Tuesday, November 21, 2017

ENDLESS LOVE

Title: Endless Love
Series: Love Series #2
Author: Nelle L'Amour
Genre: Erotic Romance
Release Date: November 8, 2017
The long-awaited sequel to New York Times bestselling author, Nelle L’Amour’s critically acclaimed masterpiece, Undying Love.
“With love, there are no goodbyes.”
The heart-wrenching words of Ryan Madewell’s beloved late wife. It’s been almost five years since Allee died, but Ryan, now a successful writer, hasn’t been able to move on. Passing in and out of the stages of grief, he’s been unable to find a woman who can mend his broken heart. Someone new to love and cherish.
Until he meets Willow Rosenthal, a fiery, spirited former ballerina, who awakens in him feelings of lust and passion he thought he’d never experience again.
Allee, in her dying letter, urged Ryan to move on…to live his life and find another woman to make him feel alive again. And finally he has.
Just when Ryan thinks he can let go and love again, Willow’s demons from the past resurface and threaten to end their relationship. Their incredible love story. Ryan must fight for what he deserves. Will his heart once again be shredded to pieces or will he finally get his happily ever after?
“Is it okay if I sit down on the bed?”
“Sure,” I said breathlessly. A sudden wave of embarrassment and insecurity washed over me as he lowered himself next to me. Here I was in bed with Ryan Madewell IV, the drop-dead, gorgeous bestselling author of Undying Love. Holy shit!
His eyes swept around the room, taking in every detail.
“Is this where you slept as a child?”
“Yes,” I said diffidently. The room hadn’t been redecorated for years. It still bore my white wrought iron canopy bed and the painted cottage furniture my mom had found at the 26th Street flea market. The pink floral wallpaper matched my bedspread and the curtains that hung on the window. It was so embarrassingly princessy. And next to me on one of my pillows was my favorite stuffed animal—a dilapidated little monkey.
“Who’s that?” asked Ryan upon eyeing it.
“Baboo. I’ve had him since I was a baby.”
Ryan’s gaze stayed on him. “I had one of those. His name was Monk. But my mother threw him out when I was five. I think that was the beginning of all my fuckedupness.”
“I’m sorry,” I said with compassion, remembering what I’d read about his mother in his book. Eleanor Madewell. She was an icy alcoholic with narcissistic tendencies. So unlike my warm, loving mother.
His gaze moved to my nightstand. He studied what was on it.
“Is that your mom?” he asked, pointing his long index finger at a framed photo. It was a portrait of a woman in her early twenties with flaming red hair similar to mine. She held a little curly-haired redheaded girl in her arms. Me.
“Yeah.”
“Your father is right. She was beautiful…like you.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, heating from the compliment.
Before I could say another word, his face brightened. “And you still keep a copy of my book on your nightstand?”
I felt my face flush and smiled shyly. “I like to re-read chapters before I go to sleep.” I paused. “Thanks again for signing it.”
“No, thank you for asking me.” His eyes burnt into mine. I was having a hard time breathing and I didn’t know what to say next. The heavenly scent of his light cologne drifted up my nose, making me heady.
His eyes surveyed the rest of the room. I’d read once that writers are observers.
His gaze fixed on the framed photos on my dresser—most of them of me, taken at various stages in my life, in leotards and tutus, some at recitals, others at classes. Then, he shifted his vision to the worn, pink satin pointe shoes that dangled from my headboard. They were my very first pair—I was only ten when I got them.
“Are you a dancer?” he asked.
My muscles tensed. “Yes.” Or should I say was?
“Do you perform?”
I hesitated before responding. “No.”
A half-truth. I hadn’t performed for over six months and I wasn’t sure if I ever would again. I didn’t want to get into details about my recent past. Or think about Gustave …at least right now.
His eyes stayed riveted on the little pink slippers as he gave them a light tap. Tied to the bed by their frayed ribbons, they swung back and forth like a pendulum.
“Do you want me to go downstairs and get you something to eat?”
“Maybe in a little bit.” The truth was I hungered only for him; I didn’t want him to leave me. Not yet. As I soaked in his gorgeous profile, my heart thudded and a buzz of lust flooded my body. I longed to touch him. Run my fingers through his hair. For him to touch me. Trace my lips with his fingers. An awkward stretch of silence followed as he continued to play with my pointe shoes. Then, he turned to face me again, the expression on his face a mixture of hesitance and longing.
“Willow, I want to ask you something.” He paused, holding me in his gaze. “Can I kiss you?”
My lips parted in shock, and my heart practically stopped. “Yes, please,” I murmured. Now! I couldn’t wait a moment more.
On my next rapid heartbeat, he cupped my cheeks in his hands, leaned down, and crushed his soft, warm lips against mine. He nibbled my upper lip, then deepened the kiss, gnawing and sucking. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I’d never been kissed like this before. A heat wave spread through my body, setting every cell on fire. As a moan escaped my throat, his tongue parted my lips and found mine. They danced together, swirling and twirling, two strangers in the night discovering each other. The salty taste of the salmon lingered in his mouth and mixed with his sweet saliva, making him even more delicious. My fingers fisted his hair as our lips, tongues, and moans mingled. I had read about his kisses, but nothing had prepared me for the sensation of one. It was the kiss of all kisses. I thought I was leaving this planet.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps thudded in the near distance. My father!
I am a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Los Angeles with her Prince Charming-ish husband, twin college-bound princesses, and a bevy of royal pain-in-the-butt pets. A former executive in the entertainment industry with a prestigious Humanitas Prize for promoting human dignity and freedom to my credit, I gave up playing with Barbies a long time ago, but I still enjoy playing with toys with my hubby. While I write in my PJs, I love to get dressed up and pretend I’m Hollywood royalty. My steamy stories feature characters that will make you laugh, cry, and swoon and stay in your heart forever. They’re often inspired by my past life.

