NOBEL BRIT by P.T. Michelle is now available!

Today we are so excited to be sharing New York Times & USA Today bestselling author P.T Michelle​’s all-new contemporary romance stand-alone,
NOBEL BRIT, A Billionaire Noble Story, Book 9 (In the Shadows)

 

Dennet Barasa. British. Former MI6. Bodyguard for BLACK Security. Controlled and cool under pressure, he’s about to meet his match in a petite heiress, who will be his toughest assignment yet.

When I lost everything I ever cared about, guarding the Blake family became my life. I’ve spent years protecting the wealthy family like they were my own.

Until I was assigned Mina Blake.

Beautiful and intelligent, she’s infuriatingly stubborn as she challenges me. She’s also a delightful storm, tearing up the roadblocks around my heart faster than I can rebuild them.

But someone is after Mina, and as the danger closes in from all sides, I’m finding it harder to separate my head from my heart.

She is everything I thought I would never have in my life. And I will do whatever it takes to keep her forever.

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Meet P.T. Michelle

P.T. Michelle is the NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY, and International Bestselling author of the contemporary romance series IN THE SHADOWS (aka MISTER BLACK), the YA/New Adult crossover series BRIGHTEST KIND OF DARKNESS, and the romance series: BAD IN BOOTS, KENDRIAN VAMPIRES and SCIONS (listed under Patrice Michelle). She keeps a spiral notepad with her at all times, even on her nightstand. When P.T. isn’t writing, she can usually be found reading or taking pictures of landscapes, sunsets and anything beautiful or odd in nature.

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ALL THE WRONG PLACES by Randi Perrin is live!

Today we have the release day blitz for ALL THE WRONG PLACES,
a contemporary romance by Randi Perrin!
Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today!

American-born, Australian-raised Rachel Kennedy was born to be an actress–all the way down to her drama queen ways. But when a bad day leaves her life and her dream in ruins, she’s not sure what to do next. Her silver spoon-upbringing never prepared her for that.

With a bank account at nothing and an inability to pull off a convincing accent for casting directors, Rachel’s about to give up on everything. Not on her best friend’s watch. Lily is there to help her every step of the way–if the definition of help involves convincing her to take drastic measures, each one blowing up more than the one that came before.

Once Lily shoves Rachel into the let’s-get-drunk-and-screw-a-stranger phase, she winds up tangled in the arms of Christian Whitmore, a cop with a sinful smile, sexy stubble, and impeccable timing. He’s there to pick her up when she falls and to take her out for fish and chips at her favourite place.

But then again, so is his identical twin brother, Kevin. Double. Trouble.

Stuck at a major crossroads in her life, can Rachel ever find happiness again, or is she just looking in all the wrong places?

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Introducing Rachel Kennedy: Today’s community theatre actress, tomorrow’s star

 
I’m Lily May and I’m here with the hottest thing in this hemisphere, Ms. Rachel Kennedy. Let’s get to know our up-and-coming star with a little banter. She’s got excellent fashion sense, a hot car, and perfect pitch.

LM: Would you like to tell us who you are?

RK: You just told everybody who I am.

LM: *eye roll*

RK: *big, cheesy grin* I’m Rachel Kennedy.

LM: And you are…

RK: An actress.

LM: And…

RK:

LM: *sighs heavily* And American. You are American.

RK: *blushing* Yes, I’m American. Baseball is boring, though, and I don’t like apple pie.

LM: What brought you here to Aus?

RK: You know the answer to these questions.

LM: *sweeping gesture toward the audience* But they don’t. Talk to the people, Rach. Your people. Your audience.

RK: My dad is Australian, so after my mum died, he uprooted my entire life and decided to move back to his homeland.

LM: Have you always been an actress?

RK: Yes. My mum was an actress and I knew I wanted to be one too, follow in her shoes.

LM: Are her shoes as fancy as your five-inch Louboutins?

RK: We had more than enough money, but I don’t really remember her wearing designer shoes. She was more about flowers than shoes—we always had fresh flowers around. Those are my lucky audition shoes, don’t knock them.

LM: Knock them? Hell, I’d like to steal them.

RK: Stick your too-big foot in them and you’re dead.

LM: American, actress, hot—who is lucky enough to call themselves your best mate?

RK: *wraps an arm around LM’s neck* Why, that would be you. Duh.

LM: Do you see a conflict of interest in my being your best friend and conducting this interview?

