HIM & I by Melody Eve Excerpt Reveal

Him&I-SBPRBANNER-ERHim&I-FINAL-AMAZON

Love is a risk.

Roman has never been willing to take those odds, until now.

A beautiful stranger, overheard telling the desk clerk she’s on her honeymoon alone, arouses something in him. Something primal. Something protective. He finds himself doing and saying things he swore he never would in an effort to understand the pain in Aria’s sensual eyes.

His scars are so deep, they may never heal.
His need for control is ingrained.
His desire for her is unparalleled.

The challenge of winning her may be the biggest risk of all.

Add to GoodReads

Excerpt

“Don’t think you can play me that easily, Ms. Savage. I’m the master, and you’re still learning the game.” He stands and slips his tie off folding it neatly. Then he leaves me there hot and bothered and disappointed beyond belief. How dare he!What does he mean he’s the master? And what game is he referring to? I was just flirting hoping for a repeat of this morning out here on his patio, a little exhibitionism. I wasn’t playing at anything.

I wasn’t then, but I am now. He likes to control. I’ve witnessed it on multiple occasions. It’s time to take that away from him and see how he likes it.

I stand and strip off my tank top, step out of my skirt, and kick off my flip-flops. I round the table and push through the gate separating his patio from the sandy, sparsely inhabited beach. I’m still sporting a thong but absolutely nothing else. I don’t know if it’s a topless beach, and I don’t care.

I stretch my arms over my head scooping my hair into a fresh messy bun and wrap the rubber band from my wrist around it just as my feet touch the edge of the water.

“Aria!” Roman’s voice booms from behind me. I turn with a wicked smile and see him standing still in his suit pants and dress shirt holding up my top and skirt with fury in his eyes.

Bingo, now let’s see who’s the master and what game we’re playing. He catches my expression and lowers his gaze to my naked breasts. Right before my eyes, I watch him turn into a lunatic. Face red, veins bulging and pulsing from everywhere, he throws open the gate on the patio and storms through the sand in his thousand-dollar shoes and ten-thousand-dollar suit.

But I’m safe in the water, or at least I’m pretty sure I am. I wade out deeper feeling more secure but only for a moment. My eyes go wide when he storms into the ocean dressed from head to toe with the look of an enraged maniac on his face.

Nerves scramble my brain, and I laugh as I swim further away from him. My depth is of no concern to this man full of possessive insanity, in fact, it may be propelling him.

“Aria, come here this instant! This isn’t a nude beach. It’s not even a topless beach for Christ’s sake!” he yells before diving underwater in my direction. Oh my God, for the first time since I let spontaneity take over, I worry about the repercussions of my actions.

What will he do when he catches me? He will catch me of that I am sure. I can see crazy in his eyes. He’s angry, and I am wild. He is possessive, and I need to be free. He is controlling, and I am rebellious.

I dart to the right, but it’s too late. His hand closes around my ankle, and I take in a huge breath right before he pulls me under. I can’t see him, my eyes are closed because of the salty water, but his hands are around my waist hauling me to the surface.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, woman? Somebody could have seen you.”

I try to blink the water from my eyes since he has my arms pinned to my sides. “So?”

“So? You just finished telling me that you’re mine while we are here, and in case you haven’t noticed, we are still here!” he shouts, and I recoil. I’ve never been shouted at by a man, especially right in my face.

I roll my lips inward and hold my breath unsure of what to say or do next. It turns out I don’t have to say or do anything. He turns toward the shore and starts walking us in that direction pushing through the water with such force it leaves a wake behind us. I know, I looked!

He turns me in his arms so that my front is plastered to his hiding my breasts from onlookers’ eyes of which there are only two—an elderly man and his wife sunning in lounge chairs a couple of doors down. I wave at them, and the woman waves back smirking in solidarity.

Roman is overreacting. I’m naked, so what? Women all over the world sunbathe topless and nude. He’s acting like I committed a felony.

“Stop fraternizing with the neighbors,” he growls. How did he know I waved?

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Oh yeah? You’re not swimming naked anymore, are you?”

“Because you hauled me out of the water like a sack of potatoes!”

“A sack of potatoes has more sense than you right now.”

