LUCK OF THE DEVIL by Meghan March is LIVE!

From New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestseller Meghan March comes the second book in this riveting romance trilogy filled with international high-stakes, dangerous hidden agendas, and—in true March fashion—plenty of twists and turns.

LUCK OF THE DEVIL Forge Trilogy, Book #2

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New York Times bestselling author Meghan March continues the story of ruthless, calculating billionaire Jericho Forge in Luck of the Devil. 

My poker face has always been one of my greatest assets, along with my grit and determination. I was beholden to no one. Asked permission for nothing.

Then Jericho Forge took my life by storm.

I traded my freedom for something infinitely more precious, but I didn’t realize he was holding an unbeatable hand.

Now, all I have to do is survive the high-stakes game that is my life—with my heart intact.

But not falling in love with Forge? That will take the luck of the devil. 

Luck of the Devil is the second book of the Forge Trilogy, and should be read following Deal with the Devil. The Forge Trilogy concludes in Heart of the Devil.



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Meet Meghan

Making the jump from corporate lawyer to romance author was a leap of faith that New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author Meghan March will never regret. With over thirty titles published, she has sold millions of books in nearly a dozen languages to fellow romance-lovers around the world. A nomad at heart, she can currently be found in the woods of the Pacific Northwest, living her happily ever after with her real-life alpha hero.

Find Meghan online here: | Facebook | Instagram |  Twitter

Meghan March LLC | Red Dress Press

Publicity Contact: Donna Soluri |








I knew Junior Tacone was dangerous.
I worked for him once taking care of his mother.
I thought when the job was over I’d be safe.
Out of his awareness. Out of his reach.
But his brother took a bullet and Junior picked me to be his nurse.
So I’m his prisoner, trapped in his beautiful house, subject to his rule.
And it seems he’s developed a thing for me.
Which means he may never let me go…

Note: This steamy stand-alone romance is the fifth in USA Today bestselling author Renee Rose’s Vegas Underground series. No cheating, no cliffhangers


Reviewed by Anna on behalf of KFF

This is my first book by this author and I’m sure it won’t be the last. This is book number five in the series and features Junior’s story. This can be read as a standalone although I wish I read the other books first because I felt that I needed to know the dynamics of the Tacone family.

Desiree is an ER nurse, she is tough and good at her job. She is divorced and got full custody of her son but her ex-husband took their little boy and has disappeared. She’s still searching for her son and trying to get by with life. Unexpectedly she finds herself holed up in Junior’s house caring for one of the injured brothers. Her conflicting emotions towards Junior put her knickers in a twist, literally.

Junior is the eldest of the Tacone siblings and is in charge of the family business whilst their father is away serving a long prison sentence. When one of the brothers was wounded in a gunfight they have no option but temporarily hijack Desiree’s time. He has met her before and there has always been that attraction between them.

Told in dual points of view, this mafia romance is a quick and easy read. Junior and Desiree’s chemistry is obvious from day one. Actually, it was more of lust at first sight and bonking each other from the first chapter right until the last. This pair’s relationship packs a lot of heat not only from gunfights but more from their trysts in the bedroom, kitchen, foyer, etc… you catch my drift?

I love Desiree’s sassy personality and realistic attitude towards life. Junior’s surly demeanour is justified when you learn his back story. Desiree is the perfect match for his persona, her feisty character balances out his brooding hotness. Although this is a mafia romance, there isn’t a lot of dark drama. The other brothers are quite involved in this book too, and give you a glimpse of how they interact with each other. I admire Junior’s commitment to his family but when he realises he has to make life-changing choices, he gets the job done and gets his girl. Or maybe he waits a bit and then gets his girl. A quick entertaining read that will make you want to read more of the Tacone brothers.


