Posted in 3 paws, excerpt, New Adult, Review on September 9, 2017

Synopsis

THEY SAID SHE WAS GOING TO BE MY RUIN…

THEN LET HER RUIN ME.

He had everything—wealth, adoration, a brilliant future. Until one chance encounter changed everything.

The moment Caleb Lockhart spotted the mysterious woman in her siren red dress, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

For the first time in his life, he wanted something. Something he knew he could never have.

The unforgettable stranger he dubs RED.

Chasing Red Duology:

Chasing Red (Book 1)

Always Red (Book 2)

Millions of Wattpad readers love Caleb and Red’s epic story

“I love this book to the core.”

“I was so addicted… So in love that I couldn’t stop reading.”

“The characters are just so real and possess such pure, raw emotions and passion.”

“This book took me through an emotional roller coaster! I love everything about it!”

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Excerpt

I stopped when I reached the kitchen. It had the same modern industrial feel as the rest of the place. There was a bar on the left side of the room with barstools tucked underneath. Crisp, white cupboards, granite countertops, glass pendant lights hanging from the vaulted ceiling, stainless-steel appliances—the whole works. My breath caught as I set eyes on someone standing in the corner. He was tall, his shirtless back showing he had tan skin, and I could see his muscles were rippling when he moved his arm.

I stood there, nervous and scared. As if he sensed my presence, he turned around. His eyes widened and his jaw fell open as he took in my appearance.

I knew that face.

Caleb. Caleb Lockhart!

Oh no, not him! This was not happening. I’d woken up in the lair of the campus man whore.

A piece of bread fell out of his mouth as he continued to gape at me. His wavy brown hair was mussed and sticking up everywhere, as if he too had just woken up. His chest and stomach were well defined. The long counter in front of him ended just below his waist so I couldn’t see if he was—

Please, God, I hope he’s wearing something down there.

And then he grinned. As if he had all the time in the world, his gaze leisurely traveled from the top of my head to my toes, then back up to my face. I felt my toes tingle.

“Hey, baby, you look like you’ve had a busy night,” he drawled.

Oh God.

“Did we… Did you…?” I stuttered, crossing my arms to hide my chest from his lascivious gaze.

One dark brow lifted as he waited for me to finish my question. My mouth felt dry, and my head was starting to throb. I looked down at my naked feet and wondered where I’d put my shoes. Silly, silly girl.

“Just tell me,” I said finally.

“Tell you what exactly?” His eyes were laughing at me, and I could see his dimples. He knew exactly what I was talking about, but he seemed to find joy in torturing innocent people. Jerk.

When he stepped around the counter, I moved a step back and yelled, “Stay away from me!” At least he was wearing sweatpants.

He frowned, holding his hands up. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

My eyes frantically searched for a weapon nearby, in case he decided to attack me. I could grab one of the pans on the hanging pot rack if needed.

“Why am I here?”

“You don’t remember?”

I had a sudden urge to pull my hair. “Remember what?”

His face darkened. “Some pervert nearly attacked you last night. I saved you.” He shook his head. “He could have raped you.”

My head started to throb. Memories from last night were starting to come back.

“And you threw up all over my car.” He paused. “Twice.”

“R-raped me?” I vaguely remembered resisting a guy’s advances. What if it was him?

Caleb nodded, staring at me intently. The way his green eyes bored into me triggered a memory. A low, masculine voice murmuring, I’ve been looking for you my whole life…

I shook my head to clear it and glared at him. “How do I know you’re not that guy?”

“Oh please,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have to force a girl to sleep with me.”

He stepped back, leaned against a butcher block behind him, and crossed his arms against his impressive chest, studying me with his head tilted to the side. The muscles in his arms flexed.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, but I was still suspicious. Growing up in a rough area meant suspicion came naturally to me. “I don’t remember much from last night.”

“You were drunk,” he stated.

“I think I remember that part.”

“And you’re not hungover?”

I shook my head.

“Amazing,” he said, sounding impressed.

“Look, if you don’t mind giving my shoes back, I can get out of your way.” I assumed he knew where they were. I didn’t find them in the bedroom.

“Not so fast.”

“What?” My eyes shot to an espresso machine sitting on the counter five feet away. I could use that in case he decided to grab me. Could I lift it?

“You threw up all over my car, and I just got it a few weeks ago.”

Oh. I bit my lip. “Isn’t your dad rich?” I gestured uselessly at the luxury surrounding us. “Can’t you just have somebody clean it for you?”

His eyebrows shot up. “So you’re going to have someone else clean up your mess?”

I clenched my teeth. “What do you want from me?”

Leaning back, he pulled himself up to sit on the butcher block, his glorious body on uninterrupted display. I gulped.

“Do you have anywhere to go when you leave?” There was a basket filled with apples beside him. He reached for one. How fortunate he was to reach for food whenever he wanted. He didn’t have to fear being hungry…or homeless.

“What kind of question is that? I’m going home.” I had no clue where home was, but he didn’t know that.

Without removing his gaze from mine, he tossed the apple in the air, caught it, tossed it again. “And where is that?”

My stomach quietly growled. “It’s none of your business.”

“Well, I quite possibly saved your life. I believe in conserving energy, so I want to make sure you don’t waste mine. I asked you last night where you live, and you told me you’re homeless. Frankly, right now, you look like someone just stole your last dollar.”

My mouth opened in shock.

He placed the apple back in the basket and crossed his arms again. Was he flexing in front of me?

“Why do you care?” I demanded.

It was a moment before he answered. “Do you really have somewhere to go?”

The mild, sympathetic tone did it. I felt my throat close and my eyes tear up. I could tell he was uncomfortable with my sudden display.

He jumped off the butcher block and went to open the fridge.

“Here,” he said quietly, handing me a bottled water.

I tried to say thank you, but my throat was too tight. When I looked up, he was backing away from me.

“You know you stink, right?”

I laughed. I laughed so hard that I was almost hyperventilating. Then I started crying. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.

To keep myself from falling on my face, I squatted where I was and sat on the floor. My crying turned to ugly hiccup-sobbing. He must have thought I was insane.

“Why don’t you stay here for a bit until you find an apartment?”

Shocked, I could only stare up at him.

He shrugged. “I know when someone is at the end of their rope,” he added.

At the end of their rope? I glared at him, quickly wiping at my tears. I hated looking up at someone when I talked to them so I got back on my feet, struggling to pull my dress down. He was still taller, which made me angrier.

“Listen, pal, I may be homeless, but I am not accepting your charity.”

We both fell silent.

The sound of the water bottle crinkling in my hand was followed by that of a steady stream of water spilling onto the floor.