“I don’t think I like your tone.”

“I don’t like your defiance,” he says storming through the patio doors with his clothes dripping water all over the carpets. He doesn’t stop to put me down. Instead, he makes a bee-line for the bedroom. Goodie!

He tosses me on the bed, and I laugh. I can’t help it, he is being so absurd. “You’re a caveman, Roman Forrest. You know that, right?”

He closes the door to the bedroom.

“You act like I’m your wife.”

He shoves his hand through his silky black hair and unbuttons his wet shirt.

I pull a sheet over myself suddenly feeling exposed and nervous.

“You don’t own me, you know,” I say, but he says nothing and walks in his squishy shoes to the edge of the bed and yanks the sheet off the bed.

“Hey!”

“You wanted to be naked so bad, why the sudden modesty?” he snaps.

“Because it’s my body to do with as I please. I wanted to skinny dip out there, and now I want to cover myself in front of you. You’re acting like a loon.”

“I’m acting like a man who doesn’t want to share his woman with the whole fucking world!” He unzips his slacks and shoves them down along with his black boxer briefs. He kicks off his shoes and socks and crawls up the bed pushing me down to hover over me.

Unsure of how far to go, I lower my voice but stand my ground. “I’d hardly say that grandma and grandpa are the whole world, and since when am I your woman?”

“Since the first time I put my mouth on you,” he says and lowers himself down to take my mouth in a rough, demanding kiss. My toes curl, my belly flips, and I fight the urge to wrap my arms and legs around him for oh, maybe two seconds, tops.

Meet Melody

Melody EveMelody Eve is a Midwestern mother of five children and five fur babies. She is a contemporary romance author who loves writing sexy Alpha male heroes and smart, passionate heroines. Keep your eyes open for Melody’s new release, Him & I on Amazon in 2018.

Connect with Melody

Sign up for Melody’s Newsletter
Facebook I Twitter I Website

Advertisements

A Wish For Us by Tillie Cole Chapter Reveal

 

 

 

Amazon  | iBooks | Kobo | Nook

 

 


From the author who brought you A Thousand Boy Kisses comes the new emotional novel, A Wish For Us.
A story of music. A story of healing. A story of love conquering all.

Nineteen-year-old Cromwell Dean is the rising star of electronic dance music. Thousands of people adore him. But no one knows him. No one sees the color of his heart.

Until the girl in the purple dress. She sees through the walls he has built to the empty darkness within.

When Cromwell leaves behind the gray skies of England to study music in the South Carolina heat, the last thing he expects is to see her again. And he certainly doesn’t expect that she’ll stay in his head like a song on repeat.

Bonnie Farraday lives for music. She lets every note into her heart, and she doesn’t understand how someone as talented as Cromwell can avoid doing the same. He’s hiding from his past, and she knows it. She tries to stay away from him, but something keeps calling her back.

Bonnie is the burst of color in Cromwell’s darkness. He’s the beat that makes her heart skip.

But when a shadow falls over Bonnie, it’s up to Cromwell to be her light, in the only way he knows how. He must help her find the lost song in her fragile heart. He must keep her strong with a symphony only he can compose.

A symphony of hope.
A symphony of love.
A symphony of them.

 