© 2019 Renee Rose
All rights reserved


It’s supposed to be a civil meeting after dark at Caffè Milano.
Trouble is, you never know when you’re dealing with Russian mafiya. Fucking unpredictable feral bastards.
We’re here today to talk territory. They’ve been encroaching on our neighborhoods. Moving drugs. Working prostitution with females I suspect are enslaved.
I don’t give a shit what they do anywhere else, and fuck knows we don’t have much business in our old neighborhoods anymore, but I consider it a Family obligation to keep them clean. Keep the fucking Russians out of them.
We meet in the open, at a sidewalk cafe in Cicero. We call it the old neighborhood, kinda like how my father’s generation used to refer to the Old Country.
We’re in the business of lending money, same as always. It’s legit, unless you count the beatdowns that come with not making payments on time. These days, business has grown to huge proportions and we’re now living in mansions in the suburbs. Which doesn’t mean I don’t care about what happens in my territory.
I see one of the younger bratva sitting at a table—Ivan, I think. Vlad, their leader, doesn’t seem to be there.
Cazzo. I don’t like the way this is going.
My brothers, Gio and Paolo, and I get out of the Range Rover, along with our soldiers, Mario and Luca. We’re all armed, although we don’t make a show of it by openly carrying weapons.
“Where’s Vlad?” I ask Ivan. Gio comes with me, the other three hang back, as arranged.
Ivan shrugs, looking bored. “Coming.”
The girl working the counter—a slouchy millennial in skinny jeans and a fitted top comes out. I recognize her but I don’t know her name. She’s the granddaughter of the original owner, Luigi Milano, my father’s friend.
“Mr. Tacone.” She greets me but her face is anything but friendly. In fact, her lips are drawn in a thin line and a muscle jumps in her jaw. She darts a glance at the Russian and back at me like she’s afraid of having both of us in her place at the same time.
I named Caffè Milano as the meeting location because I consider it friendly territory for us, but I wonder if, with the new generation, things have changed. Maybe they’ve made deals with the Russians.
I should be angry by the thought, but it registers as a low buzz, hardly an interest.
“Can I bring you anything? An espresso? Cannoli?”
“Get lost,” the Russian snaps and she visibly jerks, and when her gaze swivels back to me, there’s pleading in it.
Whatever the Russians are doing here, she’s not down with it.
Which means I still have a problem.
“Espresso,” I say, wishing I could think of her name. I remember her running around here as a little girl back when my dad used this as a meeting place. Marissa? Faith? Fuck, I have no idea.
She stands there a second longer—way too long for a normal server, and now I’m positive there’s a problem.
“Get. Lost.” The Russian looks dangerous.
She throws one last glance my way and heads inside.
Gio’s elbow presses subtly but firmly against my arm. He’s telling me something, too. I sense Paolo shift behind us.
Fanculo, this thing is going sideways. It’s a trick. An ambush.
I glance through the large plate glass window. Every seat near the window is taken. Unusual for this time of night. Caffè Milano is more of a daytime deli. They stay open until evening, but people aren’t usually hanging around. I notice every customer in the place has his head bent as if to obscure my view of his face.
Ivan stands up and my hand inches toward the Walther PPK at the back of my waist. “Let’s go inside.”
“I don’t think so,” Gio answers for me, whipping out his gun.
And just like that, the thing explodes.
Shots ring out from fucking everywhere. Some come from inside the cafe, shattering the glass. Some come from our guys behind me. Gio and the Russian on the sidewalk fire at each other.
I throw the table through the glass, shattering it with explosive force to clear the view, then aim and shoot at a wounded Ivan at the same time he hits Gio.
