Release Day Blitz: Jase by L Grubb

Title: Jase

Author: L Grubb

Series: MMA Bad Boys #3

Genre: Adult Sports Romance

Release Date: August 15, 2016

Cover Design: Clarissa Wild

Cover Model: Andrew England

Photographer: Eric Battershell

Summary:
The gym, the firehouse, home, the bar… that’s my life. I live life in the fast lane, never slowing down. Lately, with my boys finding love, I’ve found myself being the fifth wheel. My mood soured and my thoughts kept drifting to finding someone for myself. Strange, I know. I like to test drive but I’ve found no one worthy of me. I won’t settle for anything less than perfect, no fake bitches for me. I want someone who’ll challenge me, to put me in my place.

Frankie. The one girl that’s captured my attention for more than ten minutes, someone who cursed at me for staring at her tits. I have to say, that’s never happened before. She’s the kind of woman who knows what she wants in life, she’s successful and astoundingly pretty, yet she doesn’t believe it herself. Is she the one to change my womanising ways? Will she be the one to warm my bed longer than one night?

Everything was pretty fucking dandy until Jennifer, my psycho ex, text me with a secret that could change my life. I don’t know what to believe and my head is completely fucked up. What do I do? Will this break me and Frankie before anything has even begun? I’m begging, praying, for this shit to end quickly so I can move on. I hope to fucking God Jen was lying, but is she? Or for once in her life is she telling the truth?

Author Bio:

Lucii is a your typical British girl, hates the sun and hibernates when summer arrives! She lives at home with her 3 year old daughter, where they spend the day watching Frozen and playing playdoh.

She started off as a regular person, job, home life, health issues and a love of reading. After reading the Fifty shade phenomenon, she went onto social media to seek other authors writing the same or similar genres. She entered a world she didn’t know existed and went to open a successful blog.

Inspiring dreams took a back burner, while she learned the book community and met a bunch of amazing authors and readers alike.

A year later she decided to start writing, hoping against hope that her friends and fellow readers will like what she brings to the table.

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Release Day Blitz: Refrain by Kennedy Ryan

Title: Refrain

Author: Kennedy Ryan

Series: Soul #3

Genre: New Adult Romance

Release Date: August 15, 2016

***Complete Soul Series Release Week Sale!!

All 3 books on sale for 99cents***

Summary:
People dream of a love that runs deep. So deep it feels like it's always been with you, just waiting for the person who'll own your heart and soul forever. So few ever find it, but for Rhyson Gray and Kai Pearson, happily ever after was only the beginning...

One of the biggest rock stars in the world and one of the brightest rising stars make a life together. Sometimes it's glamour-filled days and blissed out nights, but it's mostly staying true in the too-bright glare of the spotlight. It's long stretches where the road is lonely and the work is hard. It's living in a love that's the safest place you know even while danger lurks at your door.

Book 3 of The Soul series is an emotionally-charged epic conclusion that had to be told and should not be missed for fans of this series and this couple!

Refrain Spotify Playlist

Author Bio:
I just can't write about myself in the third person for one more bio! I'm a wife, a mom, a writer, an advocate for families with autism. That's me in a nutshell. Crack the nut, and you'll find a Southern girl who loves pizza and Diet Coke, and wishes she got to watch a lot more television. You can usually catch me up too late, on social media too much, or FINALLY putting a dent in my ever-growing to be read list!

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Refrain #3

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Don't Look Back by Josh Lanyon

Summary:
He was chuckling, a deep, sexy sound as he pushed Peter back on the satiny cushions. Was this for real? Was he going to go through with it? Peter blinked up as his tie was unfastened, tossed aside, his shirt unbuttoned, laid wide. The evening breeze -- scented of smog and jasmine -- felt cool against his overheated skin, like the lightest breath...