Embarrassed, I closed my eyes. When I heard him clear his throat, I tried to calm my breathing by counting to ten before opening my eyes.

His eyebrows were raised as if he was waiting for me to say something. When I didn’t, he continued.

“Where else will you go? A homeless shelter? Listen.” He raised his index finger. “One, I live by myself, so you’ll only have the pleasure of my company. Two”—he raised a second finger—“you’re certainly safer here than at a shelter. And three”—he raised a third finger—“ding, ding, ding! You can stay here for free.”

I narrowed my eyes. It all sounded too good to be true. “Why are you helping me?” Life had beaten me enough that I knew nothing came free.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Live with Caleb Lockhart. In this huge place. For free. My only other options were the shelter or live on the streets. “I’m not going to be your prostitute.”

He looked insulted. “Do you really think I need one? Woman, have you seen this body? Besides,” he added, grinning, “when you decide to sleep with me, you’ll be the one paying me.”

Wow. The size of his ego must constantly give him a headache. I gave him a disgusted look and pretended to yawn. “Everything that’s coming out of your mouth sounds interesting. I don’t know why I keep yawning.”

Those green eyes widened and homed in on my face. I thought I’d pissed him off this time, but the most unexpected thing happened. He started laughing. “I like you,” he said, chuckling. “I mean you’re a knockout, but I didn’t think it went beyond that.”

Did he just insult me?

“I’m offering you a way out of your misery. Why don’t you take it?” He pinched his nose with his fingers. “And could you please take a shower? You might be gorgeous, but I ain’t spending time with a girl who smells like the sewer.”

I huffed. He was right though—I smelled really, really bad. But… “Then what do you want in exchange?”

“Not everyone wants something from you,” he replied grimly.

“Oh, is that what you think?” I laughed bitterly. “Everyone wants something one way or another. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

He tilted his head to the side and studied my face again. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. My looks and the shape of my body usually made people think I was always looking for fun. Fun was the last thing on my mind. I was too busy staying alive, too busy working for my next meal to think about anything else. Last night had been an anomaly.

I had no other good options—just shelter or street—and he was offering me a way out. He at least looked sincere. It was about choosing the lesser of two evils. I took a deep breath.

“I could clean,” I said quietly.

Was I really doing this? Why not? The world hadn’t given me a free ticket in so long. I was overdue for one.

“Sorry?” He blinked at me, and I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or serious. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

I took another deep breath, and this time my voice was stronger. “I could clean your place in exchange for my stay.”

“I already have someone come in three times a week for that,” he answered.

“I can cook.”

He frowned. “Don’t string me along like that. That’s not very nice.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Can you really cook?” His face lit up. He looked like a little boy who had found the last cookie at the bottom of the jar.

“Yes,” I answered, ignoring the crazy effect his smile had on me.

“Deal!”

This was too easy. “You said you live by yourself, but how can you afford this place?”

His expression shuttered. I hoped he didn’t think I was trying to find out how much money he had. That I was a gold digger. But why wouldn’t he think that? He didn’t know me from Eve.

I might have been poor, but I wasn’t a freeloader. My hands proved how hard I worked, and I was proud of that. One more year and I would get that diploma. I’d work my ass off to have a good life. I didn’t need much—a steady job, a simple house, and a serviceable car would be more than enough to make me happy. And I would never go hungry again. I’d get there without help from anyone.

“Look,” I hissed angrily. “I was only curious. If you think I’m some gold digger—”

He held a hand up. “Will you stop putting words in my mouth? Do you really think I want this life? This…this.” He gestured to the whole room. “You think this makes me happy?” His jaw was set, his hands fisted.

“Yes!” I answered. I fell silent, incredulous. He had no concept of what it meant to go hungry, to not know where he was going to sleep next, to live in fear. We were worlds apart.

This was never going to work.

We both stood there awkwardly, but after a few seconds, he opened his mouth again, waggling his eyebrows as if nothing had happened. “Know what? You do my homework while you’re cooking my dinner tonight.”

So much for that moment. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“Hold on,” he said. “I didn’t even get your name.”

“Veronica Strafford.”

“I’m Caleb Lockhart.”

 

Review

I thought this book was ok but it was hard for me to finish. I think I got tired of the drama all the time. Veronica doesn’t trust anyone. Sure she has her reasons but give someone a chance before going off the deep end and assuming the worst. Caleb is a playboy that wants to be reformed by Veronica aka Red. Yes he has a playboy past and Veronica should be aware of that since she knows him from college.

The book does have some heartwarming portions – the fact that Caleb is willing to wait for Veronica to be ready before they have sex is a positive one. Plus Veronica is wanting to improve her life situation and she can go nowhere but up. Then there is Kara – who I actually think makes the book and might even be somewhat of a scene stealer. Sure Kara has issues, but she is witty and wacky.

I think there is more to Veronica’s past and we only got a glimpse through a nightmare. It made me wonder what else she hadn’t said yet.

I was surprised to see that the school had lockers. I’m not saying that colleges don’t have them, but I have never heard of them in a college before. It reminded me of high school. Also, I thought I had read that Veronica was in college studying culinary arts but there is never really any mention of what sort of classes she is taking. That might have been an interesting twist since they mentioned classes and exams in general but nothing specific.

We give it 3 paws up.

 

Posted in excerpt, Giveaway, New Adult, romance, Spotlight, Young Adult on July 20, 2016

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A Second Chance cover

Title: A Second Chance
Author: Dana K. Ray
Publisher: eLectio Publishing
Pages: 352
Genre: YA/New Adult/Inspirational

Synopsis

A past she can’t forget…

Raven will do just about anything to forget a horrific event from the past that still haunts her. Forced to attend church because of a promise she made at a party, she is immediately attracted to the young, handsome preacher but is unconvinced of his promises of a better life

A future he refuses to accept…

Matthew has everything planned out until Raven walks into his church and turns his life upside down. Repulsed by her lifestyle, yet fascinated by her beauty and charm, he finds himself drawn to her by a force he can’t explain.

Raven and Mathew’s unlikely friendship leads them through escalating troubled waters that threaten to doom their growing relationship. Will they survive to learn valuable lessons of grace, forgiveness and love?

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Excerpt

Raven staggered into her bedroom and fell on the bed. Darkness pressed into her on every side. A shard of light sliced through the room. She tried to focus on the ceiling, but the room spun around her. She slid to the edge of the bed until one foot lay flat on the floor. It was supposed to stop the spinning. It didn’t.

Oh, God. If You keep me from puking, I swear, I’ll never drink again.