RK: As if a conflict of interest has ever slowed you down before. I’ve seen you do way worse.

LM: You’ve been an accomplice to way worse.

RK: Shhhhh. Don’t go spilling my skeletons before I’m famous.

LM: Get ahead of them. Admit them. Go on, tell us what you do for a living. *nudges RK in the ribs*

RK: I’m a pole dancer, just like you, only I keep my knickers on.

LM: My knickers stay on, thank you very much. Everything else, well, that all depends on how big the notes are.

RK: Let’s get this straight right now, before she keeps going. I teach pole aerobics at the gym. Lily’s the stripper. Not me. I will not take off my clothes for money, no matter how desperate I get.

LM: You’ve clearly never been desperate enough.

RK: Let’s keep it that way. Desperation, like the color orange, doesn’t look good on me.

LM: Orange? There are a whole lot of colors that don’t go with that fiery, red hair.

RK: *checks the time on her phone* Can we wrap this up?

LM: Do you have somewhere more pressing to be?

RK: No, not really, but you’re boring me.

LM: Okay, okay … lightning round. What’s your dream role?

RK: Evita.

LM: Who is your girl crush?

RK: You, of course.

LM: Boy crush?

RK: My boyfriend, Mark. Right?

LM: You keep telling yourself that. He’s a douche.

RK: I love it when you have my back like that.

LM: Someday you’ll come crying to me and I’m just going to say, “I told you so.”

RK: Never. Not gonna happen. No need. We’re perfectly happy together.

LM: There you have it folks, a truly shallow interview with our next musical theatre superstar, the ever sweet and quite delusional, Rachel Kennedy. She is going places, you guys, so be sure to catch her at the community theatre here in Brisbane while you still can, before she leaves us to return to her birthplace to take her rightful place on Broadway. Goodnight folks!

 
Want to know all of Rachel’s story? Did Mark finally get his head screwed on straight and propose? Did she ever become desperate enough to strip? Pick up a copy of All the Wrong Places, out now at your favourite online retailer!

Meet Randi Perrin

English may be Randi’s first language, but she’s the most fluent in sarcasm, and it shows in her writing. She is known for creating snarky, realistic characters—badass heroines who can hold their own and flawed, yet lovable heroes. Like Randi, her characters run on caffeine and swear words.

Her characters are often built around dichotomy, much like Randi herself. Although she is the least romantic person in the world, she writes romance. She also refuses to pick a lane on the romance highway, sometimes writing contemporary, other times paranormal, but always smokin’ hot.

She is the author of the Earthbound Angels paranormal romance series, several contemporary romance novellas including Anticipating Temptation and Mi Amor, and a gay romance novella entitled Wreck You. She has also had several short stories published in anthologies. Her next full-length novel, a romantic comedy entitled All the Wrong Places, will be out in Summer 2019.

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COVER REVEAL ~ THE BILLIONAIRE DUET by Nana Malone

Today we are thrilled to be sharing double gorgeousness! Two covers for Nana Malone’s all-new contemporary romance billionaire duet, BODYGUARD TO THE BILLIONAIRE and  THE BILLIONAIRE’S SECRET 

 

#1 Bodyguard to the Billionaire releases 23rd July

Derrick Arlington is one of the world’s most eligible billionaires. Voted Sexiest Man Alive—two years running.

‪And I just so happen to look exactly like him. 

‪It’s never came in handy until I get offered an actual job out of it.

‪It was supposed to be so simple.

‪Go to the Winston Isles, stand in as his body double for a few weeks, go back to my life.

‪But when our carefully constructed plan goes awry and the billionaire goes missing, I have no choice but to take his place and hire a bodyguard. The best in the business: a smart-mouthed, tight-assed, lady bodyguard.

‪Zia Barnes is the LAST thing I want, even if I need her. She’s determined, smart, and has no idea I’m a total imposter.

‪Good thing I have no intention on falling for her, or I’d be royally screwed.

GOODREADS

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#2 The Billionaire’s Secret releases 17th September

It was supposed to be a simple job. Go to the Winston Isles, stand in for my billionaire double for a few weeks.

But between the kidnapping attempt and accidentally falling in love with my bodyguard, things have been far from simple.

The good news, at least now the woman I love knows who I really am. The bad news is, no one else knows and someone is still trying to kill me.

