Monday, October 30, 2017

Series Blitz and Giveaway ($25 Amazon gift card): Inferno Glory MC & Jawa's Angels MC Series by Jennifer Ann




Inferno Glory MC Series
Author: Jennifer Ann
Genre: Contemporary Romance

For the first time ever, the Inferno Glory MC series and its spin-off series, Jawa’s Angels MC, are both available on all major retailers, and the first installment of Inferno Glory is FREE!



Blurb

Forgiveness in the MC doesn’t come easy…

They say you can never go home again, but I was out to prove them wrong. After a three year absence from the only home I have ever known, the Inferno Glory MC was not welcoming me back with open arms. 

Until Colt Sawyer sweeps me off my bike, makes me feel like a woman again, and shows me pleasures I have never dreamed of. 

Colt thinks he can save me, but I am not the MC darling everyone remembers me as, and no amount of scorching hot sex or whispering sweet nothings in my ear will change my hardened exterior.

Or at least that is what I thought.

He’s offering me passion, forgiveness and protection. And once secrets start being revealed, the protection he provides me may be the only reason I survive the Inferno Glory MC.

Warning: This story involves steamy sex with multiple partners and tattooed alpha bikers. If you’re looking for a hot and dirty ride, this is your series.







Purchase Links

Leather & Lace (#1) is FREE!

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
B&N / KOBO / iBOOKS




Jawa's Angels MC Series
Author: Jennifer Ann
Genre: Contemporary Romance



Blurb

Starting over was supposed to be easy…

Kyla

After breaking free from a bad marriage, I found a different kind of freedom with the purchase of my first motorcycle. Only my ex, a powerful man with deep connections and the worst kind of temper, isn’t ready to let me go. 

When a massive biker steps in to save me, I realize the beautiful stranger may be my only hope of survival. But I know his type, and he may be exactly like the man I’m trying to escape.

Ranger

As a former Marine-turned-vice-president of the Inferno Glory MC, I’ve seen it all. With a dark past that caused immeasurable amounts of pain, I’m fiercely protective of everyone I care about—including the gorgeous brunette I rescued from her abusive ex.

When Kyla accepts my offer to keep her safe, it inadvertently starts a war between the mafia and Inferno Glory MC. But I’ve never been the type to back down from anything, and I’m ready to do whatever it takes to keep Kyla safe, even if it means putting my own life on the line.

Warning: This story involves steamy sex with multiple partners and tattooed alpha bikers. If you’re looking for a hot and dirty ride, this is your series.


ADD TO GOODREADS





Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
B&N / KOBO / iBOOKS



Author Bio

Jennifer Ann is an award-winning and bestselling author of contemporary romance with darkly complex plots. Much like her characters, she's in love with the city of New York, trips on airplanes or the back of her husband's Harley, and everything rock and roll.



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Release Blitz and Giveaway ($50 Amazon gift card): Mister McHottie by Pippa Grant




Title: Mister McHottie
Author: Pippa Grant
Genre: Sexy Romantic Comedy
 Release Date: October 30, 2017



Blurb

Chase
I’ve just bought the woman of my nightmares.
Technically, I bought the company she works for. Point is, she cost me my two best friends ten years ago. It’s payback time, and I’m going to make her life hell.
When I’m not banging her silly and myself stupid.
I need to get my head back in business, because getting off is great, but He was a man who had sex, and lots of it, and in the worst locations, with the woman of his nightmares isn’t the inscription I want on my tombstone.
Even if it’s true.

Ambrosia
There are three things I hate:
Bratwurst in any form, my neighbors boinking loudly like farm animals at 3 AM, and Chase Jett.
Mostly I hate Chase Jett. It’s been ten years since he took my virginity—I’d make a bratwurst joke, but the unfortunate truth is that it would have to be a bratbest joke, which also pisses me off—and now he’s not only a billionaire, he’s also my new boss.
Turns out our hate is mutual. And this kind of hate is horrifically twisted, filthy, and banging hot.
I just might have to hate him forever.


Mister McHottie is 45,000 gloriously hilarious, hot, sexy words that your mother warned you about, complete with an organic happy-ever-after (or seven), a Bratwurst Wagon, ill-advised office pranks, and no cheating or cliffhangers.







Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited





Excerpt

Ambrosia May Berger is standing in the elevator bank, peering up at the numbers. She hiccups again. I stop beside her and watch her eyes go wide, then narrow, then cross. Mirrored elevator doors are possibly the second greatest invention known to man.
First, of course, is the internet.
I stare at Bro in the door mirror.
She stares back.
For all the shit she gave me growing up, I always respected her spine. As much as one can respect something that infuriating. She got away with everything. Even when she was reckless.
I can honestly say no woman I’ve been with since her has ever tried to make a break for it in the Bratwurst Wagon.
As long as I block out the month that followed, I can think of the Bratwurst Wagon with a smile.
“Working late or coming in early?” I ask.
“The hogs are mating again,” she replies.
The world believes this woman to be a sane, competent adult. Mind-boggling.
“Do you always wait in elevator banks for women you want to harass?” she asks.
“Only when I’ve gotten bored staking out the bathrooms.” I reach over and hit the up button, because she hasn’t. “Do you always assume the elevators can read your mind?”
“They were doing better than you. I didn’t want to go up.”
“And you’re standing here because…?”
“It’s my thinking spot.”
“It’s 3 AM on a Wednesday morning.”
“Do you see me judging you on wanting to use an elevator at 3 AM on a Wednesday morning? No, you don’t. So why do you have to judge me for wanting to think in an elevator bank at 3 AM? Hmmmmmm?” The hum trills up on the end, right in time with her swiveling to face me. She squints one eye, then the other, before scrunching her face, pointing her index finger at my nose, and making pew, pew noises.
If this is what the security guards were worried I’d find, I’m rather disappointed.
“Drinking on the job again?” I ask.
“Again implies I’ve done it before. Which I have not, unless you count that time the guava kale juice fermented, which I don’t, because it only counts as drinking if I enjoy the alcohol. Also, all whiskey was consumed off-premise.”
“So you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m barely buzzed enough to be able to tolerate you.”
I eye her, and decide she’s telling the truth. Her eyes are too focused and her tongue’s too sharp for her to be drunk. I can’t even smell anything on her. Tired, maybe, but not drunk.
“Was it organic?” I ask dryly.
“It’s whiskey, dickhead.”
Christ, that mouth. I want to lick it and tape it shut all at the same time. “You shouldn’t call your superiors names.”
She blows a raspberry. The sight of her ripe pink tongue makes my cock leap to attention.
“Looking for disciplinary action?” I murmur.
“Oh, don’t you wish.” The elevator dings, and she lists inside. I’d try to catch her, but frankly, I wouldn’t mind seeing her crash to the ground.
She comes to a solid stop at the railing along the back paneled wall. “And you’re not my superior,” she says.
“I write your paycheck.”
“Not yet you haven’t.” Spittle shouldn’t be sexy, but her second raspberry gives me a longer look at her tongue. I remember that tongue. Long as a lizard’s, hot as a volcano, talented as a porn star.
That’s as complimentary as I get where Bro Berger is concerned.
“So Mr. Liver-bellied Bratwurst-runner-away-er,” she says, “wouldn’t you be happier owning a grocery store that I don’t work for? Because I’m sure we can find another zagillionaire to take your place.”
I punch the button to the eighteenth floor—where the fresh greens for tomorrow are being picked and packed right now, if all’s on schedule—and give her my worst smile. “Aw, Bro, your inflated opinion of my bank account is touching.”
“You could be a mega-ka-billion-trillionaire, and you still wouldn’t have enough money to buy a soul.”
I’m relatively new to the ranks of the ten-figure club, but it’s still been years since anyone has insulted me to my face.
Her blatant hatred is oddly erotic. “Who needs a soul when I have the power to sack tempestuous employees?”
“Go ahead. I dare you.” She bangs the button for the fourth floor. Then the third, fifth, seventh, ninth, and every odd number to the top. With a frown, she draws her hand down the row of even numbers until every single floor is lit, and if I’d still thought this was alcohol motivating her, the sharp, devious intention in her cold eyes removes any doubt.
She’s fully in control and she’s intentionally trying to bait me.
Heat creeps over my scalp. It’s working.
She’s making this elevator stop on Every. Single. Fucking. Floor.
I whip out my cell phone—security can override her little prank—but as the doors close, my signal dies.
She does the MC Hammer dance, and her breasts jiggle under her swishy spring dress in a way even a celibate Tibetan monk couldn’t resist. There’s no fucking way she’s wearing a bra.
My cock twitches harder.
How did a woman so insanely evil land the world’s most perfect tits?
“Go on, rich boy.” She switches to the Lawnmower, and now her hips are rocking it too. “Buy your way out of that.”
Good Chase, the businessman, the gaming tech genius, the face I show the world, the smarter part of my brain, hops off when the doors open on the second floor, because he appreciates stairs and getting the hell away from this deranged woman.
Bad Chase, though, has possessed my body, and keeps me in the elevator.
I wave goodbye to rational thought and better judgment—who needs those bitches anyway?—and turn to Bro with a growl.
She’s wiggling her sweet curvy ass at me now, arms circling, stirring the batter. “It’s my birthday, happy birthday, it’s my birth—oomph!”
Huh. Emergency stop button works, but it’s a little choppy on the execution. Better have maintenance look at that tomorrow.
I take one large, purposeful step toward Bro.
She fists her hands on her hips and calls me an asshole with her dark, heavy-lidded, fuck-me bedroom eyes.
Yeah.
She’s feeling it too.
That pull. That hate. That inexplicable force of rage that can only be satiated with a hard, hot fuck.