It was an empty promise, as deceiving as the alcohol. The numbness was too short. All too quickly, she’d end up in the same position, praying the same stupid prayer, talking to a God she didn’t know.

Teresa appeared. Raven smiled and reached out to her best friend. Teresa came closer. Her face was white and her lips were blue. Raven’s smile faded as terror filled her.

“I’m sorry,” Raven whispered and blinked away the tears, then gave her head a gentle shake to rid herself of the ghost. Wrong move. Teresa vanished like a vapor, but her stomach churned in protest. She looked back at the ceiling, pushed the thoughts of Teresa out of her mind, and focused on not puking.

Teresa was back with a vengeance, haunting her this time, calling to her…

“Raven.”

Raven rolled on her side and pulled the pillow over her head to muffle the girl’s voice. The shrink said the memories would fade. They didn’t.

“Raven.”

Startled, she sat up and tried to focus on something. Her heart pounded as hard as her head did. She must’ve been dreaming.

“Raven.” There was pounding. “Get the door,” her sister yelled.

Raven turned. Hailey stood in the doorway of her room. Is it morning? Did I sleep? Am I still buzzed or hung over? She sat motionless for a moment. Her head throbbed. Cotton mouth. I’m hung over.

“The door?” Raven asked, but Hailey had already disappeared.

Raven crawled across the bed, peeked out the window, and looked down at the front porch. Travis, the preacher boy, pounded on the door again.

“I’ll kill him.” The doorbell shrilled through the house, intensifying the pounding in her head.

About the Author

Dana K. RayDana K. Ray has been writing gutsy, true to life stories since she became a teenager. She and her husband reside in the Midwest with their four children and four dogs. She loves writing, mochas and Oreo’s. A Second Chance is her first published novel. Absolution, the first in the Luciano Series, is scheduled to be published in July, 2017.

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  • By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
  • One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive $10 Amazon Gift Certificate
  • This giveaway begins July 5 and ends on July 29.
  • Winners will be contacted via email on July 30.
  • Winner has 48 hours to reply.

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Posted in New Adult, romance, Spotlight on October 29, 2015
·.·´¯`·.· ·.·´¯`·.·RELEASE DAY BLITZ·.·´¯`·.· ·.·´¯`·.·
TITLE: Love At First Glance
SERIES: Love At Firsts #1
COVER DESIGNER: S&M Design

 

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Blurb:
 
Haven HATES Mondays.
She loathes them.
Especially this Monday. 
This is the Monday that’ll change her life, but will it be for better or worse?
At first glance, it’s seems to be for the worst. Losing her job, boyfriend and supposed friend is not how Haven envisaged her week starting. Temporarily living with her best friend, Spencer, is not how she envisaged spending her week and a new job is not what she expected to look forward to the following week.
Things start to look up for Haven. Despite the nasty delivery, her life is taking a new turn that she embraces and loves. She finds a new job and a place to live that are perfect for her. Everything seems to be going well but little things creep up and destroy the one thing she cherished the most and can’t live without.
 
It was a shaky start but her professional life is going in the direction she’s always wanted. If only she could say the same about her love life. After a failed long-term relationship, a blind date who is just like any guy you’d meet in a bar and a manwhore of a neighbor, she’s left thinking that it’s time to open the crazy cat lady starter box. All she wants is to be content with her life, but she’s not. She’s missing the one thing she’s dreamed of since she was a little girl. To be loved.
But what if it was in front of her the entire time?
Will she be able to mend the broken bridges?
Will she realize it was Love at First Glance?

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Where to Buy

Amazon US

 

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About the author

Muriel Garcia was born and raised in Belgium. She started writing a little over a year ago and never thought she would ever publish; reading and writing weren’t her favorite things to do in high school.

After one of her friends gave her  a challenge – the next time they would attend a book signing, she would be a signing author (it did happen!) – she started to take writing a lot more seriously and never looked back. She’s enjoyed every second of it and the friends she’s made along the way.

She loves music, tattoos—especially on hot men, traveling, and cooking. She has always had an overly imaginative and creative mind but never thought of putting words to paper. Now she couldn’t imagine not writing stories that are near and dear to her heart.

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Muriel’s Social Media Links:
 
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Posted in excerpt, New Adult, Spotlight on September 18, 2015

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Synopsis

Haunted by a crushing fear of death, a young Victorian woman discovers the secret of eternal youth—she must surrender her life to attain it, and steal heartbeats to keep it.

In 1860 Surrey, a young woman has only one occupation: to marry. Senza Fyne is beautiful, intelligent, and lacks neither wealth nor connections. Finding a husband shouldn’t be difficult, not when she has her entire life before her. But it’s not life that preoccupies her thoughts. It’s death—and that shadowy spectre haunts her every step.

So does Mr. Knell. Heart-thumpingly attractive, obviously eligible—he’d be her perfect match if only he wasn’t so macabre. All his talk about death, all that teasing about knowing how to avoid it…

When her mother arranges a courtship with another man, Senza is desperate for escape from a dull prescripted destiny. Impulsively, she takes Knell up on his offer. He casts a spell that frees her from the cruelty of time and the threat of death—but at a steep price. In order to maintain eternal youth, she must feed on the heartbeats of others.

From the posh London season to the back alleys of Whitechapel, across the Channel, across the Pond, across the seas of Time…

How far will Senza Fyne go to avoid Death?

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Excerpt 1

The room faded around Senza, the noise of the guests thinning, the press of the crowd easing. A lone figure stepped into the doorway. The world just fell away, tatters and pieces that faded around her. The only real, tangible thing in the room was that stranger.

For a moment, Senza forgot how to breathe. Who was he?

Tall, but not towering. Nice shoulders, a handsome coat. The cut of the jacket hinted at a pleasant physique, the material gleaming darkly with a hint of silk. His hair was longer than the others wore, dark and smooth and drawn back in a ribbon, although a fringe had fallen loose. The strands hung down in a boyish tumble to frame his eyes, large and black and shimmering like obsidian.

Those eyes were fixed upon hers.

When he noticed her looking at him, he flashed a sharp, secret smile. Nothing boyish about it. That look made something inside her flutter, high up between her ribs. She struggled to draw a breath, her corset suddenly too tight—

And then, he was gone. Disappeared into the crowd. Vanished like a ghost.

Excerpt 2

He took her captive hand and raised it to his lips, his dark eyes glittering.

A flush warmed her throat, spilling up into her cheeks. Who was he? They hadn’t been properly introduced. He shouldn’t be speaking to her, let alone pressing a kiss to her hand. It simply wasn’t done—

“Will I have the honor this evening?” He released her hand, but held her still with his gaze. That smile again, like he had a secret. Like he knew something about her and would love to tease her with it.

