Feb 9, 2016

Release Tour -- Valentine Pets & Kisses Box Set

Release Blitz -- Justice by Gillian Zane

Feb 9 - Justice





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Synopsis



There is unfinished business for the S-Island survivors and it centers around Lakeview. The New Orleans’ neighborhood has been taken over by a sadistic group of bikers called the Southern Clan. 

Hannah Klink, who everyone calls Baby no matter how many times she punches them, is training her fellow survivors to defend themselves and work as a unit. The goal is to take back the refugee base at Lakeview and put the Army back in charge. It's a daunting task as the group runs into hordes of the dead and encounters resistance when they attack. It's just another day in the life of Baby, MJ Security grunt and zombie apocalypse survivor...until she meets Rebel.

Rebel is a Southern Clan member by birth, but not by heart. He had been moving away from them before the apocalypse hit, but by luck or by bad karma he was home from college when the SHTF. Now he's been forced to hole up with them in their camp. They are his only chance for survival. The brothers know he's not one of them, but he keeps his head low and his nose clean as much as possible. Until all hell breaks loose and Rebel is faced with a choice- loyalty to the club, or follow his gut and the cute blonde that likes to order him around.

An action-packed continuation of the Amazon bestselling NOLA Zombies series. There is graphic violence, sexual encounters, bad language and a few zombies in NOLA Zombies Book Four.




Justice Teaser




The Series





  
                                                 AMAZON                       AMAZON    


  
                                                  AMAZON                          AMAZON





Buy Links



AMAZON * AMAZON UK

AMAZON CA * AMAZON AU




About the Author




Gillian Zane is the author of the NOLA Zombie series. Zane is the pen name of a prominent blogger in the publishing industry, which will remain a mystery unless you Google it. Since she can remember her goal has been to become Master of the Universe and has decided to focus first on the literary world. Things are progressing nicely.

Zane has been a freelance writer for the last ten years and has published a few non-fiction works, none of which was very exciting. Zombies are much more exciting and a way for her to combine her two current obsessions, hot boys with guns and Doomsday Prepping. When she isn't stockpiling MREs (Meal's Ready to Eat) or researching how to build a cistern on a budget, she's taking care of her little family and exploring the city that she loves, New Orleans. You can find Gillian Zane on twitter @GillianZane.

Sign up for her newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bmCzWf


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Release Blast -- Call Me, Maybe by Ellie Cahill




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CALL ME, MAYBE
Ellie Cahill
Releasing on February 9, 2016
Loveswept







 Ellie Cahill is definitely one to watch!” raves bestselling author Cora Carmack, and this steamy, upbeat modern romance about connecting in all the best ways proves it once again.

Clementine Daly knows she’s the black sheep. Her wealthy, powerful family has watched her very closely since she almost got caught in an embarrassing scandal a few years ago. So when Clementine’s sent on a mission to live up to the Daly name, politely declining isn’t an option. Of course, the last thing she does before boarding the plane is to grab a stranger’s phone by mistake—leaving the hunky journalist with her phone. Soon his sexy voice is on the line, but he doesn’t know her real name, or her famous pedigree—which is just the way Clementine likes it.

Despite all the hassles, Justin Mueller is intrigued to realize that the beautiful brown-eyed girl he met at the airport is suddenly at his fingertips. They agree to exchange phones when they’re both back in town, but after a week of flirty texts and wonderfully intimate conversations, Justin doesn’t want to let her go. The only problem? It turns out that Clemetine has been lying to him about, well, everything. Except for the one thing two people can’t fake, the only thing that matters: The heat between them is for real.



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“Is that okay? If I listen to your music, I mean.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” He seemed excited. I liked the sound of his voice like that.

“Anything you’d recommend?”

“I’ve only got a few playlists. Just pick one.”

“Okay.” I was curious to check out his music preferences, but not so curious that I wanted to end our chat. There was something about his easy manner that made me want to keep talking to him. “You can check out my music if you’d like.”

“I’m gonna have to. What am I supposed to do while I work out, listen to my own thoughts?”

I laughed, knowing exactly what he meant. “I do have Spotify and all that if my musical tastes are not to your liking. And plenty of data, so go for it.”

“You’re not a big Adult Contemporary fan, I hope?”

“No, pretty much not. But . . . well, you’ll see.”

“I’ll have to report back to you.”

A lull fell between us, and I knew I should let him go back to his family, but I was reluctant to break the easiness between us. “So, what part of Florida are you from?”

“Central. Near Orlando.”