Gio grunts and staggers backward, clutching his gut.
No. No! Not Gio. Fuck!
Things go slow-motion for me. I grab Gio’s gun from his hand and shove him into Paolo and Mario. “Get him to the car!” I shout as I aim at the heads ducked down below the window. I pull the triggers.
One. Two. Three dead. I’m shooting with both hands like I’m in a motherfucking movie.
I slam my foot into the door to kick it open and walk through. Four. Five down. I swing the guns around, looking for movement. Luca enters behind me, gun drawn, late to the show.
Something moves behind the counter and I pivot the muzzle of my Beretta. Luca aims too. It’s the Caffè Milano girl.
Fuck. Can she be trusted not to squeal? I hold the gun steady as I make my decision.
“She’s a witness,” Luca murmurs, like I don’t already know. But we don’t kill the innocent. My mind spins on how loyal her family was, and whether that bond still holds.
Her eyes fill with tears. “Mr. Tacone…”
Merde. I shove both guns in my pockets. She’s loyal. She wanted to warn me, I’m sure of it.
“No, not Tacones,” I tell her firmly. I sweep a hand around the room. “Russians.”
“Right,” she nods shakily. “All Russians.”
Smart girl.
“Give me five minutes before you call 911.”
“Got it.” Her head’s still wobbly on her neck.
I back toward the door. “I’m good for the damages.” I jerk my head toward the window, the bullet-riddled interior.
Tears spill down her cheeks as we leave and jump into the running car.
Paolo takes off, driving fast but easy-like. Not squealing tires or calling attention to us.
“Gio. Gio? Talk to me.” I sit beside my brother, pressing my hand over his where he holds the wound.
“I’m hit.” Gio’s slumped in the back seat, blood soaked through his shirt and jacket.
“I know. Just hang in there. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”
“Where to, Junior?” Paolo shouts from the front seat.
“My place. Then you three go pick up Desiree Lopez.”
“Ma’s nurse?”
“That’s right. She owes me a favor. She’s works in Trauma at Cook County. If she’s not at work, she lives on 22nd in Humboldt Park. Find her and bring her to my house. ”#DesireeI barely notice my surroundings as I walk, keys in hand, to my old but running fourteen-year-old Honda Civic. I don’t see the shiny black Range Rover parked a few spaces down.
My instincts don’t warn me.
Maybe they would’ve if I hadn’t just worked a twelve-hour shift in Trauma. Maybe I wouldn’t have just plodded out to my parking garage, brushing off the security guard’s offer to walk me to my car.
Not until two big guys in trench coats get out of it and come right for me.
Oh God. This is it. I’m about to be raped and killed.
I freeze for one second, heart pounding, then dart forward, racing to jump in my car before they can reach me.
“Hold it!” One of them yells and they both lunge, one blocking my driver’s side door, the other coming after me. “Desiree Lopez?”
My brain can’t even compute how they know my name. I open my mouth to scream, but the guy claps a hand over my mouth. “Quiet.” His terse command comes out deep and scratchy. He smells of cigar smoke. He takes my purse from my shoulder, pulls out my wallet and looks at my I.D. “Yeah, it’s her.”
Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I know what they say. If someone drags you to a car, you’re not going to come back alive, so fight for your life. I elbow my kidnapper, turn my head to bite his hand.
But it’s useless. He mutters a curse in some other language and tightens his hold. All my weight thrown around, all my twisting and writhing is nothing to him. He picks me up and carries me forward.
His buddy comes up behind us and presses a gun to my ribs. “Enough with the struggle. Get in the car.” They haul me into the back of the Range Rover, sandwiched between the two men. One of them strips me of my purse as the vehicle takes off.
A bag drops over my head and I renew my fight, but they control me easily, each one taking a wrist and pinning them down by my sides.