I came to the Winston Isles to save my mother’s life, now I’ve got so much more than I bargained for. The trick will be to hold on to my brand new life and not get killed in the process.

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Meet Nana

USA Today Bestselling Author, NANA MALONE’s love of all things romance and adventure started with a tattered romantic suspense she borrowed from her cousin on a sultry summer afternoon in Ghana at a precocious thirteen. She’s been in love with kick butt heroines ever since.

With her overactive imagination, and channeling her inner Buffy, it was only a matter a time before she started creating her own characters. Waiting for her chance at a job as a ninja assassin, Nana, meantime works out her drama, passion and sass with fictional characters every bit as sassy and kick butt as she thinks she is.

The books in her series have been on multiple Amazon Kindle and Barnes & Noble bestseller lists as well as the iTunes Breakout Books list and most notably the USA Today Bestseller list.

Until that ninja job comes through, you’ll find Nana working hard on additional books for her series as well as other fun, sassy romances for characters that won’t leave her alone. And if she’s not working or hiding in the closet reading, she’s acting out scenes for her husband, daughter and puppy in sunny San Diego.

Want to hit me up? Just email me: nana@nanamaloneromance.com

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IT’S IN HIS SONG by Shelly Alexander is LIVE!

Today we have the release week blitz for Shelly C. Alexander’s all-new contemporary romance, It’s In His Song.
Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today!

 

They’re both back in Red River for good, and the chemistry is stronger than ever. But will her secret tear them apart all over again?

Dylan McCoy is restless to take over Red River’s favorite watering hole—Cotton Eyed Joe’s—when his Uncle Joe retires. First, he’s got to prove he has what it takes to carry on Joe’s legacy. Finally able to put the painful scars from his days working in L.A.’s trendy music scene behind him, he sets out to host a weekend workshop for songwriters. He calls in a favor and lines up some of the biggest musicians in the biz to attend. Life is good. Until the business owners who occupy the commercial space next door threaten to ruin his establishment right before the rock star lineup of attendees are scheduled to blow into town.

Hailey Hicks left Red River six years ago with a secret. Now—as a seasoned hairstylist who’s made her own way in the world—she’s back in town to help her cousin expand her salon. Unfortunately, the renovations aren’t going as planned and draw fire from the saloon next door. When she comes face to face with her ex, Dylan McCoy, sparks fly. Can they mend the damage done because of how they parted ways? Or will her secret cause them both to get burned again?

Download your copy today

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EXCERPT

© Shelly Alexander 2019
All rights reserved.

Instinctively, he dropped the towel, and his hands closed around her upper arms. “I’ve got you.”

No, he didn’t. She’d been managing on her own for years, and wasn’t about to start depending on a guy who’d left her all alone to deal with the consequences of their brief…thing. She tried to take a step back, but her double-crossing hands didn’t leave his shoulders. Instead, they slid down and molded to his chest.

“Sorry, I…” she stuttered.

“I’m not.” His hands closed over hers, and his thumbs caressed back and forth over the tops of her fingers.

An electric current shot up her arms, down her spine, and tingled all the way to her curling toes.

“I should be sorry.” Dylan’s soft breaths brushed over her cheeks. “Joe’s has a lot at stake, and your plumbing has been allowed to deteriorate due to lack of use.”

He had no idea.

His gaze smoothed over her burning cheeks. “That’s a problem I’d like to remedy for you.” A dimple appeared as one corner of his mouth lifted into a hint of a smile. “I’d benefit from it, too.” The dimple deepened.

Time slowed.

A bone-deep ache of desire stirred in her chest. Before she could stop herself, she went up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

Meet Shelly

Shelly Alexander is the author of contemporary romances that are sometimes sweet, sometimes sizzling, and always sassy. A 2014 Golden Heart® finalist and a 2019 RITA® finalist, she grew up traveling the world, earned a bachelor’s degree in marketing, and worked in the business world for twenty-five years. With four older brothers and an older sister, she watched every Star Trek episode ever made, joined the softball team instead of ballet class, and played with G.I. Joes while the Barbie Corvette stayed tucked in her closet. When she had three sons of her own, she decided to escape her male-dominated world by reading romance novels and has been hooked ever since. Now she spends her days writing steamy contemporary romances while tending to two toy poodles named Mozart and Midge.

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CHAPTER REVEAL ~ HANDLE WITH CARE by Helena Hunting

Handle With Care, an all-new romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting is coming 27th August, and we have chapter one and the pre-order links for you!