“No beach?” I asked.

“Sadly no.”

“I guess I’ll just have to enjoy the beach for both of us this week.”

“Send me a picture.”

“I—what?” Total Zack flashbacks. My heart hammered noisily in my head, making my temples throb while my armpits prickled with fear-induced sweat.

“I meant—sorry. Was that weird?” For the first time he sounded nervous. “I just meant I like the beach. You could send me a picture of the beach. Or not. It’s—I’m not stalking you, I swear.”

My pulse throttled back a bit. Okay. Maybe he wasn’t one of those guys. His distress was so obvious, I almost wanted to laugh, but I knew it would be one of those weird, ugly laughs. Instead I managed to say, “I-I could send you a picture of the beach.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”

“Sure.”

Another little silence fell and I squirmed in my seat.

“This is frustrating, isn’t it?” Justin said softly.

My stomach fluttered. “What do you mean?”

He exhaled into the microphone. “I wish we’d actually met at the airport.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m pretty sure I would have asked for your number, and now I’ll never know if you’re only talking to me because you feel bad that you stole my phone.”

Was that a line? I couldn’t tell. “Oh, come on. I’m sure you say that to all the girls who fall on top of you and nearly break your laptop.”

“Well, I am a Southern boy, remember. We’re all about chivalry.” He spoke with an awful, thick accent.

“I didn’t think Southerners acknowledged the existence of Florida.”

He laughed and tried the accent again. “How dare you insult my people!”

Ugh, he was so damn charming. It wasn’t fair to be inhumanly gorgeous and charming. And yet I found myself wanting to respond in kind. “I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” I gave him my best Scarlett O’Hara, which was, admittedly, not very good.

“That was terrible.”

“So much for chivalry.”

“I’m sure you have many fine qualities, but your Southern accent is not one of them.”

“I speak Hindi in a passable accent,” I volunteered. Which was just plain stupid, because the entire goal was to not let this guy know too much about myself. I was completely failing at keeping this professional and it had been all of thirty hours. It was no wonder I was the family disappointment.

“Seriously?” Justin pulled me back from my self-flagellation.

“Yes.” And I could say a few useful phrases in a handful of other languages as well, but I’d said enough about that thank you very much.

“Why Hindi?”

“I was born in India and I lived there until I was three.” Stop talking, Clementine.

“Why did you leave?”

“My mother was doing graduate work over there at the time.” Oh my god, stop talking, Clementine.

“That’s kind of cool.” Justin sounded genuinely impressed.
I shrugged. “I guess. It’s a real pain in the ass getting through airport security.”

“Why?” He laughed.

“I’m technically an Overseas Citizen of India, because I was born there. And that’s apparently enough to get you labeled a ‘person of interest’ by the TSA. I get searched all the time.”

“So, are you a ‘person of interest’?”

“No. I’m not even a terribly interesting person most of the time.”

“Now I know that’s not true.”

“You don’t really know me at all,” I reminded him.

“All right, tell me something else about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?” The little voice in my head telling me to stop threw up her hands in total resignation.

“I don’t know. Anything. Let’s start with your last name.”
Oh crap. Of all the things he could have asked, it had to be that.

There is one thing you learn early when you grow up in a family like mine—a lot of people will treat you differently as soon as they find out your net worth. A lesson I’d learned the hardest possible way when I was nineteen. Thus the code names and the nearly blank phone.

Of course, not everyone is after you for your money, but even if they never want a dime, most people get a little weird once they know they’re dealing with the American equivalent of royalty. My great-great-aunt was an actual English duchess, and her grandson was the current duke. You have to admit, if you found out you’d been chatting casually with a princess, you’d freak out. At least a little. Anyone would.

So even though it wasn’t Justin’s fault that we’d been forced into this odd little relationship, I did what I’d had drilled into my head: I lied.

“Davis,” I said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Davis,” he said, then after a pause asked, “It is miss, right?”

I laughed. “I’m not married.”

“Just checking.”

“And you are?”

“Justin Mueller with a –u-e.” He pronounced it “Miller.”

“Hi.” I felt the familiar mixture of guilt and apprehension that I always felt when I lied to a new acquaintance.

“Well, now that we’ve been formally introduced I should get going,” he said. “My mother is watching me through the patio door and it’s giving me bad high school flashbacks.”

“My . . . friend is probably wondering what happened to me.” I’d already given more personal details about myself than I should have, so I randomly held back on saying I was with my cousin. Yeah, that’ll throw him off the scent, Clem. Nice work.