Author Bio

Pippa Grant is a stay-at-home mom and housewife who loves to escape into sexy, funny stories way more than she likes perpetually cleaning toothpaste out of sinks and off toilet handles. When she’s not reading, writing, sleeping, or trying to prepare her adorable demon spawn to be productive members of society, she’s fantasizing about chocolate chip cookies.


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Release Blitz and Giveaway: Not My Type by M.E. Gordon



Title: Not My Type 
Author: M.E. Gordon 
Genre: Contemporary Romance 
Release Date: October 28,2017 
Cover Designer: https://www.facebook.com/TheIllustratedAuthor/ 







Lexi- I live on a farm…scratch that, I lived on a farm. I was on my way to L.A. to live amongst the rich and famous, to work for the rich and famous. I did not leave a farm and a seriously complicated relationship, to dive back into another one. Yet, there I was falling for a rock star that was so my type of man, it was scary. Could I ever truly leave the farm and the man I left behind to start over? Was this new relationship just a rebound from the last?

Trent- I had one type of woman all my life. I had this image of her in my head from as young as a boy. She'd be petite, beautiful long blonde hair, quiet, someone that would stand behind me as I rose to fame with my band mates. I did not see myself with a southern, loud mouthed, Amazon, of a woman who drove me up the wall. I didn't have time to be chasing a woman, they usually came to me but here I am, doing everything in my power to win over a woman who wasn't even my type.



 




 



I paused for a moment. Wiping the dripping water from my nose, I stared at her before I looked away and continued with my thought. “Well, maybe it would be better for you to leave now,” I said, taking a towel from the counter to dry my face and hands before I wrapped them tightly around my cuts. “You know, you should be there for John when he wakes up,” I said, turning around to face her.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, shaking her head in disgust.
She should be disgusted, running after a man who used her and treated her like shit! Drunken Trent was pissed.
“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who’s leaving. I’m simply suggesting that you do it sooner rather than drawing it out for later,” I snapped back. I wanted to kick Drunken Trent in the fucking balls for saying that.
“You don’t mean that,” she said, shaking her head once more. “You’re drunk and you’re going to feel like a fucking asshole in the morning for saying that to me.”
“Am I? You see, I don’t think I am. You knew I was an ass coming into this, and I knew you were a pain in mine. Did we really think this could work? I mean it might have, had you not still been in love with your fucking stepbrother!” I roared, the veins in my neck popping out with rage.
“Shut up! Shut—up!” she yelled covering her ears. “You know what? Fine! You want me gone, I’m gone,” she screamed, getting in my face.
She pushed my chest and, because I was so drunk and she was a fucking Amazon, I fell back onto the sink, my back hitting the mirror, sending a crack down the middle of it. “Good, get your sexy, fat ass out of here, baby, because clearly you never gave a fuck about me,” I yelled as she left the bathroom in a hurry.
I pushed myself off the counter and slipped on the tile floor, falling on my ass and hitting my head against the back of the sink. I sat up and finally Drunken Trent was taken down, leaving me to pick up the fucking mess he left behind.
“Lexi!” I yelled, holding my head as I fought off Drunken Trent one last time. I pushed myself away from the sink and stumbled towards the door frame. “Lexi, stop,” I called to her.
She was by the dresser, shoving her things in her bag and grabbing anything else that she might need from mine.
“Save it, asshole,” she spat over her shoulder.