 

HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL.

Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman

SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER.

Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.

 

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CHAPTER ONE

© 2018 Helena Hunting

All rights reserved.

 
I slip onto the empty bar stool beside the lumberjack mountain man who looks like he tried to squeeze himself into a suit two sizes too small. He’s intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that’s been pulled up into a haphazard man bun thing. His beard is a hipster’s wet dream. His scowl, however, makes him about as approachable as a rabid porcupine. And yet, here I am, sidling up next to him.

He glances at me, eyes bleary and not really tracking. He quickly focuses on his half-empty glass again. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the uncoordinated way he picks up his glass and tips it toward his mouth, I’m guessing he’s pretty hammered. I order a sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice and a lime.

What I could really use is a cup of lavender- mint tea and my bed, but instead, I’m sitting next to a drunk man in his thirties. My life is extra glamorous, obviously. And no, I’m not an escort, but at the moment I feel like my morals are on the same kind of slippery slope.

“Rough day?” I ask, nodding to the bottle that’s missing more than half its contents. It was full when he sat down at the bar an hour ago. Yes, I’ve been watching him the entire time, waiting for an opportunity to make my move. While he’s been sitting here, he’s turned down two women, one in a dress that could’ve doubled as a disco ball and the other in a top so low- cut, I could almost see her navel.

“You could say that,” he slurs. He props his cheek on his fist, eyes almost slits. I can still make out the vibrant blue hue despite them almost being closed. They move over me, assessing. I’m wearing a conservative black dress with a high neckline and a hem that falls below my knees. Definitely not nearly as provocative as Disco Ball or Navel Lady.

“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie.

His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway.

“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up  here.” He taps his  temple and blurts, “My dad died.”

I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half- genuine, half- contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

He glances at my hand, which I quickly remove, and refocuses on his drink. “I should be sorry too, but I think he was mostly an asshole, so the world might be better off without him.” He attempts to fill his glass again, but his aim is off, and he pours it on the bar instead. I rush to lift my purse and grab a handful of napkins to mop up the mess.

“I’m drunk,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’m thinking that might’ve been the plan, considering the way you’re sucking that bottle back. I’m actually surprised you didn’t ask for a straw in the first place. Might be a good idea to throw a spacer in there if you want tomorrow morning to suck less.” I push my drink toward him, hoping he doesn’t send me packing like he did the other women who approached him earlier.

He narrows his eyes at my glass, suspicious, maybe.

“What is that?”

“Cranberry and soda.”

“No booze?”

“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the  morning.”

He picks up the glass and pauses when it’s an inch from his mouth. His eyes crinkle, telling me he’s smiling under that beard. “Does that mean Imma wake up with you beside me?”

I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Shit, sorry.” He chugs the contents of my glass. “I was joking. Besides, I’m so wasted, I can barely remember my name. Pretty sure I’d be useless in bed tonight. I should stop talkin’.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then motions to me. “I wouldn’t proposition you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I go with semi- affronted, since it seems like somewhat of an insult. “Good to know.”

“Dammit. I mean, I think you might be hot. You look hot. I mean attractive. I think  you’re pretty.” He tips his head to the side and blinks a few times. “You have nice eyes, all four of them are lovely.”

This time I laugh— for real— and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.”

He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.” He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.” His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.”

“I think losing your  father makes this condonable.” I slide off my stool. Despite being tall for a  woman, and wearing heels, he still manages to be close to a head taller than me.

“Yeah, maybe, but I still think I might regret it tomorrow.” He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right  here.”

He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He leans into me as we weave through the bar and stumbles on the two stairs leading to the foyer.  There’s no way I’ll be able to stop him if he goes down, but I drape one of his huge arms over my shoulder anyway, and slip my own around his waist, guiding him in a mostly straight line to the elevators.

“Which floor are you on?” I ask.

“Penthouse.” He drops his arm from my shoulder and flings it out, pointing to the black doors at the end of the hall. “Jesus, I feel like I’m on a boat.”

“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator.

He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow. “I  can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing.

I  settle a hand on his very firm forearm. This man is built like a tank. Or a superhero. For a moment, I reconsider what I’m about to do, but he seems pretty harmless and ridiculously hammered, so he shouldn’t pose a threat. I’m also trained in self-defence, which would fall under the by any means necessary umbrella. “Can I help?”