“Okay, well . . . I’m sure I’ll talk to you later,” he said. 
“Listen to that song I told you about, okay?”

“I will.”

We said goodbye.

I blew out a loud sigh and propped my feet on the bedpost as I lifted Justin’s phone up to eye level and tapped my way into his picture album again. There he was, gorgeous as ever.

What was wrong with me? I had seen this man in person for approximately fifteen seconds. Why on earth was I obsessing about him like this?

I pressed the power button, blanking the screen.

Then I rolled onto my stomach and powered the phone back on. I searched his music collection for the song called “Clementine” and let it play while I browsed the rest of his list. Classic rock, classic rock, classic rock. To be fair, his taste in the classics seemed to run the gamut from the almost clich├ęd Led Zeppelin and Rush to the less-expected Jefferson Airplane and Cream. He seemed to have it all from the ’60s, right up through today. If a band had an easily recognizable lead singer and an unmistakable guitar style, Justin was into it.

I sent him a text message: Try the playlist I’m Not Cool.
The song he’d recommended was soft, acoustic guitar, and sweet vocals. I liked it, just as he’d predicted. I smiled as I moved out of his first two playlists. The next one raised my eyebrows. It was called Original Classics, and was populated by the likes of Beethoven and Bach. Next, I checked one called Softer. There, I found the home of The Decemberists and some other more recent artists. Very alternative and generally soft, soothing music that I tended to favor myself.

It was the last playlist, however, that made me smile and get all swoony again. It was called Standards and it was inhabited by Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Nat King Cole, and even a few more obscure performers of the Great American Songbook. I rolled onto my back again, holding his phone to my chest and feeling like I’d just been handed the last ingredient in a recipe for falling in love. Was this guy for real?

My heart was beating hard, and the phone began to slip, so I slid it farther down to rest on my stomach, just below the inverted V made by my ribs.

I wanted him. Not that I could do anything about it, but at least I could admit it. I’d wanted him since the moment I laid eyes on him, and so far he’d done nothing to discourage my desire.



Ellie Cahill is a freelance writer and also writes books for young adults under the name Liz Czukas. She lives outside Milwaukee, Wisconsin, with her husband, son, and the world’s loudest cat.







Release Blitz & Review -- F*ck of the Irish by Celia Aaron


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Free on Kindle Unlimited


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Eamon is my crush, the one guy I can’t stop thinking about. His Irish accent, toned body, and sparkling eyes captivated me the second I saw him. But since he slept with my roommate, who claims she still loves him, he’s been off limits. Despite my prohibition on dating him, he has other ideas. Resisting him is the key to keeping my roommate happy, but giving in may bring me more pleasure than I ever imagined.






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I sipped my drink as he took a long swig of his beer. He came away with a foam mustache, and I had the craziest impulse to lick it. I smiled and stifled my laugh.

“What?” He raised his eyebrows at me. “Something on my face, love?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Not a thing?”

“Nothing?”

“Nope. Everything is totally normal.”

He took another swig, even more foam collecting on his upper lip.

“How about now?”

I giggled. “Perfectly fine. I see nothing amiss.”
He leaned in, the beer a mix of sweet and rich on his breath. “Care for a taste?”

My heart leapt into my throat and I stared into his eyes, the blue even deeper in the dimness of the bar.

He pulled me closer, his fingertips pressing into my shoulder. Before I could back away, his mouth was on mine, his lips firm and warm. I clutched his shirt as he pushed me into the wall, caging me with his muscular body. My breath was gone, stolen by him as he licked along the seam of my lips, asking for entrance. He slid a hand down to my lower back and pulled me against him, pressing my breasts hard into his chest. I gasped at the friction on my nipples and he plunged his tongue into me.

I moaned into his mouth, and he growled a low response. His tongue mastered mine, and he eclipsed any thoughts I may have had about propriety or people watching. There was only him, his mouth, his body, the heat he stoked inside me.    



REVIEW


"Lauren owned my heart, though all I owned was her scorn."

Wowza!!!

This was one hot, little read!!

Eamon was a sexy as sin Irishman who was completely captivated by the lovely Laurel. But no matter how much he wanted her, he knew she was just out of reach.

Laurel was a student just trying to get though college. Too bad she kept getting her thoughts interrupted by the one guy she couldn't have...her roommate's ex-lover.

"I wanted to taste him, all of him. I'd only been with a few men, but something told me Eamon would erase them all out of my memory."