She couldn’t look away. For a moment, she was connected to him in a way she’d never felt before or would ever understand.

“Um—” She stammered, her cheeks on fire. “I’m sorry, I’ve promised the next several numbers.”

“Serves me right for waiting so long, bien-aimé. I will be content to wait for you.” He bowed low, sweeping out a slender hand in an eloquent gesture. “I would wait for you forever.”

A flash of that smile, deeper this time, deep enough to send flutters through her entire body. A smile and he was gone, like smoke on a breeze, like a shadow retreating from the sun.

“Miss Fyne.” Mr. Pembroke stepped through the crowd. “I believe I have the honor. Shall we?”

She nodded, quite at a loss for words, still in thrall of that brief interlude with the man who had no name. His voice echoed through her head, drowning out Pembroke’s polite chatter and frequent admirations for her friend, the darling Miss Keating.

One word repeated, over and over, a heartbeat in her head.

Bien-aimé.

French, for beloved.

Although the stranger was not to be seen again for the remainder of the evening, Senza danced every last dance with him, even if only in spirit.

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Excerpt 3

“Well?” She tapped her fingers against the bench.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the back of her seat beside her. “I don’t think my name would lend a shred of comfort to your state of melancholy.”

She crossed her arms, wishing the church didn’t feel quite so chilly. “Perhaps not, but the security I would gain from a proper introduction would most certainly bolster my sense of propriety.”

“Funny, how people think names are the be-all and the end-all. I didn’t expect that from you, little Miss Shakespearean scholar. Very well. If a name will urge you to be honest with me and, more importantly, yourself, I’ll give you a name. You can call me…” His voice drifted off, as if he were thinking of something, and he settled back into his own seat.

Overhead, the church bell rang. Nine o’clock.

“Mr. Knell.” He sounded pleased with himself, as if he enjoyed a private joke. “Most fitting, n’est-ce pas? Now that we are such intimate friends, I feel perfectly within the realm of propriety to confide that I know something that would distract you from your lonely endeavor.”

Curious. She cocked her head, only to turn an ear toward him. “Which is?”

He leaned over the bench, his face close to her ear. “Have you ever been to Woking?”

She hadn’t. But without hesitation she rose to follow him when he got up to leave, knowing that she’d most likely be visiting Woking, and very soon.

A quiver of worry stirred deep inside, a protest that she would leave decorum and proper behavior behind for the sake of this stranger. She quelled it with a firm resolve. She’d follow Mr. Knell into Hell if he’d been of a mind to go.

That wasn’t a good thing. But it didn’t stop her, either.

About the Author

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 Ash Krafton is a writer of all things spec fic. She believes spectacular endings make the best beginnings… Why not? One billion black holes can’t be wrong.

The second bravest thing she’s ever done was volunteering to go first when her Girl Scout troop visited a High Ropes challenge course somewhere back in the eighties. (Thankfully, few photos exist.) The third bravest thing was wearing her purple Colin Stuart boots with the extreme stiletto heel to her kids’ school open house one year. (Three floors, all steps, no brakes.) The top of the Brave Things list, however, remains to be written.

Ash can also be found:

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And writing as AJ Krafton:

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http://infiniteinkauthors.com

Posted in Fantasy, Giveaway, New Adult, paranormal, romance, Young Adult on June 15, 2015

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The Devil Made Me Do It By Shawna Romkey

 

Title: The Devil Made Me Do It
Series: Book #2 in the Speak of the Devil series
Author: Shawna Romkey
Genre: Paranormal YA
Release Date: June 15th, 2015

Synopsis

The demons strike back!

Lily is working with the angels to stifle the last of the demon outbreaks and to figure out how to stop the Silence of God, so life can get back to boring normality. But all hell breaks loose when she’s stolen from school and brought face to face with the devil himself. Lily has to find her way back home to Luc, crack the prophecy that breaks the curse silencing God, and figure out how she and Luc can ever really be together; but Lucifer has other plans for her that don’t include her ever getting out of Hell intact.

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Speak of the Devil (Book #1)

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About the Author

Shawna grew up around farms in the heart of Missouri but went to the University of Kansas, was raised in the US but now lives on the ocean in Nova Scotia with her husband, two sons, one rescue dog and one overgrown puppy from hell. She’s a non-conformist who follows her heart.

She’s taught English at the university and secondary levels for close to twenty years and can’t quite fathom how all of her students have grown up, yet she’s managed to stay the same.  She’s a huge geek and fan of Xena, Buffy and all kick ass women, and loves to write stories that have strong female characters.

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Posted in excerpt, mystery, New Adult, paranormal, Spotlight on May 19, 2015

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Synopsis

Detective Danny Mancini is on a case, following a murder suspect. When he catches him, he finds out that the perp isn’t even human: he’s a 200 year old rogue vampire!

The department doesn’t believe him, and puts him on early retirement, despite his many years of service to the Chicago Police Department, which sends him into a downward spiral.

Two years later, Danny gets an invitation from the beautiful, young and very attractive Detective Angelica Cross to join a secret branch of the FBI to help her track down Vincent, the wayward vamp.  But renegade werewolves, meddling immortal witches and Danny’s strange visions of a life lived a century ago with Angelica make things more difficult than it should be.

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Excerpt

“Should I…say something? A prayer?” he asked Angelica, uncertain.

“Only if it makes you feel better,” she said. “Better off saving your breath until you’ve finished your duties. After that, say all the prayers you want for your friend.”

He sighed, and started reciting the Hail Mary in his mind, if only to distract him and steady his nerves for what he was about to do. He held the stake in place with his left hand and swung the hammer down with all his strength with his right. He felt the crunch of bone and the pressure of the muscles before the stake lodged itself into Camille’s heart.

Dark, cold and rancid blood spewed out of the wound, hitting him in the face. He didn’t tear his eyes away, however, from the hideous sight that was formerly his best friend. Her eyes–formerly bright green–snapped open; the whites were reddish and the irises were gone, it was all black pupil. Her formerly wide and friendly mouth opened. He watched, as if in slow motion, the jaw widen and distend beyond any lengths humanly possible, as Vincent’s had two years prior, as he had attacked that girl. The fangs were fully extended and as sharp as the very stake he’d used on her. But was the absolute worst, above the aforementioned atrocities, was the shriek that emitted from her throat. It started out softly, like a kitten whining, but it steadily and rapidly got louder until it resembled a cross between nails on a blackboard, a bat’s call and a demonic crow’s caw. He wanted to cover his ears, close his eyes, and rock like a baby until the men in the white coats came to take him away. But he couldn’t. He knew that he needed to save Camille’s soul before he lost whatever remained of his mind.