He rolls his head, eyes slits as they bounce around my face. “Please.”

I take his hand between mine. The first thing I notice is how clammy it is. But beyond that, his knuckles are rough, littered with tiny scars and a few scabs, and his nails are jagged.

“Your hands are small,” he observes as I line his thumb up with the sensor pad and press down.

“Maybe yours are abnormally big,” I reply. They are rather large. Like basketball player hands.

“You know what they say about big hands.”

I fight not to roll my eyes, but for a brief moment, I wonder if what’s in his pants actually matches the rest of him. And if he’s unkempt everywhere, not just on his face. I cut that visual quickly because it makes me want to gag. “And what do they say?”

His eyes crinkle again, and he slaps his own chest.

“Something about big hands, big heart.”

I bite back my own smile. “Pretty sure  you’re mixing that up with cold hands, warm heart.”

His brow furrows. “ There’s a good chance.”

The elevator doors slide open. He pushes off the wall with some effort and practically tumbles inside. He catches himself on the rail and sags against the wall as I follow him in. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now.

He doesn’t have to press a button since the elevator only goes to the penthouse floor. As soon as we start moving, he groans and his shoulders curl in. “I  don’t feel so good.”

Please don’t let him be sick in here. If there’s one thing I  can’t deal with, it’s vomit. “You should sit.”

He slides down the wall, massive shoulders rolling forward as he rests his forehead on his knees. “Tomorrow is  going to suck.”

I stay on the other side of the elevator, in case he tosses his cookies. “Probably.”

It’s the longest elevator ride in the history of the world. Or at least it feels that way, mostly because I’m terrified he’s going to yak. Thankfully, we make it to the penthouse floor incident- free. On the downside, now that he’s in a sitting position, getting him to stand again is a challenge. I have to press the open door button three times before I can finally coax him to his feet.

In the time between leaving the bar and making it to the penthouse floor, the effects of the alcohol seems to have compounded. He’s beyond sloppy, using the wall and me for support as we make our way to his door.  There are two penthouse apartments up here. One on either side of the foyer.

He leans against the doorjamb, once again fighting to find the coordination to get his thumb to the sensor pad. I  don’t ask if he needs my assistance this time since it’s quite clear he does. Once again I take his clammy hand in mine.

“Your hands are really soft,” he mumbles.

“Thanks.”

The pad flashes green, and I turn the handle. “Okay,  here we go. Home sweet home.”

“This isn’t my home,” he slurs. “My cousin’s family owns this building. I’m crashing  here until I can get the fuck out of New York.”

I scan the penthouse. It an eclectic combination of odd art and modern furniture, like two different tastes crashed together and this is the result. Aside from that, it’s clean to the point of looking almost like a show home.

The only sign that someone is staying here is the lone coffee cup on the table in the living room and the blanket lolling like a tongue over the edge of the couch. I’m still standing in the doorway while he sways unsteadily.

He tries to shove his hand in his pants pocket, but all he succeeds in doing is setting himself off- balance. He nearly stumbles into the wall.

“Thanks for your help,” he says.

He’s back in his penthouse, which means my job is technically done. However, I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself, or worse, asphyxiate on his own vomit in the middle of the night, and I’ll be the one catching heat if that happens. I’ll also feel bad if something happens to him. I blow out a breath, annoyed that this is how my night is ending.

I heave his arm over my shoulder and slip mine around his waist again, leading him through the living room toward what seems to be the kitchen. T here’s a sheet of paper on the island, but otherwise it’s spotless.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

We pause when we reach the threshold. “Which way is your bedroom?”

He looks slowly from right to left. “Not that way.” He points to the kitchen. It’s very state of the art.

I guide him in the opposite direction down the hall,  until he stumbles through a doorway, into a large but simply furnished bedroom. Once we reach the edge of the bed, he drops his arm, spins around— it’s drunkenly graceful— and falls back on the bed, arms spread wide as if he’s planning on making snow angels. “The room is spinning.”

“Would you like me to get you a glass of water and possibly a painkiller for the headache you’ll likely have in the morning?” I’m already heading for the bathroom.

“Might be a good idea,” he mumbles.

I find a glass on the edge of bathroom vanity— which is clean, apart from a brand new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. I run the tap, wishing I had a plastic tumbler,  because I’m not sure he’s in any state to deal with breakable objects. I check the medicine cabinet, find the pills I need, shake out two tablets, and return to the bedroom.