Cromwell
Brighton, England
The club pulsed as the beat I was pouring into the crowd took over their bodies. Arms in the air, hips swaying, eyes wide and glazed as my music slammed into their ears, the rhythmic beats controlling their every move. The air was thick and sticky, clothes slick to people’s skins as they crammed into the full club to hear me.
I watched them light up with color. Watched them get lost to the sound. Watched them shed whoever they’d been that day—an office worker, a student, a copper, a call-center worker—what the hell ever. Right now, in this club, most probably high off their faces, they were slaves to my tunes. Right here, in this moment, my music was their life. It was all that mattered as their heads flew back and they chased the high, the near nirvana I gave them from my place on the podium.
I, however, felt nothing. Nothing but the numbness the booze beside me was gifting me.
Two arms slipped around my waist. Hot breath blew past my ear as full lips kissed my neck. Spinning my final beat, I grabbed the Jack Daniels beside me and took a shot straight from the bottle. I slammed the bottle down and moved back to my laptop to mix in the next tune. Hands with sharp fingernails ran through my hair, pulling on the black strands. I tapped on the keys, bringing the music down low, slowing the beat.
My breaths lengthened as the crowd waited, lungs frozen as I brought them to a slow sway, readying for the crescendo. The epic surge of beats and drums, the insanity of the mix that I would deliver. I looked up from my laptop and scanned the crowd, smirking at seeing them on the precipice, waiting . . . waiting . . . just waiting . . .
Now.
I slammed my hand down, holding my headphones to my left ear. A surge, a thundercloud of electronic dance music plowed into the crowd. Bursts of neon colors filled the air. Greens and blues and reds filled my eyes as they clung to each person like neon shields.
The hands around my waist tightened, but I ignored them, instead listening to the bottle of Jack as it called my name. I took another shot, my muscles starting to loosen. My hands danced over the laptop’s keys, over my mix boards.
I looked up, the crowd still in the palm of my hand.
They always were.
A girl in the center of the club drew my attention. Long brown hair pulled back off her face. Purple dress, high necked—she was dressed nothing like everyone else. The color surrounding her was different to the other clubbers—pale pink and lavender. Calmer. More serene. My eyebrows pulled down as I watched her. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t moving. She was still, and she looked to be completely alone as people crashed and pushed around her. Her head was tipped up, a look of concentration on her face.
I built up the pace, pushing the rhythm and the crowd as far as they could go. But the girl didn’t move. That wasn’t normal for me. I always had these clubbers wrapped around my finger. I controlled them, in every place I spun. In this arena, I was the puppet master. They were the dolls.
Another shot of Jack burned down my throat. And through another five songs, she stayed there, on the spot, just drinking in the beats like water. But her face never changed. No smile. No euphoric high. Just . . . eyes closed, that damn pinched look on her face.
And that pink and lavender still surrounding her like a shield.
“Cromwell,” the blonde who was all over me like a rash said into my ear. Her fingers lifted up my shirt and tucked into the waistband of my jeans. Her long nails dipped low. But I refused to tear my eyes away from the girl in the purple dress.
Her brown hair was starting to curl, sweat from being sandwiched by clubbers taking its effect. The blonde who was one step from wanking me off in full view of the club snapped my fly. I keyed in my next mix, then grabbed her hand and threw it away from me, snapping my fly closed. I groaned when her hands slid back into my hair. I looked at my mate who had spun before me. “Nick!” I pointed to my decks. “Watch this. And don’t mess it up.”
Nick frowned in confusion, then saw the girl behind me and smiled. He took my headphones from me and moved to make sure the playlist I’d set up played on cue. Steve, the club’s owner, always let a few girls backstage. I never asked for it, but I never turned them down either. Why would I refuse a hot bird who was up for anything?
I swiped my Jack off my podium as the blonde smashed her lips to mine, pulling me back by my sleeveless Creamfields shirt. I wrenched my mouth from hers, replacing it with the Jack bottle. The blonde dragged me into a dark spot backstage. She dropped to her knees and started again on my fly. I closed my eyes as she went to work.
I sucked on the Jack as my head hit the wall behind me. I forced myself to feel something. I glanced down, watching blond hair bounce below me. But the numbness I lived with every damn day made me feel virtually nothing inside. Pressure built at the base of my spine. My thighs tightened, and then it was over.
The blonde got up. I could see the stars in her eyes as she looked at me. “Your eyes.” She reached out a finger to trace around my eye. “The strangest color. Such dark blue.”