He dropped the hammer to the floor of the grave and grabbed the dagger Angelica handed him. The shriek stopped, mercifully, but the sound still reverberated in his ears. He wondered idly if he’d have hearing damage. He looked at Camille. Blood was covering her uniform, splattered on her hands, arms and face. Blood also trickled from her mouth (where she’d gnashed her fangs against her lower lip) and nose. Her eyes followed his movements, filled with blind hate and hunger. Her fanged mouth was set in a vicious grimace. Any pity he’d had for Camille vanished. This thing was not his partner and he was going to rid the world of this abomination once and for all.

He brandished the dagger and Camille looked at him even more hatefully. With a simple swipe, he severed the head from the body. Blood oozed out below the head and onto the white lining of the coffin before the eyes faded back to Camille’s natural green and the fangs retreated back into her gums. She was no longer a monster and her soul was set free.

 

About the Author

Lily Luchesi is a young author/poet born in Chicago, Illinois, now residing in Los Angeles, California. Ever since she was a toddler her mother noticed her tendency for being interested in all things “dark”. At two she became infatuated with vampires and ghosts, and that infatuation turned into a lifestyle by the time she was twelve, and, as her family has always been what they now call “Gothic”, she doesn’t believe she shall ever change. She is also a hopeless romantic and avid music-lover, and will always associate vampires with love, blood and rock and roll. Her interest in poetry came around the same time as when she was given a book of Edgar Allan Poe’s complete work. She then realized that she had been writing her own poetry since she could hold a pen, and just had not known the correct terms. She finished her first manuscript at the age of fourteen, and now, at twenty-one, has two contributing credits in anthologies and a debut novel, Stake-Out, is soon to be published by Vamptasy Publishing on May 19th, 2015.

Purchase the Wishful Thinking anthology, featuring my short horror/sci-fi story, “Kill ‘Em With Kindness”

I’m a published poet in the anthology The Struggle with my poem “Aftermath”

Read my FREE debut short story “The Ghost’s Guitar”

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Posted in Book Blast, Giveaway, New Adult, women on March 5, 2015

Contemporary Women’s Fiction
Date Published: March 2, 2015
When twenty-five-year-old Pru Anderson—braless, pajama-clad, and clutching her cat, Chuck—is rescued from her burning Los Angeles apartment, the thing that scares her most is meeting the neighbors. New people make her hide in the bathroom, counting by sevens, but when her home is destroyed, she must turn strangers into friends …  or crawl back to the controlling parents she only recently escaped.
What would her idol, Pepper Hathaway, do? That’s a no brainer: the detective-slash-supermodel heroine from Pru’s favorite TV series would take no prisoners while looking fierce in a tankini and stilettos. So when the chance comes up to live with playwright Ellen, Pru sets aside her fears and goes for it.
Thus begin the adventures a girl who’s never had a job, a friend, or a first kiss. Swept into Ellen’s whirlwind life, Pru begins to build her own, as director’s assistant for a new play, muse to brooding actor Blake, and possible love interest to adorably neurotic neighbor, Adam.
Only one thing can derail Pru’s exhilarating journey. Well, actually, it’s two things—and they’re in a car headed straight for LA to torpedo her life. When the past that nearly destroyed her comes calling, who will she be: a Prudence or a Pepper?

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Early Reviews of Just Pru

“Just Pru is a laugh out loud, heartwarming story ….Pfeffer does an amazing job with Pru’s character…. The supporting cast is … easy to fall in love with and to cheer for….” 5 Stars
The Self-Publishing Review
“A five star read all the way…. a happy, funny tragicomedy of errors with a cast of delightful neurotics.”  Literary homebody.com
“Pru is hilarious….. Totally a perfect story, IMO. How often does that happen? Like never.” 5 stars Candacesbookblog.com
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Excerpt

Chapter One
From Pru’s Journal:
How can you know if you’re normal when you’re always alone? You have no one to compare yourself to. I mean, I have my mom and dad, and I’m pretty normal compared to them. But then… a lot of people are normal compared to them.
**
As the rich CaraMellow ice cream slipped along my tongue, I popped a few potato chips in my mouth for contrast. Ah, the soothing combination of sweet, salt, cream, and crunch.
No good. Its magic wasn’t working.
Shifting my size 16 tush around on the sofa, I focused on the TV. It played an old episode from Model Cop, my favorite show ever on the Wholesome Family Channel.
Today, the show’s awesome heroine, Pepper Hathaway, was tracking down a serial killer in between fittings for a runway show at Fashion Week. It was hard to juggle her two jobs as a police detective and supermodel, but she excelled at both. Pepper ended every episode with a wink to the camera and her life motto: Remember, folks. Do Good, Look Good!
She was amazing.
I sighed. I bet Pepper didn’t get job rejections like the one I’d had today. Dear Loser, the letter said. We are relieved to say we cannot offer you the position of Low-Level Proofreading Gnome at our crummy little start-up online encyclopedia. No matter how unknown and undesirable our company is, you are more so.
Sincerely,
Executive Drone
Okay, so they didn’t use those exact words, but it’s what they meant. As I lifted my spoon, caramel dribbled down the front of my flannel nightgown. I scraped it off with a potato chip and ate it.
Mmraow. My cat emerged from one of his many hiding places. I suspected he hid on purpose, just to annoy me. “Hey, Chuck-Chuck.” I scratched his orange-and-white striped back. It lasted only a few seconds. Done with human contact, Chuck strolled away, tail in the air.
On the TV, Pepper was returning home to her elegant apartment in the Big City. Hey, girlfriend, she called out to her funny, devoted homosexual roommate Tad. They sat down and sipped Chardonnay. She was so cool.
I bet Pepper could pay her rent. I bet she didn’t run out of money just two months after moving into her place. I could justify having bought a used car, but perhaps the fifty-inch flat-screen TV had been excessive. Then there were those unfortunate yard sale purchases, but I had needed furniture, after all. I needed that Victorian-style vanity and the faux-leather recliner.
I could still hear my father’s voice, cool and cutting. You won’t last a month in Los Angeles. Mark my words, you’ll be back in Oregon before you know it.
 Well, ha ha on him, I’d lasted two months now.
And ha ha on me, because I didn’t know if I could last a third.
 Tears prickled the backs of my eyes. I wished I could talk to Dr. Abbot, my wonderful therapist back in my hometown of Clayton. He had died unexpectedly last week. I’d hardly left my apartment since I’d gotten the news.
On the TV, Pepper was modeling her latest fashion purchases for Tad. I scraped the bowl with my spoon while contemplating her minuscule waistline. Was that real or digitally enhanced? Could a person’s body organs really fit into such a tiny space?
Not mine—I was sure about that. My body organs undoubtedly filled giant caverns, which was why I’d been blessed with my five foot ten inch, big-boned body.
A ringing began—yet another fire alarm. Great. We’d had two go off already this month, I thought grumpily, and they’d turned out to be cases of burned toast—a total waste of time.
I struggled up from horizontal, made my way to the living room window, and peered out. It was 8:00 on a June evening. It had just turned dark. Below loomed the building’s quiet, empty courtyard.
Just as I thought—no flames, no people fleeing for their lives.
The sofa called to me, yet the alarm blared on.
I should probably investigate, even though it meant I might have to talk to someone. And for what was probably a false alarm. I stumbled to my bedroom dresser and wrestled a pair of plain white panties up under my nightie. Where had I thrown my bra? When you’re a size 36D, you do not venture forth into public without one.
My eyes swept my twin-sized bed, the flowered rug, the vanity whose drawers I used to store cat toys. No bra to be seen.
Feet thudded down my hallway.
WHOMP! A fist hit my front door.  “Vacate the building now! Everyone out!” The man’s voice resounded through my door, then grew fainter as he moved away from me.
In an instant, sweat beaded my forehead. Vacate the building?
A siren, then others, wailed from the street. A megaphone-amplified voice blared from outside. “Immediate evacuation is required.”
“Chuck!” I shrieked. That ingrate. He’d probably hidden from me again. I dropped to my belly and crawled commando-style around the bedroom, checking under the bed and dresser. No sign of his malevolent green-eyed gaze. I checked the open laundry hamper. He wasn’t there either.
Outside, shouts and cries came to me from a distance, sirens grew louder, and banging noises intensified. I rushed again to the open living room window. Spotlights now lit the courtyard below, which had transformed into a disaster scene. Groups of people milled behind barricades. Firefighters twice the size of ordinary humans unfurled hoses and set ladders up against walls, while smoke drifted from some windows on the fourth floor, where I was.
Holy moley! Were we really on fire?
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Giveaway