“Yeah, we got her,” one of them says. At first I think he’s talking to the driver, stating the obvious, but then I realize he must be on a phone. “See you there.”
“Wh-what’s going on?” I warble.
No one answers me.
The phone call gives me pause. They wouldn’t call someone to say they had me if their intent was to rape and kill, would they?
They would if they’re devil worshippers who require a virgin sacrifice.
Not that I’m a virgin. Or that my theory is likely.
“I don’t know what you want, but, please. Please let me go.”
Again, no one bothers answering.
The Range Rover drives fast—and the way it only briefly slows, I’d bet they are rolling through stops or red lights, making me plow into the men beside me when it turns.
We drive long enough for me to get good and scared. For my breath to shudder in and out on silent sobs. No tears, though. I must be too afraid to let go.
And then we stop. The asshole on my right drags me out of the car, and I stumble for my footing, the blackness of the sack over my head stealing my sense of balance as well as my sight.
The surroundings are quieter—not a city street anymore, but still a sidewalk under my feet.
“What the fuck are you doing?” An angry male voice demands in a low voice, drawing closer with each word. “I told you not to hurt her.”
“She’s not hurt, just scared.” The voice beside me is low, too. We must be someplace people would hear us if they raised their voices. A neighborhood?
“Let her go.” The bag flies off my head.
I open my mouth to scream, but the sound dies on my lips when I blink up at the pair of sharp, dark eyes above the stubbled masculine line of a powerful jaw belonging to my former employer.
Junior Tacone.
My galloping heart slows, reverses direction, takes off again.
“Junior.” I call him by the name his mother used when I worked in her house, forgetting the “Mr. Tacone,” forgetting to show respect.
And then, because I had actually been attracted to this man last time I saw him—had thought maybe he had a thing for me, too—and I just had the shit scared out of me, I slap his face, hard.
The men beside me growl and grasp my arms again.
“Let her go.” He takes my forearms instead, pulling me into him. Through his long wool coat, the firmness of his large body presses back at me. His dark gaze is commanding. Intense. “I’ll let that slide, this time. Because they scared you.”
A shiver runs up my spine. He’ll let that slide.
This time.
Like ordinarily, there are consequences for slapping the mob boss.
Of course there are.
“Now, come inside, I need your help.”
I look up the sidewalk at the huge house illuminated by streetlights. It’s not his mother’s Victorian brick where I worked for three months as a home healthcare nurse after her hip surgery.
Must be his?
I try to pull my wrist from his grasp. “No. You can’t just, just… kidnap me and tell me to come inside because you need my help.”
He shifts his grasp and tips his head toward the house. “Let’s go.” He doesn’t even bother answering my argument. And I suppose that’s because I’m dead wrong. He can just kidnap me and demand my help. He’s Junior Tacone, of the Chicago underground. He and his men have guns. They can make me do whatever they damn well please.
The relief that trickled in when I saw his handsome face ebbs back out. I may still never walk out of here. Because whatever awaits me in that house isn’t going to be pretty. Or legal.
Someone’s hurt and they need a nurse. That’s my best guess.
And now I’ll be a witness to whatever they’re trying to hide.
Is one of their members hurt? Or are they torturing someone? Need me to keep him alive so they can get something out of him?
I have no choice but to go in. I may have spunk, but I’m not willing to find out what happens if you defy the kingpin of Chicago. I fall into step beside him, hurrying to match his long strides.
He slides his grip from my wrist to my hand. His large hand warms my icy one and has a protective quality, like we’re on a date.
Like I’m not his prisoner.




USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR RENEE ROSE is a naughty wordsmith who writes kinky BDSM novels. Named Eroticon USA’s Next Top Erotic Author in 2013, she has also won The Romance Reviews Best Historical Romance, and Spanking Romance Reviews’ Best Sci-fi, Paranormal, Historical, Erotic, Ageplay and favorite couple and author. She’s hit #1 on Amazon in multiple categories in the U.S. and U.K., is often found on the list of Amazon’s Top Author list. She also pens BDSM stories under the name Darling Adams.



CAR CRASH by T. Gephart is LIVE!

Today we are celebrating the release of CAR CRASH by T. Gephart! You won’t want to miss this contemporary romance stand-alone standalone, part of
T. Gephart’s Collision Series.

Check out some teasers for the book below!

CAR CRASH by T. Gephart (Collision Series, #2) is now available!

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Kitty was not only beautiful but also incredibly intelligent—except when it came to relationships. It seemed if a guy was a loser, corrupt, deadbeat or unavailable, she was completely and utterly attracted to him. She definitely had a “type,” and all of them had been one bad decision after another.

Dallas had trouble of his own. Finding women wasn’t a problem—he could charm the pants off almost anyone—but most of those “pantless” women ended up being a few bananas short of a fruit basket. Not always the best candidates for his sex-without-strings philosophy. He was one date away from ending up a 60 Minutes special.

While both of them were at the top of their game professionally—she a high-powered executive assistant, and he one of the best tattooists in the city—their personal lives had become a dumpster fire.

No one in their right mind would have suggested they join forces to help each other wade through the crazy. Surely that was a recipe for disaster? But without reason, logic or even sanity on their side, they decided to do it anyway.

It was a hot mess primed for a head-on collision.


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“No passion, no emotion, no originality—a train wreck of epic portions.”

Those were the words to describe Eve Thorton’s exhibition. Not even a fine arts degree from Yale or her daddy’s bank account could save her from the scathing reviews. And failure was a word Eve would never be comfortable with. Not even close.

Plotting the demise of every critic who’d written her off was her first instinct. But that would come later. Instead, she would show them that she wasn’t a bored socialite with more money than talent.

She would prove everyone wrong, and she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. But when her journey for redemption crashed headfirst into Josh Logan, the sexy, talented tattooist from Queens, getting her hands dirty took on a whole new meaning.

Josh was everything Eve wasn’t, translating on skin what she couldn’t onto her canvas. All she had to do was convince him to share his jaw-dropping brilliance, and help her—seeing him naked—a bonus. Then she could go back to her regular life, vindicated.

It should have been easy. Pity her plans had a habit of derailing.


Available Now for FREE!

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Meet T. Gephart

T. Gephart is a USA Today and International bestselling author from Melbourne, Australia.

With an approach to life that is somewhat unconventional, she prefers to fly by the seat of her pants rather than adhere to some rigid roadmap. Her lack of “plan” has resulted in a rather interesting and eclectic resume, which reads more like the fiction she writes than an actual employment history. She’d tell you all about it, but the statute of limitations hasn’t expired yet. But all those crazy twists and turns have led her to a career she loves—writing romantic comedy.

When she isn’t filling pages with sassy and sexy characters with attitude, she’s living her own reality show in the ‘burbs of Melbourne with her American husband, two teenage children, and her fur child—Woodley.

She loves adventure, to laugh, travel, and strives to live her life to the fullest.

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Today we are thrilled to be sharing a teaser for bestselling author Louise Bay’s all-new stand-alone romance, THE WRONG GENTLEMAN, coming 19th February!

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I’m an all-or-nothing man—100 percent focused on whatever has my attention.

First it was serving my country in the Special Forces. Then it was building my business. Right now it’s the hot blonde at the bar who’s about to become another notch on my bedpost.

But women never keep my attention for more than a night.

Until I peel off Skylar Anderson’s clothes and her mask starts to crumble, showing me glimpses of the girl she’s hiding. She’s funny, sexy and vulnerable and throws me out of bed before I can catch my breath and suggest breakfast.

When I start my last undercover job on a yacht, turns out, she’s one of the crew. I try, but I can’t look away.

Her high ponytail shows off her kissable neck that tastes like summer.

Her short uniform reveals the killer legs that were wrapped around me last night.

And her provocative smile? I know what that mouth is capable of.

I want to explore her body, discover her secrets and sail off into the sunset with her.

I might want to go all in for Skylar, but she should stay away from me. I’ve got secrets of my own and they can only bring her trouble.


Meet Louise

USA Today bestselling author, Louise Bay writes sexy, contemporary romance novels – the kind she likes to read. Her books include the novels Faithful (not currently on sale as undergoing maintenance!), Hopeful, The Empire State Series, The Royals Series and The Nights Series (both series of standalones books each following different characters).

Ruined by romantic mini-series of the eighties, Louise loves all things romantic. There’s not enough of it in real life so she disappears into the fictional worlds in books and films. Louise loves the rain, The West Wing, London, days when she doesn’t have to wear make-up, being on her own, being with friends, elephants, and champagne. She loves to hear from readers so get in touch!

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