They were. Coupled with my black hair, they always drew attention. That and the fact that I was one of the hottest new DJs in Europe, of course. Okay, maybe it was less to do with my eyes and more to do with my name, Cromwell Dean, gracing the headline spot on most of the biggest music festivals and clubs this summer.
I zipped up my fly and turned to see Nick spinning my next mix. I cringed when he failed to transition the beats like I would have. Navy blue was the backdrop to the smoke on the dancefloor.
I never hit navy blue.
I brushed past the girl with a “Thanks, love,” ignoring her hiss of “Prick” in response. I took my headphones off Nick’s head and put them on my own. A few taps of the keyboard later, the crowd was back in the palm of my hand.
Without conscious thought, my eyes found their way to the spot where the girl in the purple dress had stood.
But she’d gone. So had the pale pink and lavender.
I threw back another shot of Jack. Mixed another tune. Then zoned the fuck out.
*****
The sand was cold under my feet. It may well have been the start of summer here in the UK, but that didn’t mean the night wind didn’t freeze your balls off the minute you stepped outside. Clutching my bottle of booze and my cigarettes, I dropped down to the sand. I lit up and stared at the dark sky. My phone buzzed in my pocket . . . again. It’d been going off all night.
Pissed off that I actually had to move my arm, I pulled out my mobile. I had three missed calls from Professor Lewis. Two from my mum, and finally, a couple of texts.
Mum: Professor Lewis has been trying to get hold of you again. What are you going to do? Please just call me. I know you’re upset, but this is your future. You have a gift, son. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start this year. Don’t waste it because you’re angry at me.
Red-hot fury shot through me. I wanted to throw my phone in the damn sea and watch it sink to the bottom along with all this messed-up shit in my head, but I saw Professor Lewis had texted too.
Lewis: The offer still stands but I need an answer by next week. I have all I need for the transfer except your answer. You have an exceptional talent, Cromwell. Don’t waste it. I can help.
This time I did drop my phone beside me and sank back into the sand. I let the rush of nicotine fill my lungs and closed my eyes. As my eyelids shut, I heard quiet music playing somewhere nearby. Classical. Mozart.
My drunken mind immediately drifted off to when I was a little kid . . .
“What do you hear, Cromwell?” my father asked.
I closed my eyes and listened to the piece of music. Colors danced before my eyes. “Piano. Violins. Cellos . . .” I took a deep breath. “I can hear reds and greens and pinks.”
I opened my eyes and looked up at my father as he sat on my bed. He was staring down at me. There was a funny expression on his face. “You hear colors?” he said. But he didn’t sound surprised. My face set on fire. I ducked my head under my duvet. My father pulled it down from my eyes. He stroked my hair. “That’s good,” he said, his voice kind of deep. “That’s very good . . .”
My eyes snapped open. My hand started to ache. I looked at the bottle in my hand; my fingers were white as they gripped the neck. I sat up, my head spinning from the mass of whiskey in my body. My temples throbbed. I realized it wasn’t from the Jack, but from the music coming from further down the beach. I pushed my hair back from my face then looked to my right.
Someone was only a few feet away. I squinted into the lightening night, summer’s early rising sun making it possible to make out the features of whoever the hell it was. It was a girl. A girl wrapped in a blanket. Her phone sat beside her, a Mozart piano concerto drifting quietly from the speaker.
She must have felt me looking at her, because she turned her head. I frowned, wondering why I knew her face, but then—
“You’re the DJ,” she said.
Recognition dawned. It was the girl in the purple dress.
She clutched her blanket closer around her as I replayed her accent in my head. American. Bible Belt was my guess, by her thick twang.
She sounded like my mum.
A smile tugged at her lips as I stayed mute. I wasn’t much of a talker. Especially when my gut was full of Jack and I had zero interest in making small talk with some girl I didn’t know at four in the morning on a cold beach in Brighton.
“I’d heard of you,” she said. I stared back out over the sea. Ships sailed in the distance, their lights like tiny fireflies, bobbing up and down. I huffed a humorless laugh. Great. Another girl who wanted to screw the DJ.
“Good for you,” I muttered and took a drink of my Jack, feeling the addictive burn slide down my throat. I hoped she’d piss off, or at least stop trying to talk to me. My head couldn’t take any more noise.
“Not really,” she shot back. I looked over at her, eyebrows pulled down in confusion. She was looking out over the sea, her chin resting on her folded arms that lay over her bent knees. The blanket had fallen off her shoulders, revealing the purple dress I’d noticed from the podium. She turned to face me, cheek now on her arms. Heat zipped through me. She was pretty. “I’ve heard of you, Cromwell Dean.” She shrugged. “Decided to get a ticket to see you before I left for home tomorrow.”