$125 Amazon Gift Card
 
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Posted in New Adult, Spotlight on March 3, 2015

death wish

 

Synopsis

IN SEARCH OF THE MEANING OF DEATH, SHE’LL FIND THE MEANING OF LIFE.

Seventeen-year-old Scarlett Blake is haunted by death. Her estranged sister has made the ultimate dramatic exit. Running away from school, joining a surfing fraternity, partying hard: that sounds like Sienna. But suicide? It makes no sense.

Following in her sister’s footsteps, Scarlett comes to the isolated cove of Twycombe, Devon, with grand plans to uncover the truth. Alone. But she hasn’t reckoned on meeting two boys who are determined to help her. Luke: the blue-eyed surfer who’ll see the real Scarlett, who’ll challenge her, who’ll save her. And Jude: the elusive drifter with a knack for turning up whenever Scarlett’s in need.

As Scarlett’s quest for the truth unravels, so too does her grip on reality as she’s always known it. Because there’s something strange going on in this little cove. A dead magpie circles the skies. A dead deer watches from the undergrowth. Hands glow with light. Warmth. Power.

What transpires is a summer of discovery. Of what it means to conquer fear. To fall in love. To choose life. To choose death.

To believe the impossible.

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Excerpt

Waves everywhere, swirling, surging, seething – a raging melange of foam and salt and inky water biting at me, pulling at me, thrusting upon me a solitary invitation:

Death.

As I fought to remain on the flimsy polystyrene surfboard that seemed more bucking bronco than wave rider, I thought: That’s how easy it is – you just let go.Just release the grip on this world that in recent months had seemed so much an effort, and sink into the blue, beneath the waves, where chaos and fury turned to quiet and calm. Like she did.

Was drowning as they claim? I wondered. The easiest way to die – peaceful? How would it feel to give up all the dragging myself through the day, all the struggle to evade the aching void inside? A relief?

Another wave rose me up and slammed me down with breathtaking power. Its force stirred me. You could say a lot of things about Scarlett Blake – she’s a loner, she’s a wallflower, she’s a menace in the kitchen – but no way was ‘she’s a quitter’ on the list of character flaws.

‘Screw you!’ I shouted through the spray.

Funny, sounded like someone shouted back. But who else would be out in this tumultuous sea at six a.m. on a summer’s morning? Solitude was the entire point of hauling myself out of bed in the still-dark and picking my way down the cliff path to the beach just in time to see the horizon light up with the first burnt-orange glow of the rising sun. No one to see me make a damn fool of myself on my first surfing attempt.

‘Trying… yourself killed?’

Definitely a voice. Male. Angry.

Scanning the surroundings for the source proved difficult while lying stomach-to-board. On an upward surge I got a glimpse of the Devonshire cliffs that fringed the cove, all dark, jutting rocks topped by bushes of gorse, and then a flash of the beach. On a downward plummet there was nothing but eye-burning, throat-choking seawater.

‘Forward… next wave!’

The voice was closer now. There was an edge to it beyond the anger. Something raw.

My eyes picked out a black form between the waves. Someone on a surfboard, paddling it expertly seaward. I took one hand off the board to push sticky tendrils of hair from my eyes. Rookie mistake. Turned out holding on one-handed was impossible. The board shot upwards, out of my feeble grip, and then it was just me and Old Man Sea.

Kicking frantically, I tried to keep my head above the surface, but the waves were burying me, one after the other, only a second or two to come up for air before the next one hit. Far away now were thoughts of letting go – I was fighting furiously for life. Never in my seventeen years had I been so desperate. But my legs were tingling with effort, and I knew it was just a matter of time.

When the final wave broke me all I could think was, Sienna. With her name on my lips I inhaled a lungful of water and I sank…

… for all of a second before something grabbed the back of my t-shirt and hauled me upward. Coughing and spluttering, I emerged from the blue and was pulled roughly onto a board, my leg shoved over so that I straddled it. I had the fleeting thought that this board was much sleeker and more substantial looking than the one I’d just lost before my rescuer settled pretty much on top of me and started paddling toward the shore.

If you like this book, book 2 has just come out called Forget Me Not

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About the Author

Once upon a time a little girl told her grandmother that when she grew up she wanted to be a writer. Or a lollipop lady. Or a fairy princess fireman. ‘Write, Megan,’ her grandmother advised. So that’s what she did.

Thirty-odd years later, Megan writes the kinds of books she loves to read: young-adult paranormal romance fiction. Young adult, because it’s the time of life that most embodies freedom and discovery and first love. Paranormal, because she’s always believed that there are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy. And romance, because she’s a misty-eyed dreamer who lives for those ‘life is so breathtakingly beautiful’ moments.