He’s right where I left him; sprawled out faceup on a massive king- size bed, legs hanging off the end, one shoe on the floor beside him. I cross over and set the water and the pills on the nightstand.

I make a quick trip back to the bathroom and grab the empty wastebasket from beside the toilet in case his night is a lot rougher than he expects.

I tap his knee, crossing my fingers he’ll be easy to rouse. “Hey, I have painkillers for you.”

He makes a noise, but doesn’t move otherwise.

I tap his knee again. “Lincoln, you need to wake up long enough to take these.” I cringe. I called him by name, and he didn’t offer it to me while we were down at the bar. H ere’s hoping he’s too drunk to notice or remember. His name is Lincoln Moorehead, heir to the Moorehead Media fortune and all the crap that comes with it. And there’s a lot of it.

One eye becomes a slit. “ Every time I open my eyes, the room starts spinning again.”

“If you drink this and take  these, it might help.” I hold up the glass of water and the pills.

“ ’Kay.” It takes three tries for him to sit up. He tries to pick the pills up out of my palm, but keeps missing my hand.

“Just open your mouth.”

He lifts his head. “How do I know you’re not trying to roofie me?”

I hold up the tablet in front of his face. “They  don’t say roofie, so  you’re safe.”

He tries to focus on the pill and then my face. I have my doubts he’s successful at either.

His tongue peeks out to drag across his bottom lip. “The cameras in the hall will catch you if you steal my wallet.”

I laugh at that. “I’m not going to steal your wallet, I’m  going to put you to bed.” “Hmm.” He nods slowly and opens his mouth.

I drop the pills on his tongue and hand him the glass, which he drains in three long swallows. “Would you like me to refill that?”

“That’d be nice.” He holds out the glass, but when I try to pull away, he covers my hands with his. His shockingly blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment they’re clear and compelling. Despite how out of it he is, and how much he resembles a mountain man, or maybe because of it, I have a hard time looking away. “I really wish I wasn’t this messed up. You smell nice. I  bet your hair is pretty when it’s not pulled up like that.” He flops a hand toward my bun. “Not that it’s not pretty like that, but I bet if you took it down, it would be wavy and soft. The kind of hair you want to bury your face in and run your fingers through.” He exhales a long breath. “I  haven’t had sex in a really long time, but I feel like I would have zero finesse if I tried right now.”

I smile and turn away. In the time it takes for me to refill his glass, he’s managed to get one arm out of his suit jacket. He’s made it most of the way onto the bed, feet still hanging off the end, but he’s on his back, which is not ideal.

I set the glass on his nightstand, along with a second set of painkillers, which I’m assuming he’ll need in the morning, and give him another nudge. “Hey.”

This time I get nothing in the way of a response. I

poke him twice more, but still nothing. He can’t sleep on his back with how drunk he is. He needs to be on his side or his stomach with a wastebasket close by.

I  can’t in good conscience leave him like this. My options are limited. I shake my head as I kick off my shoes and climb up onto the bed with him. This is not at all what I expected to be doing when I brought him back up here.

I stare down at his sleeping form. His lips are parted,  they’re nice lips, full and plump, even though they’re mostly obscured by his overgrown beard. His hair has started to unravel from its man bun, wisps hanging in his face. He has long lashes,  really long actually, and they’re thick and dark, the kind women pay a lot of money for. His nose is straight and his cheekbones— what I can see of them— are high. With a haircut, a beard trim or complete shave, and a new suit that actually fits, I can imagine how refined he’ll look. More like a Moorehead than a mountain man lumberjack. I shake my head. “I need you to roll onto your side, please,” I say loudly.

Nothing. Not even a grunt.

I pull on his shoulder, but he’s dead weight. Leaning over him, I make a fist and give him a light jab approximately where his kidney is. “Lincoln, roll over.”

And roll he does, knocking me down and turning over so he’s right on top of me. We’re face- to- face. Good God, he’s heavy. His bones must be made of lead. He shifts, one leg coming over both of mine. I push at his knee, but his arm swings out and he wraps himself around me on a low groan, pinning my arm to my side. He’s like a giant human blanket.

“How did this become my life?” I say to the ceiling,  because the man lying on top of me is apparently out cold.