I lit up another cigarette. Her nose wrinkled. She clearly didn’t like the smell.
Tough luck. She could move. Last time I checked, England was a free country. She went quiet.
I caught her looking at me. Her brown eyes were narrowed, like she was scrutinizing me. Reading something in me that I didn’t want anyone to see.
No one ever looked at me closely. I never gave them the chance. I thrived on the podium at clubs because it kept everyone far away, down on the dancefloor where no one ever saw the real me. The way she was looking at me now made nervous shivers break out over my skin.
I didn’t need this kind of crap.
“Already had my dick sucked tonight, love. Not looking for a second round.”
She blinked, and even in the rising sun, I could see her cheeks redden.
“Your music has no soul,” she blurted. My cigarette paused halfway to my mouth. Something managed to stab through my stomach at her words. I shoved it back down until I felt my usual sensation of numbness.
I sucked on my cigarette. “Yeah? Well, them’s the breaks.”
“I’d heard you were some messiah or something on that podium. But all your music comprised was synthetic beats and forced repetitive bursts of unoriginal tempo.”
I laughed and shook my head. The girl met my eyes head-on. “It’s called electronic dance music. Not a fifty-piece orchestra.” I held out my arms. “You’ve heard of me. Said so yourself. You know what tunes I spin. What were you expecting? Mozart?” I glared at her phone, which was still playing that damn concerto.
I sat back, surprised at myself. I hadn’t talked that much to anyone in . . . I didn’t know how long. I took in a drag, breathing out the smoke that was trapped in my chest. “And turn that thing off, will you? Who the hell goes to hear a dance DJ spin, then comes to a beach to listen to classical music?”
The girl frowned but turned off the music. I lay back on the cold sand, closing my eyes. I heard the soft waves lapping the shore. My head filled with pale green. I heard the girl moving. I prayed she was leaving. But I felt her drop beside me. My world darkened as the whiskey and the usual lack of sleep started to pull me under.
“What do you feel when you mix your music?” she asked. How the hell she thought her little interview was a good idea right now was beyond me.
Yet, surprisingly, I found myself answering her question. “I don’t feel.” I cracked one eye open when she didn’t say anything. She was looking down at me. She had the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen. Dark hair pulled off her face in a ponytail. Full lips and smooth skin.
“Then that’s the problem.” She smiled, but the smile looked nothing but sad. Pitying. “The best music must be felt. By the creator. By the listener. Every part of it from creation to ear must be wrapped in nothing but feelings.” Some weird expression crossed over her face, but hell if I knew what it meant.
Her words were a blade to my chest. I hadn’t expected her harsh comment. And I hadn’t expected the blunt trauma that she seemed to deliver right to my heart. Like she’d taken a butcher’s knife and sliced her way through my soul.
My body itched to get up and run. To pluck out her assessment of my music from my memory. But instead I forced a laugh, and spat, “Go back home, little Dorothy. Back to where music means something. Where it’s felt.”
“Dorothy was from Kansas.” She glanced away. “I’m not.”
“Then go back to wherever the hell you’re from,” I snapped. Crossing my arms over my chest, I hunkered down into the sand and shut my eyes, trying to block out the cold wind that was picking up and slapping my skin, and her words that were still stabbing at my heart.
I never let anything get to me like this. Not anymore. I just needed some sleep. I didn’t want to go back to my mum’s house here in Brighton, and my flat in London was too far away. So hopefully the cops wouldn’t find me here and kick me off the beach.
With my eyes closed, I said, “Thanks for the midnight critique, but as the fastest-rising DJ in Europe, with the best clubs in the world begging for me to spin at their decks—all at nineteen—I think I’ll ignore your extensive notes and just keep on living my sweet as fuck life.”
The girl sighed, but she didn’t say anything else.
The next thing I knew, the sun was burning its light into my eyes. I flinched when I opened them. The screech of swarming seagulls slammed into my head. I sat up, seeing an empty beach and the sun high in the sky. I ran my hands down my face and groaned at the hangover that was kicking in. My stomach growled, desperate for a full English breakfast with copious cups of black tea.
As I stood, something fell from my lap. A blanket lay on the sand at my feet. The blanket I’d seen beside the American girl in the purple dress.
The one she’d been wrapped in last night.
I picked it up, a light fragrance drifted into my nose. Sweet. Addictive. I glanced around me. The girl was gone.
She’d left her blanket. No. She’d covered me with it. “Your music has no soul.” A hard clenching feeling pulled in my stomach at the memory of her words. So I chased it away like I did anything that made me feel. Caging it deep inside.
Then I took my arse home.