All about me in Five Questions
Question 1 – What makes you, you? What makes me, me? Well I was born and raised in Central Maryland. I live now with my wonderful husband and four energetic children. My day to day consist of getting kids ready for school, answering e-mails, writing, editing, making breakfast lunch and dinner. I have always loved writing. My grandmother gave me my first journal when I was in the third grade. I wrote in it almost every day, and I still try to write in it as often as I can. Before I started my first novel and became a stay at home mom, I worked in daycare, I loved it! Never a dull moment when you have 15 kids running around! Question 2- When you don’t have your ‘Mom hat’ or ‘Author hat’ on, what are your interests? I love going to the movies, whether it be with my husband or friends. I get pretty jazzed about good movies. I love them all romantic, suspense, action. I don’t do scary though, unless I’m at home snuggled on the cough next to my hubby with a blanket over my head. Go figure I love reading! I really like romantic novels but I also dabble in Young Adult, I love me some Potter and Everdeen, hell I’ll admit it, I even liked Twilight, before the movie. Question 3 – Describe your writing set up? When I write, I have to have music on. I have a play list for each of my stories. Without music I just can’t write. I also like writing in the dark, with only a small lamp and computer screen to light my way. For each of the novels that I write, I have a journal that I jot down future ideas in the story line, character descriptions and words I want to incorporate. I’d be lost without my journals; I carry them around with me everywhere. You never know when an idea is going to pop up in your head! I like to have a large glass of ice water and sometimes a cup of coffee, if it’s one of those days. I’m sure all you Moms out there know what I’m talking about! Question 4 – Boxers or Briefs for your hunky heroes? Boxer-briefs! Best of both worlds? … I think so! Oh and they’re always black! Question 5 – Who inspires you to write? Who inspires me to write? Honestly, I write for the women like me who want to be able to picture themselves as the heroine. All too often the leading lady is someone who’s unattainable for most. The tall, thin, long legged, beauty, the petite, slender girl next door who happens to also be drop dead gorgeous. Those women are usually frail and sometimes, not much is going on upstairs. I try to write about, real, strong women who tell it like it is. For instance, we all know that most of us wear spanks, when we go out to a club. Suck it in, stand up straight and don’t sit down, unless you’re behind a table. These are the things that constantly go through your head. I want my readers to be able to put themselves in my heroines place. What would you do if a really hot guy was dancing with you? Pray your rolls aren’t showing? Chin up to hide any chance of showing a double one? Arch your back to show off ‘assets’ you think are better than others? Maybe even move his hands just so he won’t feel that extra cushion?
Although I have written a few stories with a typical heroine and don’t get me wrong, I love them and they are ‘real’ in their own way, just not physically. Those stories were easy to write because they didn’t have body issues or insecurities, they didn’t have to worry about ‘sucking it in’ or ‘muffin tops’. Now, I wouldn’t call my heroines plus size, I call them real, real girls/women who love themselves but are still aware that they aren’t that Victoria Secret model. I find it challenging and exciting to write about curvy women and all the little things that come along with it. It’s not easy and sometimes I think that it’d be easier to follow suit and write about idealistic women, but in a way, we all are and we all need that one heroine to look up to and I hope that my leading ladies, curvy or otherwise fulfill that need for someone






Feel free to use the review banner for Buoni Amici Press, LLC. events only please.
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Excerpt Reveal: The Other Brother by Meghan Quinn

Check out this amazing excerpt for THE OTHER BROTHER by Meghan Quinn!


THE OTHER BROTHER
NA Romantic Comedy
Model: David Harris
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2yievF5

PREORDER HERE:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2zX2kzc
Print: http://amzn.to/2gR5orL
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2gJRrYQ
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/2zeNabh
Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2icfDmX



I got the call. The dreaded call every child fears. My dad wasn’t well, and the man who had always been my everything needed me.

There was only one thing to do; pack up and head back to my hometown. I had finally made my dream life in the city with the great job and loving boyfriend. But was there really a choice not to go?

I found a wonderful job, a quaint house to rent, my boyfriend was working on joining me in Binghamton, and my favorite pizza place was only miles away. Life was good.

Until I met my neighbor.