I try to wriggle free, I even yell his name a bunch of time before I give up and wait for him to roll off me. And while I wait for that to happen, I replay the conversation with his mother, Gwendolyn Moorehead, that took place forty- eight hours ago and put me in this awkward position underneath her drunk son.

I’d been standing in Fredrick’s office, still digesting the fact that he was dead. It was shocking that a massive heart attack had taken him, since he was always so healthy and full of life.

Gwendolyn, his wife— now a widow— stood stoic behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in the center.

“I’m so very for your loss, Gwendolyn. If t here’s anything I can do. Whatever you need.” The words poured out, typical condolences, but sincerely meant because I  couldn’t imagine how my mother and I would feel if we lost my father.

Gwendolyn’s fingers danced at her throat as she cleared it. “Thank you,” she whispered brokenly and dabbed at her eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, Wren.”

“Let me know what you want me to handle, and I’ll take care of it.”

She took a deep breath, composing herself before she lifted her gaze to mine. “I need your help.”

“Of course, what can I do?”

“My oldest son, Lincoln, will be returning to New York for the funeral, and  he’ll be staying to help run the company.”

A hot feeling crept up my spine. I’d heard very little about Lincoln. Everything from Armstrong’s mouth was scathing, Fredrick’s passing references had been with fondness, and my interactions with Gwendolyn had been minimal as it was Fredrick himself who hired me, so this was first I’ve heard of Lincoln through her. “I see. And how can I help with that?” I could only imagine how difficult Armstrong would be if he had to share the attention with someone else, particularly his brother.

“Transitioning Lincoln.” Gwendolyn rounded her desk. “ You’ve managed to turn around Armstrong’s reputation in the media during the time you’ve been here. I know it hasn’t been easy, and Armstrong can be difficult to manage.”

Difficult to manage is the understatement of the entire century where Armstrong is concerned. He’s a cocksucker of epic proportions. He’s also a misogynistic, narcissistic bastard that I’ve had to deal with for the past eight months on a nearly daily basis— sometimes even on weekends.

My job as his “handler” has been to reshape his horrendous reputation after his involvement in several scandalous events became very public. It wasn’t a job I necessarily wanted, and I was prepared to politely reject the offer, but my mother asked me to take the position as a favor to her since she’s a friend of Gwendolyn.

Beyond that, my relationship with my mother has been strained for the past decade. When I was a teenager, I discovered information that changed our relationship forever. Taking the job at Moorehead was in part, my way of trying to help repair our fractured bond. The financial compensation, which was ridiculously high, also didn’t hurt. Besides, Gwendolyn is on nearly every single charitable foundation committee in the city, and since that’s where my interests lie, it seemed like a smart career move.

“Since you’re already working with Armstrong and things seem to be settled there for the most part, I felt it would make sense to keep you on here at Moorehead to work with Lincoln. He’s been away from civilized society for several years. He’s nothing like his brother, very altruistic and focused on his job, rather than recreational pursuits, so he should be easier to manage.”

I fought a scoff at the last bit, since “recreational pursuits” was a reference to the fact that Armstrong couldn’t seem to keep his pants zipped when it came to women.

Gwendolyn pushed a set of papers toward me. “It would only be for another six months. And of course, your salary would reflect the double workload, since you’ll still have to maintain Armstrong in some capacity while you assist Lincoln in transitioning into his role here.”

“I’m sorry, what—”

Gwendolyn pulled me into an awkward hug, holding onto my shoulders when she stepped back. Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to take this on. As soon as your contract is fulfilled, you have my word that I’ll give you a glowing recommendation to whichever organization you’d like. Your mother told me you’re interested in starting your own foundation. I’ll certainly help you in any way I’m able if you’ll stay on a little longer for me.” She dabbed at the corner of her eyes and sniffed, then tapped the papers on the desk. “I already have an agreement ready and an NDA, of course. Everything is tabbed for signing.”

I’m pulled back into the present when Lincoln shifts and one of his huge hands slide up my side and lands on my breast. At the same time, he pushes his nose against my neck, beard tickling my collar bone. He mutters something unintelligible against my skin.

I’m momentarily frozen in shock. Under any other circumstances, I would knee him in the balls. However, he’s not conscious or even semi-aware that he’s fondling me. Thankfully, now that he’s moved, I have some wiggle room.