 

 

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.

Author Links

 

 

 

Cover Reveal ~ The Naked Truth by Vi Keeland

TNT_Title_Black

A Standalone Second Chance Romance Novel

By: #1 NY Times Best Selling Author, Vi Keeland

RELEASE DATE: Monday, July 23, 2018

Synopsis:

It was just a typical Monday.

Until the big boss asked me to make the pitch for a prospective new client.

After two years on shaky ground at work because of my screw up, an opportunity to impress the senior partners was just what I needed.

Or so I thought…

Until I walked into the conference room and collided with the man I was supposed to pitch.

My coffee spilled, my files tumbled to the ground, and I almost lost my balance.

And that was the good part of my day.

Because the gorgeous man crouched down and looking at me like he wanted to eat me alive, was none other than my ex, Gray Westbrook.

A man who I’d only just begun to move on from.

A man who my heart despised—yet my body obviously still had other ideas about.

A man who was as charismatic and confident as he was sexy.

Somehow, I managed to make it through my presentation ignoring his intense stare.

Although it was impossible to ignore all the dirty things he whispered into my ear right after I was done.

But there was no way I was giving him another chance, especially now that he was a client…was there?

TNT_FullCover

TNT_FrontCoverPhoto/Cover Details

Photo Credits: Mondadori Portfolio/Paolo Stella

ARTeProduction/Jonathan Segade

Model: Simone Bredariol – D’men

Cover Designer: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative

**Watch out for a special excerpt sneak peak of The Naked Truth on July 18th!!**

PRE-ORDER  LINKS

ibooks

Amazon Paper

Add to Goodreads

**No Amazon ebook preorder. Will go live on Amazon on release day.

Sign up for Vi’s mailing list and/or text alerts now and be the first one notified when it goes live! https://www.subscribepage.com/i6h3o5 – Text the word BOOKS to 77948

TNT_NameBar

Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles have appeared in over ninety Bestseller lists and are currently translated in twenty languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.

Website | Facebook Fan Group | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram   Goodreads 

Other books from Vi

Sex, Not Love

Amazon | iBooks | B&N | Kobo

KFF’s  5 ★ Review ➜ HERE

* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Beautiful Mistake

Amazon: U.K | U.S | CANADA | AUSTRALIA

iBooks | B&N | Kobo | Google Play

KFF’s 5 ★ Review ➜ HERE

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

EGOmaniac

Amazon: U.S | U.K | CANADA | AUSTRALIA

iBooks | B&N | Kobo | Google Play

Amazon ➜ Audio

KFF’s 5 ★ Review ➜ HERE

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Bossman

Amazon: US UK 

iBooks | B&N | Kobo 

KFF’s 5 ★ Review ➜ HERE

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

The Baller

Amazon: US | UK 

iBooks | B&N | Kobo 

KFF’s 5 ★ Review ➜ HERE

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Life on Stage series (2 standalone books)

Beat

Amazon: US | UK

iBooks | Kobo | B&N

KFF’s 5 ★ Review ➜ HERE

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Throb

Amazon: US | UK

B&N | iBooks | Kobo

KFF’S  5 ★ Review ➜ HERE

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

MMA Fighter series (3 standalone books)

Worth the Fight (MMA Fighter Series, Book One)

Amazon | B&N | Kobo Smashwords | iBooks

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Worth The Chance (MMA Fighter Series, Book Two)

Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo | Smashwords

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Worth Forgiving (MMA Fighter Series, Book Three)

Amazon | B&N | iBooks | Kobo

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

The Cole Series (2 book serial)

Belong to You (Cole Series, Book One)

Amazon: US  | UK | B&N | iBooks | Kobo

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Made for You (Cole Series, Book Two)

Amazon: US | UK | B&N | iBooks | Kobo

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Standalone novels

Left Behind (A Young Adult Novel)