Megan grew up in the Royal County, a hop, skip and a (very long) jump from Windsor Castle, but these days she makes her home in Robin Hood’s county, Nottingham. She lives with her husband, a proud Scot who occasionally kicks back in a kilt; her son, a budding artist with the soul of a paleontologist; and her baby daughter, a keen pan-and-spoon drummer who sings in her sleep. When she’s not writing, you’ll find her walking someplace green, reading by the fire, or creating carnage in the kitchen as she pursues her impossible dream: of baking something edible.

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Posted in excerpt, Giveaway, New Adult, Spotlight on March 2, 2015

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Very Twisted Things

A Standalone Briarcrest Academy Novel #3

Author: New York Times best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills

Introductory price of $2.99 on release day for 24 hours only!

 

A beautiful violinist who lives next door…

The obsessed rock star who watches her…

And the one night she bares it all.

Synopsis

Vital Rejects front guy Sebastian Tate never imagined his YouTube music video would go viral, sky-rocketing him to acting success in Hollywood. Okay, maybe he did. After all, he’s a cocky dude who knows he’s hot-as-hell, and it was only a matter of time before his stars aligned.

But life in Tinseltown is never what it seems.

After being cheated on, Sebastian’s only rule to falling in love is simple: Keep Calm and Don’t Do It. Spying on his mysterious new neighbor with binoculars seems innocent enough, but quickly escalates into an erotic game between two very unlikely people.

Twenty-year-old Violet St. Lyons is a world-renowned violinist who’s lost her mojo on stage. She hides away in a Hollywood mansion, trying to find her way through her twisted past in order to make her future.

He’s the life of the party with girls chasing him down for his autograph. She’s the introvert with a potty mouth who doesn’t even know who he is.

When they meet, stars collide, sparks fly, and clothes come off. Yet, giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.

Welcome to Briarcrest Academy—Hollywood style—where sometimes the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.

 

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Prologue

Violet

“Fairy dust is not real. This I know.” —from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

Boom!

I, Violet St. Lyons, who once believed herself the luckiest girl in the world, was born on the same day that the Violette–Sells comet was discovered. My parents, two avid stargazers, said it was a sign of how special I was and promptly named me Violet. They claimed my life had been blessed with fairy dust.

At the very least, comet residue.

I’d foolishly believed it for eighteen years, until the moment of my death.

Which was now.

Boom! Another explosion rocked the plane and metal ripped away as a section of the aircraft to my right vanished. Luggage flew through the air. People disappeared. The mom with the baby who’d sat in the aisle across from us—gone. The redheaded flight attendant who’d been collecting trash—gone. Disembodied screams echoed from the surrounding passengers as my own scream took up most of the space in my head. Air sucked at us viciously from the outside as a tornado of people banged around the space and one by one got pulled out into the swirling abyss.

I watched, helplessly transfixed, as I sat between my parents, gripping each of their hands as the plane we’d boarded six hours earlier for Dublin spiraled toward the Atlantic Ocean. I was going to die. My mother was already dead, a twisted piece of shrapnel sticking grotesquely from her chest as her head lolled around her neck. Blood had already soaked her shirt, yet I refused to let go of her hand. She’d be okay. We were always okay. We were the St. Lyons family of Manhattan, an icon of old money wealth with deep political ties. Page six of the New York Times featured pictures of us on a monthly basis. We couldn’t die on a plane.

Reality dawned as we plummeted. The yellow breathing apparatus dropped and dangled in my face, taunting me with its pointlessness. Fire and black smoke boiled in front of us where the cockpit had been, and my mind recognized that the pilots had to be dead. Just a few minutes ago, they’d come over the intercom and announced that the plane was making its descent into Dublin Airport exactly on schedule.

Then the first explosion had gone off.

Bits of debris flew around, narrowly missing me. My elderly father grabbed my hand and squeezed, his face drawn back in a horrible grimace.

Paralyzed in my seat, we spun like a drunken top, and a part of my brain noticed the sun was rising, its pink tinge lending a soft glow, catching the reflection of clouds and making them silver-lined. The rocky coast of Ireland glittered in the distance. Mocking me. We’d been headed there to celebrate my eighteenth birthday.

Just then my violin case flew past my head from the overhead compartment and crashed against the wall of the plane. Shards flew. I shuddered and wanted to vomit. God, help us. We were here because of me. Our deaths were my fault. I spared a glance at the diamond promise ring Geoff had given me before we’d left.

Would the Mayor of New York’s son go on without me?

The air was turbulent yet thin, and my chest tightened as dizziness pulled at me. I resisted. Had to stay awake. Had to be with my dad. I was younger, stronger, faster. My eyes went to the gaping hole in the plane. Had to think ahead. Plan. Water would fill up the plane on impact, ensuring we’d sink rapidly.

My fear escalated as the ocean rushed at us, its surface choppy and ominous. I took in a giant breath and braced myself. We hit at an angle, the plane a torpedo as it sliced into the sea. Daddy disappeared, ejected by the impact, and I yanked on my seat belt, unclicking it to go after him. Heart thundering, I sent a final look at my mother. I wanted to take her with me, but she was gone.

Water everywhere, bubbling and gurgling as it filled up the plane. Salt water stung my eyes. People floated by, some alive as they floundered for the opening. I kept my gaze off the dead ones. Focus. Get out. Only seconds left.

I swam from my seat and fought my way out of the large hole in the plane, lungs exploding. Burning. I’d been under too long.

Daddy! I caught a glimpse of his red shirt above me and kicked harder.

Up, up, up. Must get up. My arms moved. My legs kicked. Excruciating pain. Ignore it. Almost there. So close that I could see the daylight breaking through the water.

The hottest fire I’ve ever known lit in my chest. Scorching.

Air. Just want to breathe. Just get to the top. Please.

My body rebelled and I inhaled and swallowed water, the burn racing down my throat making it spasm as I tried to cough it out. I struggled but took in more and more, the cold liquid filling my lungs.

Dark spots filled my eyes. This was drowning.

Exhausted.

Done.

My body twitched. I grew disoriented.

I let go of the fight. My hands floated in front of me.

Oblivion.

Darkness.

No bright lights, no tunnel.

No heaven, no mother, no father.

No comets.

No fairy dust.

Chapter 1

Sebastian

Two years later

“She was music with skin.” —Sebastian Tate

I tapped my foot.

What was taking her so long?