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Monday, November 20, 2017

Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire



Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire  The Sempervian Saga (Book 2) by Kayelle Allen
BLURB: 
Humans created the Ultras, a genetically enhanced race, to defend mankind. Instead, Ultras became their greatest threat. With the help of traitors, humans captured half a million of the immortal warriors.
Exiled to an alien world with no tech, no tools, and no resources, their leader, Pietas, must protect his people, find food and shelter and unite them. But before he can, he must regain command from a ruthless adversary he's fought for centuries--his brutal, merciless father.
Ultras are immortal, and no matter how they die, they come back. Reviving after death isn't all it's cracked up to be. Some wounds heal instantly and a few take time, but battered and broken trust? Immortals may heal, but a wound of the heart lasts forever.
Genre: Science Fiction with romantic elements
Rating: PG13 for violence, no profanity or explicit content

Excerpt: 
In this scene from Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire, Pietas and the search party sent to find him have stopped their upward mountain trek for a short break. Prior to their reunion the previous day, Pietas had spent a year in confinement, hands bound behind him. He'd been starved to the point of death, but because he's immortal, he could not die. Although he's healed since, the brutality left a lasting toll on his once robust physical body. As they prepare to get underway, he unwittingly reveals the impairment.
Wincing, Pietas stretched to ease cramps in his back.
His sister stood. "Tas!" she called up to him. She'd started using her childhood name for him since they'd reconnected the day before. "Are you hurt?"
A quick telepathic scan from Joss swept over him before he realized it was there. Pietas had still been a teenager when she'd trained him to shield his mind from those with her gift. Not that he'd ever been able to block her. She was far too powerful, but today, she'd read him with no more difficulty than a hunter spying trail signs. He'd been near no Ultra telepaths for over a year.
His affinity with Six had made him careless and he'd neglected the basic lessons Joss had taught him.
It wasn't a lack of trust. Trust had never been an issue with Joss.
He treasured her, but he ought not to have been so unguarded and open. Vulnerable.
"Pietas." Joss stood. The waves of emotion he picked up from her held love and concern in equal measure. And a bit of disappointment. "You're injured."
He ducked his head like a schoolboy who'd forgotten his lessons. Admit mortals had damaged him? Never. Neither would he lie about it. He'd take better care to hide the pain.
"Don't worry about me." Whistling, he circled a finger in the air. "Let's go! Long climb ahead." He leaped down from the rocks. "Joss, you lead." Last thing he wanted was her behind him, using him as an object of focus.
What telepaths focused upon, they controlled.
Bringer of Chaos: The Origin of Pietas 
The Sempervian Saga (Book 1)
Why should Pietas end the war with humans?
His people are winning, yet they insist on peace talks. The Ultra people want to grant humans a seat on the Council. Pietas ap Lorectic, Chancellor of the High Council, War Leader and First Conqueror, disagrees. What's best for mortals is oppression, control, and if necessary, elimination.
Pietas seethes with rage at the idea of human equality. Humans might have created Ultras, but the creation has far surpassed the creator. Humans die. Ultras are reborn, no matter how grievous the injury. They have no equals.
His people permit him no choice. He must attend these insipid peace talks on Enderium Six and what's worse, be polite. To humans.
When a human special ops warrior is killed in battle, he's resurrected in a secret process and inducted into the Ghost Corps. He's given enough strength to perma-kill immortal Ultras. Ghosts are the most hated and feared of warriors.
When the ghost entraps and captures Pietas at the peace talks, the two begin a long journey toward Sempervia, an isolated and forgotten world. Once there, Pietas is marooned and the ghost abandoned alongside him. The two must either fight to perma-death, or join forces to survive.

As Pietas comes to trust the human, an unlikely and awkward friendship begins. Until he discovers how ghosts are resurrected...