The buildup was great in this book!! You know it's coming, and when it does, wow!!! Grab a fan, a cool drink, and enjoy!!

"Please, Eamon. I can't."
"You can....want to know what I'll do to you?"


I mean...come on!!! Hawt...as...hell those two were!

Oh, how I wish this was a longer story! I need more of that Irishman's words. I could just hear his accent...gahhhh!

Great novella!!! If the author ever wants to continue their story more...I won't oppose;)

"Nothing will happen that you don't want."
"That's what I'm afraid of. There so much that I want. Too much."




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Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.

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Release Blast -- Leaving Yesterday by Zoe Dawson




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LEAVING YESTERDAY
Laurel Falls #1
Zoe Dawson
Releasing on February 9, 2016
Loveswept







If you love Susan Mallery, Kristan Higgins, or Rachel Gibson, don’t miss the start of this captivating small-town romance series! Laurel Falls, Montana, features spectacular mountain scenery—but it takes a rugged cowboy to convince one woman to slow down and enjoy the view.

Rafferty Hamilton doesn’t plan on putting down roots anytime soon. With her divorce final, the hotel heiress has left Manhattan behind to scout new locations for her family’s chain of resorts. Which is why it’s so frustrating to be stranded in Laurel Falls while a good-looking, slow-talking, Stetson-wearing mechanic takes his sweet time with her overheated coupe.

A decorated vet who paid his dues in Afghanistan, Trace Black can fix anything with an engine and get it revving—even Rafferty’s ridiculous sports car. He’s couldn’t say the same for the knockout driver, who looks like she’s never gripped a gear shaft in her life. Women like Rafferty don’t usually stick around in Laurel Falls, but Trace finds himself showing her everything his hometown has to offer before she cruises on down the road.

As the days pass, Rafferty finds herself charmed by the pace of life and the openhearted warmth of the residents. She’s even tempted to trust again—and it’s all thanks to Trace. He’s not the kind of guy she’s used to falling for, but he just might be the man she needs.




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Her phone had rung, and she’d glanced at the display and said, “Shit.” It had been her father’s girlfriend, Susan. That was, actually, not really true. Susan Chambers was more than just her father’s girlfriend. She’d been with him since Rafferty was little and was the strongest female influence in her life. Susan was so put together and tolerated her father’s hours because hers were just as bad, but they had clicked and still clicked. Her father hadn’t looked at another woman since he’d met Susan, and that made total sense. She was gorgeous, one of the premier lawyers in New York City, and made the best macaroni and cheese ever.

She’d ignored her calls all the way through Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana. Susan had left her a voicemail outside of Illinois to call her or else. Then, she stressed about it all the way through Wisconsin, Minnesota, and South Dakota.
It was true that she had opted to drive to California for business but take a side trip to scout out some land in Montana. Hamilton Hoteliers was always looking for strategic and scenic sites to place its resorts. Her father, Ross Hamilton, ran his empire with an iron hand. She worked closely with him and loved her job, but was tired of seeing the country from an airplane window. That was her cover story and she was sticking to it.

“Are you going to lecture me? I might disappear into the Rockies and never come out. Become a mountain woman and live off the land.”

“That’s going to be hell on your high heels and mocha latte addiction.”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“Don’t you ignore my calls and texts again, sweetie, or I’ll ground you.”

That made her huff a laugh. “I ignored Daddy’s, too, if that helps.” Her stomach dropped and she blinked back tears as she looked to the open brown meadow dotted with thick copses of trees out her side window.

“Yes, since I live with the man, you have been a topic of conversation recently. I mean this in the best sense, honey. You can’t run from your emotions.”

The tears slipped down her cheeks, and she brushed them impatiently away, her throat tight. “According to Sean, I don’t have any. I’m incapable of being emotionally intimate.”

 That had scared her the most. Was that true? The loss of her relationship sent doubts through her every day until she had to get away. This road trip was a perfect escape.

She had thought she loved Sean. “I’m afraid he was right.” She couldn’t keep the words from sounding nose-clogged from crying.

“That’s so not true. You are a wonderful, caring person.” 
There was just her sniffling, then Susan, her voice even more sympathetic, said, “Aw, honey. If you’re crying, you’re feeling. So he’s full of it.” Rafferty’s eyes welled up all over again. Susan’s words helped her feel a bit better.

“Sean really fooled us all. Sure, he looked good on paper, but you didn’t seem all that happy to me.”

Realizing that the tow guy was going to be here any minute, she wiped at her eyes, needing to get control over her emotions. “I guess I wasn’t, and I didn’t really realize it. I thought I was in the perfect marriage.”

