was possible she’d accidently insulted one of his favorite novelists.
“I’m an author.”
“Have you written anything I might have read?”
“The dime store drivel you’re holding.”
Uh oh.