Giveaway - Free Download
Free -- download Endure, Illustrated Quotes by Pietas (as told to Kayelle Allen). Enjoy an exclusive collection of quotes on the concept of endurance by the man known to other immortals as the Bringer of Chaos. https://kayelleallen.com/media/30-days-endure.pdf
Download a free adult coloring book you can print and share. Relax and color with friends. It's fun! https://kayelleallen.com/media/pietas-coloring-book.pdf

Mythic Heroes and Misbehaving Robots:
Kayelle Allen writes Sci Fi with mythic heroes, misbehaving robots, role playing immortal gamers, and warriors who purr. She's a US Navy veteran and has been married so long she's tenured. https://kayelleallen.com Twitter https://twitter.com/kayelleallen Facebook https://facebook.com/kayelleallen.author Join the Romance Lives Forever Reader Group Download four free books and get news about books coming soon. You can unsubscribe at any time.

Thursday, November 16, 2017

BOUND BY SHADOWS

Title: Bound by Shadows
Series: The McAllister Justice Series
Author: Reily Garrett
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: November 12, 2017 

The architect of fear employs many forms.
Kidnapping and murder never crossed Kaylee’s mind when seeking a fresh start in Portland, a new beginning to shed the remnants of tragedy dogging her steps. After escaping from an underground cage, she fights to stay one step ahead of the killer bent on silencing his only witness. Kaylee.
Two months after dodging a sociopathic murderer’s best efforts, Caden McAllister flounders within a social sink hole, unable to move forward, too stubborn to step back. Guarded and wary, the private investigator’s stagnant lifestyle detonates into chaos when a battered and bloody young waif stumbles into his care. 
Framed for a murdering a past lover, Caden must clear his name and overcome his charge’s doubts while keeping her out of the sex-slave trade. When betrayal ends with Kaylee’s re-capture, Caden must conquer his past and risk all or lose the one he has come to love.
Murder, mystery, underground tunnels, and romance are intertwined in this standalone romantic thriller, the second installment of the McAllister Justice Series.