“Sweetie, don’t beat yourself up too much. It takes two to tango, so this is not all on you. He cheated on you. There’s no reason for that in my book. Have the balls to step up and talk about it.”

“I guess that is true. He never said a word to me.”

There was a pregnant pause, and Susan said, “Sean was all about prestige and showing wealth. Flaunting it. He thought of you as just another possession that he could show the world he’d accumulated. You’re no one’s trophy wife.”

“Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me. I guess I wasn’t prepared.”

“Who’s ever prepared for the end of their marriage?” Susan said softly.

She certainly hadn’t been, and she had spent many nights going over all of it in her head. She had failed—felt like a failure because she had really thought she was making it work.

Her tone turned serious. “Really, sweetheart. It’s his loss.”

Rafferty smiled at the emphatic way Susan said those words.

“How about we make a day of it when you get back? 
Shopping, spa day with a manicure and pedicure. I’ll treat for lunch wherever you want to go.”

“Yes, that sounds wonderful. I’ll have to let you know when I get back. Hit a snag.”

“What snag?”

“This fabulous little sports car broke down. I’m waiting for a tow. If I was back in Manhattan—”

“It would be twice as long,” she said wryly. “Isn’t that car new?”

“It sure is. It just went clunkity-clunk and stopped working.”

“Hopefully it’s not something serious and you’ll have something to look forward to when you get back. So, other than the unresponsive car, how is your escape from Manhattan going? You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to see the sunrise, and it was spectacular. All pink and purple watercolor streaks. Montana is breathtaking, but damn this state is big, filled with guys wearing cowboy hats, tight jeans, and sexy boots, which as far as I’m concerned all go in the plus column. I see trailers on the road hauling horses, cattle, and other stinky livestock. Con column.”

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”

“That is the honest truth. I have never seen so many cattle—”
A shiny white-and-chrome tow truck pulled in front of her with Black’s stenciled on the side in black. All she caught was a glimpse of a black Stetson. She did have to think again that Montana, or Cowboy Central as she was starting to think of it, was chock full of plenty of sexy men to take her mind off how lonely she felt.

The door to the truck opened, and a leg appeared. But all she could focus on at the moment was his thick, jean-clad thigh. He reached down to unsnag the hem that had caught on the top of his well-worn black cowboy boot, the hat obscuring his features, but the glimpse she’d gotten of a hard, clean-shaven jaw made her stomach jump and heightened her interest.

She followed his movement back up as he swung out of the truck, giving her the full view of his slim-hipped, broad-shouldered body, but then he raised his head, and the shadow caused by the brim disappeared from his . . . 
Ohmigod . . . face.

The sight of him sucked the breath right out of her. Her mouth went slack and Susan’s voice was nothing but a buzz in her ear.

Brown hair curled around his ears and tickled his neck, dark brows arched over a set of blue eyes that were a knee-melting deep cobalt. She tightened her hand on her phone as she took in his Roman nose, and a mouth with lips that were made to be kissed, the bottom lip fuller than the top.
His blue work shirt stretched over an impressive wide chest. Stitched on his left pocket was his name, Trace, and on the other pocket, Black’s Garage.

He moved with a sexy, rolling gait filled with confidence. When he saw her get out of the car, he slowed, his eyes going over her. The way he gazed at her made her breath hitch. Even when she looked down and away from that stare, she could feel his scrutiny. For the first time since she’d signed those divorce papers and walked out of her lawyer’s office, she felt exposed and vulnerable all over again. Those . . . blue . . . oh-so-blue eyes. What was she supposed to do about them when all she wanted to do was look back, deeply back, and ask questions?

“The mechanic is here. I’ve got to go.”

“If you need me, just let me know,” Susan said.

She needed a big bucket of really cold water right now, wanting not to be affected by him at all. “I’ll call you with an update,” she said, disconnecting the call and tucking her phone into her bag. She eyed the driver again and tried to remember that oxygen was an important, life-giving requirement.

Maybe Laurel Falls was a perfect place for both breakdowns.







Zoe Dawson had always dreamed of becoming a full-time romance writer, and with determination, persistence, and a little luck that wish came true. Her other passions include traveling the world, owning a beach house (she believes she was a mermaid in another life), and seeing her books in movies. When she’s not writing, she’s painting or killing virtual MMORPG monsters in World of Warcraft. She lives in North Carolina with her two grown children and one small, furry gray cat.