From my backyard patio in the Hollywood Hills, I watched the odd girl next door with a pair of high-powered binoculars. She flicked on her porch lights, and a low whistle came out of me at the sexy red-as-sin robe she wore, its silky material flashing around her long legs as she moved around. Her hair was down, too.

This was new. Where were the usual yoga pants? The ponytail?

She looked like she knew someone watched, but that was impossible since our outside lights were off. Even the light from the moon hit our house at such an angle that she shouldn’t be able to see us just by glancing over. She’d need a high-powered lens to know I was here.

Usually she played facing her rose garden, but this time she walked to the right side of her patio, which faced us. Weird. But she didn’t play. She just stood there without moving. Staring toward our house. Uneasiness went over me.

What was she doing?

Could she see me?

As if it were a fragile bird, she positioned the violin under her chin and began playing, arms bent and wrist poised, making the most exquisite sounds. And I don’t mean classical like Beethoven or Mozart; I mean body-thrashing, blood-thumping, hard-as-hell music that had me rooted to the ground, like she’d slapped iron chains on me.

Dark and seductive notes rose up in the air, and I got jacked up, recognizing a Led Zeppelin song, only she’d ripped its guts out and twisted it into something electric. She pushed the bow hard, upping the tempo abruptly, her movements controlled yet wild. My pulse kicked up and my eyes lingered, taking in the slightly parted toned legs and the way her breasts bounced as she jerked her arms to manipulate the strings.

Her robe slipped off her right shoulder, exposing part of her breast. Creamy and full, it quivered, vibrating as she moved her arms. Her rosy nipple teased me, slipping in and out of the folds of the material. I pictured my mouth there, sucking, my fingers plucking, strumming her like my guitar until she begged me to—

Stop, I told myself. Whoever Violin Girl was, she didn’t deserve me lusting after her while she was pouring her heart out with music.

I zoomed in as far as the binoculars would go, watching her surrender to the music as she bent and swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, black lashes like fans on her cheeks. Every molecule in my body focused on her, hanging on to each note she pulled from her instrument.

She finished and kept her head bowed for the longest time, perhaps letting the emotion wash over her like it had me.

The entire event was surreal, yet poignant as fucking poetry.

I let out a deep breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

Who the hell plays Stairway to Heaven with a violin? She did.

Bam! She snapped her head up, her eyes lasering in on mine, making every hair on my body stand at attention.

And then …

Standing there in the moonlight, she untied her robe and spread apart the sides ever so slightly, her movements seeming almost hesitant, as if she’d had to work herself up. Unfamiliar jealousy hit me and I panned out and checked the rest of the patio, expecting to see a lover. Whoever it was, I wanted to rip him apart piece by piece.

My gaze searched her patio, the backyard, her upstairs balcony. Nothing. No one.

She flicked her dark hair back and stroked the lapels of the robe, her fingers lingering over the lacy material. Suddenly the evening smacked of something more than just music. Her arms moved back and forth across the front, opening the robe halfway and then closing it as if she couldn’t make up her mind.

My eyes went up, trying to read her face. Still as a statue, the only movement was her mouth as it trembled, her full upper lip resting against the pouty lower one.

Violin Girl was trapped in a cage of darkness.

It still didn’t stop me from holding my breath, silently begging her to bare herself to me. She’d already laid bare her music. Part of me needed the rest of her.

She jerked the robe closed, making me groan in disappointment.

And then she did something completely crazy.

The lonely girl next door flipped me the bird.

© Ilsa Madden-Mills 2015 Very Twisted Things

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About the Author

New York Times and USA Today best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to dystopian and all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroines. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

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Posted in e-books, New Adult, romance, Sale on February 3, 2015
Very Bad Things
 

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills

Amazon Top 10 Bestseller

“One of the top five New Adult romances of 2013.” —A is for Alpha, B is for Book Blog 

SYNOPSIS:
 
What happens when the perfect girl makes a very bad list?
Born into a life of privilege and secrets, Nora Blakely has everything any nineteen-year-old girl could desire. She’s an accomplished pianist, a Texas beauty queen, and on her way to Princeton after high school. She’s perfect.
Or is she?
Leaving behind her million-dollar mansion and Jimmy Choos, she becomes a girl hell-bent on pushing the limits with alcohol, drugs, and meaningless sex. Then she meets her soulmate. But he doesn’t want her.
When it comes to girls, twenty-five-year-old Leo Tate has one rule: never fall in love. His gym and his brother are all he cares about…until he meets Nora. He resists the pull of their attraction, hung up on their six year age difference. As they struggle to stay away from each other, secrets will be revealed, tempers will flare, and hearts will be broken.
Welcome to Briarcrest Academy…where sometimes, the best things in life are Very Bad Things.
**Recommended for mature audiences 18+ due to strong language and sexual content.
 
 
 
 
Very Wicked Things:
 
From NYT and USA Today Bestselling Author Ilsa Madden-Mills comes Very Wicked ThingsBook 2 in the BA series. 

       

Amazon Top 100 New Adult Romance

“Ilsa Madden-Mills slayed my heart in the best kind of way. Cuba’s pain was like my very own. Absolutely gut-wrenching.” ~Crystal Spears, International Bestselling Author

“Cuba is hot, delicious, and intoxicating…the perfect book boyfriend. Be prepared for a heartbreaking and addictive read.” ~Tijan, New York Times Bestselling Author
“Ilsa does it again with Very Wicked Things. You’ll be holding on to your seat through a few wicked twists so buckle up and enjoy the ride. ~ Megan Smith, USA Today Bestselling Author 

***
 

SYNOPSIS:


Ballerina Dovey Beckham is a scholarship student at Briarcrest Academy determined to prove she’s more than just a girl with the wrong pedigree. She does whatever it takes to succeed in her endgame, even if it means surrendering her body but never her heart.
Until the day she meets him, and he rips apart all her well-laid plans. Suddenly, the girl everyone thought unbreakable might just shatter.
Cuba “Hollywood” Hudson is rich, spoiled, and a star football player. With his fast cars and superficial girlfriends, he lives the high-life, hiding his secrets from the world.
Until the day he meets her, and she offers him something he’s never tasted…love.
But once in a lifetime kind of love doesn’t come easy…especially when dirty money, past sins, and old flames come calling.
Welcome to Briarcrest Academy, where sometimes the best things in life are Very Wicked Things.
“…a straight-up brilliant Coming of Age novel…” ~Cris at The Book AvenueEach book can be read as a standalone. Here is the series reading order.**WARNING: This new adult romance is dark and edgy with mature content. 18+
 
 
 
PURCHASE LINKS:
 
Very Bad ThingsAmazon
 
Very Wicked BeginningsAmazon
 
Very Wicked ThingsAmazon



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