It's been three years since I'd seen Aaron Walters, and my God is he all kinds of sexy gorgeous. Figures. He was supposed to be my forever, the man I grew old with, but he had different plans. How can a man who ripped my heart apart still trip me up? How can he make me still want him now more than ever?

I’m tempted, I’m drawn toward him, I’m completely and utterly unaware that I’m dating his biological brother.

Now two men own my heart. The question is, which brother will I choose?

EXCERPT:

Right on time, I’m impressed.

She doesn’t get out of her car right away, so I give her a second but then realize maybe she’s not exiting the vehicle because I have the key to the house and she has nowhere to go.

Wanting to make a good impression and seem approachable since I’m the property manager, I run my hand through my hair and adjust my jeans. I’m not wearing any fancy shit, but at least I don’t have holes in or paint stains on my clothes. I hop off my front porch and make my way toward her car, slowly, not wanting to scare her.

There is muffling coming from her car, voices I can’t quite hear, but I get the idea she’s finishing up a conversation, so I slow my pace drastically. That’s when I see her tilt her head down and look at me. From the reflection of the light off her windows, I can’t make out her features. I can only see a silhouette.

I lift a friendly hand in her direction to let her know I come in peace and make my way to her driveway. There is no wave back, but I do hear the telltale sound of her opening her car door. She steps out and when I round the vehicle, I catch the sun off her driver’s side window, temporarily blinding me.

Blinking my eyes a few times to calm my retinas, I bring her into focus.

“Aaron . . .”

Every hair on my body sticks straight up and my body goes still from that voice, that unmistakably sultry voice.

When she finally comes into view, I am met with a pair of hazel eyes I haven’t been able to get out of my head since the day she left town for bigger and better things.

“Amelia.” I clear my throat and take a step forward. “Wow, I uh . . .” Tongue-tied, that’s exactly what I am right now. “Didn’t expect to see you get out of that car.” I laugh nervously while I pull on the back of my neck, trying to comprehend what’s going on. I point with my thumb toward the house and ask, “You’re the new tenant?”

She nods and looks me over, taking her time with her perusal, her eyes burning a hole right through my clothes like they used to. When her eyes meet mine again, she asks, “You’re the property manager?”

I nod and swallow hard. “And neighbor.”

She presses her lips together, thinning them out. “What are the chances?” She laughs nervously.

“Yeah, especially since I thought your life was in the city.” I didn’t mean for that to come out rude, but it did. Gentling my voice, I ask, “What brings you back home?”

Staring at the ground, clutching her purse to her side, she says, “My dad. He’s, uh, not doing well.” Duh, Mrs. Ferguson mentioned something like that. I’m so damn overwhelmed and shocked right now though, that entire conversation I had with Mrs. Ferguson is not registering in my mind.

“Oh no.” My brow pinches together in concern. “What happened?”

She waves me off. “Nothing you need to worry about.” And just like that she shuts me down. Honestly, I’m surprised she said that much to me after how we ended things between us.

Yes, there was an us, a perfectly beautiful, love-filled us. Amelia Santos was the best thing to ever happen to me, and yet, she was also the worst. During a time where my heart broke from every uncaring glance from my mom, Amelia resurrected me from the ashes I would have otherwise drowned in. She was my rock, the one solid feature in my life.

She was also my downfall.

She was going places, and I wasn’t. She had opportunity, and I had none. She wanted me to move with her, and I couldn’t, but no way in hell would I hold her back. I barely made it out of my mom’s house. There were many days when I tried hard to earn a buck so I could find a place to live other than the homeless shelter where I spent many lonely nights. Amelia deserved better than that, so I pushed her away to achieve her dreams. Little did I know, breaking up with her would send me in the biggest downward spiral of my life. The only reason I’m the man I am today is because after hitting rock bottom, I knew things needed to change, and it was up to me to make something of myself. So I worked my ass off. And now at thirty, I can say proudly that I’m a co-owner of an up-and-coming construction company as well as the proud owner of a house in the heart of Hillcrest, a beautiful two-story house. I’m doing well for myself . . . at least that’s what I thought until Amelia stepped out of her car.

Now I’m questioning every little thing about my life leading to this point.





About the Author:

Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if "It's Raining Men" starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.

Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing... enter her first novel, Caught Looking.

Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!


Find me on Goodreads:

Visit my website: http://authormeghanquinn.com/
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