Friday, December 9, 2016

Release Blitz and Giveaway: Like A Boss: A Motivational Coloring Book by Jennifer Ryder




Title: Like A Boss: A Motivational Coloring Book
Author: Jennifer Ryder
Genre: Art Therapy/Self-Help/Coloring Books
Cover & Illustrations: Jessica Hildreth, Love N. Books
Release Date: December 9, 2016



Blurb

Like A Boss: A Motivational Coloring Book by Jennifer Ryder
Mantras to live and color by for women and girls.

A collection of 22 motivational mantras and a mix of designs to inspire the boss in each of us.

Let the positive messages sink in and the stress melt away as you unwind and bring each page to life.


LIKE A BOSS comes with a test page and each design has space at the spine, is blank on the reverse side, making it perfect for easy removal and framing of your favorite designs.




Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA






Author Bio

Jennifer Ryder is a bestselling contemporary romance author based on a rural property outside of Canberra. Jennifer is all about spreading positivity and finding that inner calm.

Check out www.jenniferryder.com for information on her Aussie based romance novels and upcoming adult colouring books.



Author Links

Cover Reveal: Clam Jam by RC Boldt

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Title: Clam Jam
Author: RC Boldt
Genre: Romantic Comedy/New Adult Romance
Cover Design: Letitia, RBA Designs
Release Date: January 10, 2017



Blurb

“Clam Jam”
Definition: the female equivalent of a cock block.
Example: You’re chatting with a guy you’re interested in and your friend comes along and lays claim to him.

Maggie
That’s my life—except it’s worse. My friend who keeps “jamming” me is my gay roommate and if that isn’t a W.T.F. moment, I’m not sure what is.

Fact: He went home with three—yes, three—of the guys I had been so sure were into me.

Fact: He’s really pissing me off. I mean, hello? I’m trying to get back in the saddle, but I’ll never manage to get a boyfriend before the age of fifty if he keeps this up.

Fact: Secretly, I wonder what it would be like if he weren’t gay. Why do all the hot, sweet, tender-hearted guys have to be gay?

Fact: My gay-dar needs a serious tune-up.

Ry
The day I interviewed for the room to rent, everything changed. I knew I had met “the girl”, except there was one small problem: she didn’t want anything to do with men. I recognized a top-notch force field when I saw one. She’d been burned badly and didn’t want to deal with a heterosexual guy as a roommate. I could’ve turned around and found another place to live, but I wanted to live there—with her.

So I had to go “undercover”.

Fact: I’m in love with my roommate.

Fact: I’m a likely candidate for carpal tunnel surgery since all the action I’ve had for the past year has been my hand.

Fact: She’s going to hate me if I come clean now.

Fact: I’m not giving up. Which means, I’ll just have to continue to run defense until I figure out a way to get Maggie to see the “real” me.

The me that loves her.

The me that would never do her wrong.

Until then, I’ll keep running off every guy who shows any interest.

Until then, I’ll continue to Clam Jam.








Pre-order Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU





Excerpt

“Ryland James!” I bang on his bathroom door, hollering loudly. “Did you eat the last—”

The door swings open, drawing my speech to a sudden halt because … ooooh, sweet, dripping wet abs.

My eyes are riveted.

He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, and I don’t even realize I’m moving until Ry releases a sharp hiss at my touch. Because my finger is tracing over the slight indentations in his abdominal muscles.

“Um …” He clears his throat, his voice husky and deep. “Mags?”

“Uh-huh,” I murmur absently, my fingertip stopping one of the trickling droplets of water on his skin, tracing it down over his belly button, and—

His fingers grasp my wrist, drawing my hand to a halt, and my eyes dart up to his in alarm because crap. That was like an out-of-body experience.

“Oh, crap. I’m sorry. I just really, um … crap.” That’s all I can utter. Nonsense. No one would believe I have my graduate degree if they heard me right now.

If my tongue had a voice of its own, it would probably say something like, “Just the tip. That’s all I want.” The tip of my tongue tracing over Ry’s abs, that is. You know, just to prove someone Photoshopped him. Or not.

Because I’ll take one for the team. I’m a giver like that. People might even think of canonizing me as a saint after all this. Really.

Oh, and then … Abracadabra! Poof! He’d no longer be gay, profess his undying love for me, and wouldn’t ever leave me for another guy.

Or woman.

Wow. That scenario even sounds crazy in my head.

Shaking off my thoughts, I take one more glance down at his abs—just one more glance—and that’s when I see it.

“Oh, boy,” I breathe out. Ry is hard, tenting the towel, and I really want it to drop. Accidentally, of course. Like an “oops” moment. Totally harmless and innocent.