I elbow him in the ribs, which probably hurts me more than it does him. At least it gets him to move away enough that I can slip out from under him. I roll off the bed and pop back up, smoothing out my now- wrinkled dress. My stupid nipples are perky, thanks to the attention the right one just got. Probably because it’s the most action I’ve seen since I started working for the Mooreheads eight months ago.

I hit the lights on the way out of the bedroom, pause in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and check out the sheet of paper on the counter. It’s a list of important details regarding the penthouse, including the entry code.

I nab my purse, snap a pic, and head for the elevators.

I have a feeling this is going to be a long six months.
 

 

MEET HELENA

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She’s writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

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COVER REVEAL ~ FINDING STORM by Samantha Towle

New York Times bestselling author Samantha Towle’s newest book in the hugely popular STORM SERIES is coming September 6th, and we have the stunning cover of FINDING STORM for you!

Cover Design: Najila Qamber Designs

Photograph: Wander Aguiar Photography

Model: Colton B.

Add to your TBR

 

The son of an icon.

He was a legend. Rock royalty.

A man I never met.

But I’m measured against him in every aspect of my life.

The only time I feel like me … the real me … is when I’m onstage with my band. But the more we grow in popularity, the more people compare me to him.

I’m not him. And I never will be. If only everyone could figure that out for themselves.

I need a break from it all.

Then, a confrontation has me jumping in my car, putting LA in my rearview mirror. And a stupid mistake ends up with my car on the side of the road. And straight into the path of a girl who is the exact opposite of everyone else in my life.

She’s like everything I used to know.

And she has no clue who I am.

Even if she did, I don’t think she’d care.

She thinks I’m cavalier.

I think she’s intriguing. And hot. Let’s not forget hot.

I’m stuck in this town overnight while my car is being fixed. But I’m thinking I’m gonna stick around a bit longer.

I’m Storm Slater, lead guitarist in Slater Raze and the only child of the late, great Jonny Creed. But, here, right now … I’m nobody. Just a regular guy.

I’m liking it a whole lot.

And I’m liking her even more.

There will be no pre-order for FINDING STORM, but
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Meet Samantha

SAMANTHA TOWLE is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. 

A native of Hull and a graduate of Salford University, she lives with her husband, Craig, in East Yorkshire with their son and daughter.

She is the author of contemporary romances, The Storm Series, The Revved Series, The Wardrobe Series, The Gods Series, and standalones, Trouble, When I Was Yours, The Ending I Want, Unsuitable, Under Her, River Wild and Sacking the Quarterback which was written with James Patterson. She has also written paranormal romances, The Bringer and The Alexandra Jones Series. With over a million books sold, her titles have appeared in countless bestseller lists, and are currently translated into ten languages.

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EVERYTHING TRILOGY by K.L. Shandwick is LIVE!

Today we are delighted to be sharing International bestselling author
K.L. Shandwick’s brand new trilogy, EVERYTHING SHE NEEDS

Are desire and chemistry all two people need to be happy? Alfie says yes, Lily thinks not. 

She had never regarded herself as easily led but she had never encountered a man quite like Alfie Black before.

Alfie is the typical lead singer of a band; a hot rock-god in the making and consequently women find him irresistible, charismatic and charming. The guy has sex appeal oozing from his every pour. 

Usually, what Alfie wants he gets— period.

And Alfie wants Lily. 

In fact, he doesn’t just want her, he craves her. 

Driven by his desire, he becomes relentless in his seductive pursuit. Question is does Lily stand a chance with a guy like him?

With their views sitting poles apart Lily wonders, could Alfie be everything she needs, or will he learn that Lily is stronger than he realises?

Join Amercian Southern boy, Alfie and London girl, Lily in the Everything trilogy and follow their hot and angst-filled, roller coaster journey through this riveting, action-packed rockstar romance series.

“Everything is not a story you merely read, it’s a story that you experience.” – reviewer 

Download your copy today or read in Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon: U.S | U.K | CAN | AUS

MEET K.L 

Writing came relatively later in life for K.L. Shandwick after a challenge by a friend led to The Everything Trilogy. She loves creating new characters and story lines. Her characters have flaws and she hopes this helps the connection between them and her readers. K.L. enjoys the journeys they take her on during the creation of her stories, and each character has his or her own voice. She doesn’t use prepared outlines for her stories preferring the characters to take their own direction as the story progresses. These days K.L. lives in the Yorkshire countryside in the UK, and writes full-time.

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