Confusion and pain intertwined to delay Kaylee’s escape from the depths of a nightmare. Her subconscious’ attempt to alert her to some horror or another had been common the past two years, but this time the warning came with physical characteristics she couldn’t ignore.
The pain was an unwelcome element for which she could not account.
Cozy flannel sheets had never felt so rough under her cheek, nor had her head ached from a glass of wine. Despite the tomboy tag since adolescence, she appreciated certain creature comforts. The rough material scratching her face didn’t number among them.
A quiet foreboding swelled within that fuzzy twilight between the dream state and the hazy stages of surfing to consciousness. Sleep would be welcome if not for the musty odor and an undefined menace crowding her mind. Her brow furrowed as her pulse increased, awareness mounting with each painful throb.
Why is there dirt in my bed and what the hell is wrong with this mattress?
With each erratic contraction of her heart, the tension in her head increased, ratcheting like the shell around a drumhead until pain reverberated along every nerve. In grim anticipation, she reached to touch her temple. A crusty line of fibrous, threadlike strands crumbled in her brow line and snaked down to her ear.
Blood? What the hell?
Moving back to Portland had entailed a certain degree of compromise, yet shouldn’t include a cotton-mouth morning. This was too much. A light finger-comb revealed a large tangled knot and a painful lump over her ear.
Did I fall off the mattress and hit my head?
“Hey, kid. Wake up, damn it. Hurry.”
The harsh whisper embodied urgency and desperation that replicated and swelled within her chest.
What the fuck? The voice in her head wasn’t her own. Enlightenment would come after punching through the suffocating fog and fully emerging in the suddenly hostile world. Stabbing pain accompanied the dingy light spearing her eyes after cautiously lifting one lid.
A blur of flashbacks included sitting in an outdoor riverfront cafĂ© enjoying the sunset with her favorite camera nestled in her lap. Snapping the riot of colors slipping into the ocean had equaled the day’s highpoint, nature’s way of assuring her she’d made the right decision in moving to Portland.
Now, for reasons evading memory, her gaze soft-focused on a scene defying logic.
“Kid, open your eyes before it’s too late. Grab the small rock by your head. Hide it behind you.”
Okaaay, evil mini me is crazy, and I will never drink wine again.
Five minutes of silence would help her collect her thoughts and allow time to search her virtual portfolio for whatever was causing the nausea-producing pests in her brain and stomach. Each vied for the position of top party host. Intuition whispered taking that time would be her undoing.
Instead of the distant hustle and bustle of city life swarming her senses, Kaylee found the intense quiet more disturbing than the harsh whisper. “Wait...what rock?”
Fragments of her surroundings wavered in and out of focus. Brick walls smeared with dirt were partially visible through the horizontal bars.
Horizontal bars?
She reached with shaking fingers to touch the rusted metal cylinders then tried to rattle them. They didn’t budge. A cramp in her thigh from resting in a semi-fetal position grew in intensity while her feet crowded against hard, cylindrical surfaces and prevented her from stretching out.
More bars.
She didn’t have the strength to yell.
The quick, indrawn breath was also not her own. “C’mon you stupid kid. Knock that off, or we’re both dead.”
A shower of dirt sprinkling her face and hair made her cough, the resultant sandy inhalation perpetuating the cycle.
The collaborative dream, having taken a southern turn into hell, brought another wave of anxiety along with nausea. Each of her senses plunged deeper into a dark abyss, taking logic and rational thought through a twisted, interactive roller-coaster ride.
Disorientation, chaos, and the first stirrings of panic took root like a well-fertilized seed that sent its growing tendrils sliding deep within the earth.
Loose dirt and small rocks covered the hard base and abraded her shoulder as she moved to a cramped position on her back. The changed perspective brought enlightenment.
That’s why the bars were horizontal.
“Fuck.” Details assimilated sluggishly. Dirt-covered metal comprised a bed, but it wasn’t in her apartment. Walls of brick as seen through her cage, lack of windows, and stale, dank air, pointed to an underground zip code.
Micro currents ferried a thick, putrid scent and muffled the faint, eerie groans of venting tunnels.
“What’s your name?” Again, a whisper twisted with annoyance and despair saturated the air.
Halting breaths and extreme concentration staved off the blind terror threatening her sanity.
“Kaylee. My name is Kaylee.” Slowly, she searched for the irritating heckler.
“Listen up, Kaylee. The bastard who took you is gonna be back soon, probably looking for a bit of afternoon delight. And he won’t be asking. He kidnapped you, too. I don’t know why.”
Kaylee’s befuddled mind took in more of her surroundings, low ceiling, dirt floor, cramped, cave-like room, and the caged, bedraggled woman three feet away. Purple and black surrounded her right eye and busted lip. Her shirt front hung in tatters, the ripped flannel exposing a large bruise above her breast.
“How long have we been here?” A torch along the wall cast flickering shadows over the adjoining cage, just short of her own.
Flickering—indicates an air current.
“The last thing I remember is shopping.” Tears trailed down the petite blonde’s mud-streaked alabaster cheeks which sharply contrasted the bruises marring her face.
“There’s a slight breeze coming from—that way.” Kaylee strained to see where the tunnel led. Pitch black. Some apparitional entity scuttled in the darkness beyond the seedy illumination and left the impression of ghostly stalkers. Stalkers that chittered in the dark. I’d rather see the boogeyman than rats. “We seem to be in an underground room?”
“Yeah. I think so. I woke up just like you, but the bastard tied my hands before my head cleared.” A sob choked further words as the victim’s wide eyes flickered around the room.
A cursory exploration of the small perimeter marked the filthy, tight confines, then the small, sharp-edged rock which fit in her palm. Instinct saw her sliding it behind her. Mud covered her jeans and colored her T-shirt and jacket. Bathing was the least of her worries.
“Someone slipped us a roofie.” Bruises, tattered flannel, and bound wrists conveyed the woman’s recent past.
Kaylee’s continued scrutiny yielded no clues of how to escape her dilemma. Even if she could squeeze her hand and arm through the bars’ two-inch gaps, she didn’t have the strength or leverage to break the heavy-duty padlock securing her prison.
“Yes. Yes. But at least you’re not tied up, yet.” The girl lifted her hands to reveal a double loop, plastic cuff. “See if you can break out.”
Reily is a West Coast girl transplanted to the opposite shore. When she’s not working with her dogs, you can find her curled up with a book or writing her next story. Past employment as an ICU nurse, private investigator, and work in the military police has given her countless experiences in a host of different environments to add a real world feel to her fiction. 
Over time, and several careers, many incidents have flavored the plots of her stories. Man’s cruelty and ingenuity for torment and torture is boundless, not contained by an infinite imagination. Witnessing the after-effects of a teenager mugged at knifepoint for a pair of tennis shoes, or an elderly woman stabbed repeatedly with a screwdriver for no apparent reason, left an indelible impression that will forever haunt her subconscious. In counterpoint, she has observed a woman stop her vehicle in severe, snowy weather to offer her own winter coat to a stranger, a teenager wearing a threadbare hoodie. Life’s diversities are endless. Though her kids are her life, writing is Reily’s life after. The one enjoyed after the kids are in bed or after they’re in school and the house is quiet. This is the time she kicks back with laptop and lapdog to give her imagination free rein. In reading, take pleasure in a mental pause as you root for your favorite hero/heroine and bask in their accomplishments, then share your opinions of them over a coffee with your best friend (even if he’s four-legged). Life is short. Cherish your time.
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