Oh. My. God. I’m a horrible person. I’m thinking of my roommate’s penis! My roommate who has quickly become one of my best friends.

Oh, the shame!

Where did this inner slut come from? It’s like she’s been lying in wait—for him, apparently.

But, really. I can take a little peek, right?





Author Bio

RC Boldt is the wife of Mr. Boldt, a retired Navy Chief, mother of Little Miss Boldt, and former teacher of many students. She currently lives on the southeastern coast of North Carolina, enjoys long walks on the beach, running, reading, people watching, and singing karaoke. If you're in the mood for some killer homemade mojitos, can't recall the lyrics to a particular 80's song, or just need to hang around a nonconformist who will do almost anything for a laugh, she's your girl.



Author Links

Excerpt Reveal: A Veil of Vines by Tillie Cole














To most people, princes, princesses, counts and dukes are found only in the pages of the most famous of fairytales. Crowns, priceless jewels and gilded thrones belong only in childhood dreams.
But for some, these frivolous fancies are truth.
For some, they are real life.
On Manhattan’s Upper East Side, people have always treated me as someone special. All because of my ancestral name and legacy. All because of a connection I share to our home country’s most important family of all.
I am Caresa Acardi, the Duchessa di Parma. A blue blood of Italy. I was born to marry well. And now the marriage date is set.
I am to marry into House Savona. The family that would have been the royals had Italy not abolished the monarchy in 1946. But to the aristocrats of my home, the abolition means nothing at all.
The Savonas still hold power where it counts most.
In our tight-knit world of money, status and masked balls, they are everything and more.
And I am soon to become one of them.
I am soon to become Prince Zeno Savona’s wife…
… or at least I was, until I met Achille.
And everything changed.




Caresa

I closed my eyes as the music pounded through my body. The air was sticky from the mass of bodies on the dance floor. My body swayed to the beat, my feet ached from the five-inch Louboutin heels I was wearing, and my skin was flushed from the copious amounts of 1990 Dom PĂ©rignon I had consumed.
“Caresa!” My name split through the harsh sound of drums and synthesized piano notes. I rolled my eyes open and looked across our cornered-off section of the club at my best friend.
Marietta was sitting on an oversized plush couch, waving a new bottle of champagne in my direction. Laughing, I followed my throbbing feet to where she sat and slumped down beside her. In seconds, a champagne flute was in my hand and the bubbly was flowing once more.
Marietta sat forward, swishing her long blond hair over her shoulder. She raised her glass as though she was going to make a toast. But instead, her bottom lip jutted out into a pathetic pout.
I tipped my head to one side, silently asking her what was wrong.
“I was going to make a toast to the Duchessa di Parma, my very best friend,” she shouted over a new but similar-to-the-last song. “To my best friend leaving me here in dull old New York to go marry a real-life godforsaken prince in Italy.” Marietta sighed and her shoulders slumped. “But I don’t want to. Because that would mean this night is almost over, and tomorrow I lose my partner-in-crime.” A sudden sadness bloomed in my chest at her words. Then, when her eyes filled with tears, those words became a punch in the gut.
Placing my glass on the table before us, I moved forward and put my hand on her arm. “Marietta, don’t get upset.”
She put down her own drink and grabbed my hand. “I just don’t want to lose you.”
My stomach rolled. “I know,” I said. Then I didn’t say anything else, but I could see Marietta register my unspoken words. I don’t want to go either.
Keeping my hand in hers, I slumped back against the couch and let my eyes drift over the busy dance floor below. I watched the throng of Upper East Siders losing themselves in the music. A pang of fear swept through me.
This really would be my last night in New York. In the morning, I would fly to Italy, where I would live from that day on.
Marietta shuffled closer to me and cast me a watery smile. “How are you doing?” she asked as she squeezed my hand.
“I’m okay. Just nervous, I guess.”
Marietta nodded her head. “And your papa?”
I sighed. “Ecstatic. Overjoyed that his precious daughter will be marrying the prince he chose for me as a child.” I felt a pang of guilt for speaking about him so negatively. “That was uncalled for,” I said. “You know as well as I do, Baroness von Todesco” —Marietta scowled playfully at my use of her title— “that we don’t really get a choice in whom we marry.” I leaned forward and picked up my champagne. I took a long swig, enjoying the feel of the bubbles traveling down my throat. I handed Marietta her glass and raised mine in the air. “To arranged marriages and duty over love!”
Marietta laughed and clinked her glass with mine. “But seriously,” Marietta said, “are you okay? Truly okay?”
I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know how to answer that, Etta. Am I okay with the arranged marriage? I suppose so. Am I okay with moving to Italy permanently? Not really. I love Italy—it’s my home, I was born there—but it’s not New York. Everyone I know is here in America.” Marietta’s eyes softened with sympathy. “And am I okay with marrying Zeno Savona? The infamous Playboy Prince of Toscana?” I took a deep breath. “I have no idea. I guess that will become apparent in the next three months.”
“In your ‘courting period,’” Marietta said using air quotes, and snorted with laughter. “What a joke. What twenty-three-year-old woman and twenty-six-year-old man need a courting period?”
I laughed at her sassy tone, but then soberly replied, “Ones who don’t know each other at all? Ones who have to see if they can stand each other’s company before sealing their marital fates forever?”
Marietta shuffled closer. “You know as well as I do that you could hate this so-called prince, detest everything he is—and he you—and I’d still be your maid of honor at your wedding on New Year’s Eve.” She sputtered a laugh. “The very fact that the date has been set says it all. This marriage is happening.” Marietta held up her glass, got to her feet and, with arms spread wide, shouted, “Welcome to the life of the European blue bloods of the Upper East Side! Drowning in Prada and Gucci, dripping in diamonds, but having no free will to call our own!”
I laughed, pulling her back down. She broke into hysterics as her ass hit the couch, spilling champagne all over the expensive upholstery. But our laughter waned as the house lights came on one by one. The last of the dance music drifted into silence, and the rich patrons of Manhattan’s most exclusive nightclub began making their way to their limos and town cars. It was three o’clock in the morning, and I had six hours left in the city I loved beyond measure.



Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.

After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.

Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.

Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.

When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.




















RELEASE BLITZ: Tough Luck by Liv Morris


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Tough Luck, a sports rom com,
by USA Today Bestselling author, Liv Morris.

You fell in love with Brady Luck, now meet his brother Bryce!

NOW LIVE
99 cents for a limited time (standalone)!

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Blurb
There’s one rule in reporting: don’t ever fall in love…

When Amelia Adams tells everyone my days as Chicago’s quarterback are over, I vow never to give her another minute of my time—until the team owner sees an empty stadium, and forces us together on a reality show in hopes of filling the seats.

When Bryce Luck becomes my assignment, I swear his brown eyes and dimpled smile won’t make my knees weak—that I’ll keep a professional boundary. But I can’t fight this attraction, especially when he whispers sweet nothings in my ear and promises to do a million dirty things to me when the cameras stop rolling.

When the show is over, and the game’s been played, will our love become a reality? Or are we just out of luck?

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Excerpt
“Let’s open the first message with an attachment.” I let the cursor hover and take a deep breath. “Wait, are you sure seeing dic pics isn’t like offensive to you? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anything.”
“I’ve been attached to one all my life,” Bryce says, shooting me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding stare. “What about you? Feel awkward having a guy looking at dicks with you?”
“Nah. Seen one, seen them all.”
I might sound confident, but I have no clue what kind of crazy will pop up. Clicking on the first message, a fully erect penis fills my screen—or, at least, the best it can. He’s a little on the small side, the poor guy. I wonder if he has no clue either. I’d never send this pic without some major photoshopping.
“Jesus!” Bryce exclaims, and I right click to save it before exiting. “What are you doing? Keeping them?” Bryce’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
“I have a special place for all my boys.” I pull up a folder marked “Stroke Me.”
“Stroke me?” Bryce asks, his brows knitted together.
“Isn’t that what they want from me?” His eyes light up with understanding and he nods as a grin spreads over his face. “But my sub-folders are even better.”
“Now I have that “Stroke Me” song playing in my head,” Bryce laughs. “What did you name them?”
“I have five. Leans Left, Runs Right, Grower, Shower, and King-Kong. I bet you can guess what the last one means.” I waggle my brows, and he can’t stop laughing. Seriously, he had tears forming in his eyes.
“Compared to other pics, this guy seems a bit below average in size.” I move the pic to the sub-folder labeled “Grower”.
“I’ve never heard of anything so crazy!”
Hmm… I bet Bryce’s folder would be labeled, The Beast.

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Hard Luck (Book One) is
NOW ONLY $0.99 & FREE ON KU!





About the Author:
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USA Today bestselling author, Liv Morris, was raised in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri. She now resides on the rock known as St. Croix, USVI with her first and hopefully last husband. After relocating twelve times during his corporate career, she qualifies as a professional mover. Learning to bloom where she's planted, Liv brings her moving and life experience to her writing.
 



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