Amazon: US | UK

KFF’S  5 ★ Review ➜ HERE

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

First Thing I See

Amazon: US | UK | B&N

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Co-written novels:

The Rush Series (2 Book Series)

Rebel Heir
Amazon | iBooks | B&N | Kobo

Rebel Heart
Amazon | iBooks | B&N | Kobo

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Dear Bridget, I Want You

Amazon: US | UK | CANADA | AUSTRALIA

iBooks | Nook

* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Mister Moneybags

Amazon: US | UK | CANADA | AUSTRALIA

iBooks | Nook | Kobo 

KFF’S  4 ★ Review ➜ HERE

* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Playboy Pilot

Amazon: US | UK | CANADA | AUSTRALIA

iBooks | Nook | Kobo | Google Play

Paperback

KFF’S  3 ★ Review ➜ HERE

* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Stuck-Up Suit

Amazon | iBooks | B&N | Kobo

Also available on Audible and Paperback

KFF’S  4 ★ Review ➜ HERE

* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

Cocky Bastard

Amazon | iTunes  | Kobo | B&N

KFF’S  5 ★ Review ➜ HERE

 

 

 

 

KFF on Blog Tour with ROUGH EDGE by CD Reiss

Rough-Edge-SBPR-BT-Banner.jpg

“This series grips you by the throat and refuses to let go—and you’ll be begging for more the entire time.” Sierra Simone, USA Today Bestselling Author

rough-edge-one-final

“𝑼𝒏𝒛𝒊𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕.”

You married a decent man.

A rock solid, arrogant war hero who knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. He wanted you, and you gave yourself to him.

You are his only desire–the only woman in his orbit–but the intensity of that desire is turning dangerous.

Love may be the death of both of you.

NY Times Bestselling author CD Reiss brings dark intensity to a couple so in love, they’ll make the darkest of sacrifices to save each other.

rough-edge-available-now

Grab Your Copy Today!

Amazon Universal | Amazon Print

iBooks Nook | Kobo Google Play

Add to GoodReads

Destroy us both.jpg

5 +++ Stars

Reviewed by Sharon Thérèse

If there’s one thing Reiss executes exceedingly well is the research she does for her stories. Rough Edge is no exception. Facts are presented in a gritty and realistic manner that more than skirt around the dark side of eroticism and as the title implies, is rough-edged. And it’s beyond brilliant. Okay, so if said facts have been twisted a tad, it’s a means to an end but that’s the author’s prerogative, right? Even though the subject in question is a hard pill to swallow, some actions are even harder to understand for the players. That being said, the author’s outstanding narrative helped me become totally invested in her protagonists. I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said I lost sleep over Captain Caden St. John and his wife, Dr. Greyson Fraizer’s dilemma. At times, I found it difficult to collect coherent thoughts regardless of what these two professionals were up against. So, prepare yourselves for a roller-coaster ride of emotions and an intensity like you’ve never experienced before from Reiss’ storytelling.

Caden and Greyson’s narrative is an unusual one in the respect that there’s no build up to their love story. Told from a dual point of view in past tense, flashbacks soon put me in the picture. I learnt where they met and how an all-consuming attraction, boundless lust and a professional and personal respect flowers into what appears to be a solid problem-free marriage. By no means was it made in heaven, albeit all the points for being a successful one are there. I wanted them to be invincible, they did, too. Yet Reiss doesn’t make it as simple as that. She’s gone back to her writing roots and I folks, wasn’t just jumping for joy, I was blinkin’ well happy dancing!

In the beginning, there wasn’t a second where I felt unduly concerned about Caden and Grayson’s relationship. Stronger than a team, ‘their togetherness’ seemed to rule so clearly that the author’s vivid account of their feelings fooled me into thinking everything was tickety-boo. Reiss does this to the reader very cleverly. Result…it didn’t take long for me to let my frustration be heard in the way of some rather unladylike expressions, because when it came to the crunch, I suffered as much as her characters. Perhaps I’d relaxed a little too much into their story or maybe it’s my blind faith in this lifelong institution called marriage… whatever, while lapping up the author’s characters’ anecdotes, I noticed that the very love balance achieved showed signs of cracking. And I, in all my naïvty, believed said cracks could be fixed or brushed under the carpet. This is serious stuff though. Questions arise. Some are answered quickly; others, the ones I wanted to know like yesterday, were left pending. So what caused the last straw to break? How deeply ingrained is the crack and secondly, is there anyone sufficiently trustworthy and prepared to help Caden? The answer is closer to home than you can imagine…ahem, don’t think too much…just one-click and find out!

I couldn’t have wished to meet a lovelier and more generous person like Greyson. She’s out of her comfort zone, making the best of it with style and know-how. All said and done, in her professional capacity, dealing with the most complicated of cases under whatever circumstance is what she does well. And more important are words of encouragement from the man she worships. Little does she know her personal life would be thrown off course, turned inside out and left feeling alone in that very city she’d quickly adapted to.

Caden knows something is very wrong in his marriage when both he and Greyson come back to what is considered civilization. He adores her. His only way of expressing his feelings will make you sit up straight, turn the pages even quicker than you had been and damn well hope for the best. Get ready; something strange is lurking, it won’t go away, it’s growing stronger. Excuse me if I say he’s the bee’s knees personified. The imperfectly perfect swoon-worthy dirty-talking hero who had me at the drop of a hat made my heart bleed for him. And my heart cried out even louder for his wife.

I wouldn’t be letting on if I told you what Caden does for a living as it’s in the synopsis. Nevertheless, for lovers of CD’s penmanship and newbies included, (the cadence in her words are layered, fluid and stunningly evocative), I’d highly recommend going in blind. It’s all about the element of surprise in this book, all said and done, this is a psychological headbanger of the first degree that oozes angst and passionate eroticism. What more can I say except thank goodness On the Edge, the next book in The Edge series releases soon. Bravo Reiss! Five +++ stars.

CUTTING EDGE_FREE IG.jpg

Read the prequel, Cutting Edge FREE today!

Exclusively on iBooks

Excerpt:

In the dark, during the fundraising video, she leaned into me, taking my hand. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Caden.” My name was more than a statement. It was a comment on how well she knew the animal, and how well she loved it.

If eyes could listen, hers did, gazing at me in the darkness. I couldn’t lie to her for much longer.

The entire invite list was watching the video. The bar was empty. The hallway lights were dimmed. The kitchen staff moved constantly and quietly to set up the buffet.

I laced my fingers in hers. She had a gold band we’d gotten out of expediency. No big sparkling rock. No sign I’d ever courted her properly before marrying her.

My father always said a man didn’t skip steps if he wanted to do something once.

I slid my cheek to hers and whispered in her ear, “I want to destroy you.”

Her hand tightened in mine so tightly I could feel our bones. Her glands must have fired, because the apples and the perfume melded and became something so uniquely her my balls ached—but not for simple release. For something more. An agreement of ownership.

Waiting wasn’t an option.

Pulling her by the hand, I headed for the hallway.

“Caden,” she said when we were away from the event, “slow down.”

I didn’t. I couldn’t. I pulled her down the carpeted steps to the lower level, stepping over a velvet rope at the bottom. The lights were out in the hall. Three doors led to three empty event rooms.

“What’s with you lately?” she asked.

“Are you saying no?”

“I’m asking a question.”

I backed into one of the rooms and pulled her in. It was dark but for light coming from under the doorways on each side. I walked in deeper, eyes adjusting quickly enough to avoid the tables and stacks of chairs on wheeled dollies.

“So am I.” I faced her. “Are you saying no?”

“What are you hoping I’ll say yes to?”

“I’m going to pull that dress up until I can get to these hard nipples.” I pinched them through the dress and she gasped. “Then I’ll bend you over one of these tables and fuck you so hard walking’s going to hurt. Are you saying no?”

“I’m not. But I want to know what’s going on with you.”

“Pull your dress up before I shred it.”

 

About the Author

CD Reiss is a New York Times bestseller. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up she’s at the well hauling buckets.

Born in New York City, she moved to Hollywood, California to get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels.

She’s frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut which is flattering but hasn’t ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood.

If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine.

_21A6258_pp-fb

Connect with CD Reiss:

Amazon |  Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Website

Newsletter