Peter Killian, curator at Constantine House in Los Angeles, wakes in the hospital to find himself accused of stealing a tenth century Chinese sculpture. Peter knows he’s not a thief -- but that’s all he knows. Why is hot and handsome Detective Mike Griffin so sure he’s guilty -- and so hell-bent on seeing Peter arrested?

And why is Peter having these weird dreams about an unseen lover who somehow reminds him uncomfortably of Michael Griffin?

I originally read this back in 2014 but for some reason I never reviewed it, as a matter of fact I never even switched it from my "currently reading" to "read" shelf on my Goodreads page.  So, I decided to re-read it and I still loved it.  As we learn more and more about Peter's life even if he doesn't remember certain facts because of the amnesia, you realize he was hurting.  At the same time, you begin to understand Michael's reluctance to believe the amnesia angle.  All together, this is a great little story with a perfect blend of romance and mystery.  I recall loving it two years ago and I loved it again now.

RATING:

The second time was the real awakening. He opened his eyes with a start. There was another nurse at his bedside, and she said something to him, something calming, something reassuring. He responded. Things got a little fuzzy and then sharpened again. His room seemed full of people, and a doctor was there asking him questions.

It was…confusing. Tiring. His head ached. A lot.

"What happened to me?" he mumbled.

"You've got a concussion, Mr. Killian."

He thought that over. It wasn't an answer, was it? Or was it? "How?" he asked.

"You were injured during a robbery."

A robbery. Like…a mugging? He couldn't seem to remember, although it didn't seem like the kind of thing one would forget. It was all very bewildering. He wanted to go back to sleep.

"I don't remember," he said, and his eyelids drifted shut.

The next time he opened his eyes, the bull -- the cop -- was back.
The thin mouth curled into an unfriendly smile. "Well, Peter, we meet again."

"Yes," Peter said, trying to focus. His vision was off. "Do I know you?"

There was silence. The gray-blue eyes -- which looked more gray than blue -- narrowed. "Are you saying you don't?"

Peter's heart began to pound. "No."

"No…?"

"I don't know you."

Another silence. Another smile -- a rather cynical one. "Is that so?"
"Should I?" Peter managed. His temples were now starting to pound in time with his heart. All at once he felt very ill.

"What do you remember?"

"I…" Peter stopped. He had the sensation of sand sucking away beneath his feet. "Who are you?" His voice sounded faint and faraway even to himself.

The other laughed, and then the dark face re-formed itself in a sneer. "Honest to God. You've got to be kidding. You're not seriously going to try and pull that?"

Peter stared at him; he couldn't think of anything to say even if he could have forced words out over his rising panic. This couldn't be happening. This… Something was wrong. And he could not let this guy, whoever he was, know how very wrong things were -- that much he knew instinctively.

"I think you should go," he said.

"Oh, you do?" Unimpressed, the cool eyes studied him. "Why? If you don't know who I am?"

Peter said honestly, "Because I don't like you."

Another one of those hard laughs. "I see you do remember something. What else do you remember?"

Peter opened his mouth. Nothing came to him. This was impossible.
Wait. He knew…the nurse had called him "Mr. Killian" and this asshole had called him "Peter." And the doctor had said…something about a mugging.

"It's… I know who I am. But…some…details are…vague."

"How convenient." Unfriendly mockery. "Well, let me refresh your memory. I'm Detective Michael Griffin. LAPD Robbery and Homicide Division." Griffin pulled a flat wallet-looking thing out of his jacket and flashed a very large, very official-looking badge in front of Peter's nose.

Peter narrowed his eyes. This made sense up to a point. He had been knocked out -- in a robbery -- so it was reasonable that the police would interview him. Right? But Detective Griffin was acting like Peter was the criminal, and clearly they had some kind of history.
And that was very hard to believe. Peter doubtfully studied Griffin's face. Peter was a law-abiding person. He knew that about himself. He had no doubt whatsoever on that score. Maybe he couldn't remember everything, but he knew he was not the kind of person who got into trouble with the law.

Right?

And anything else was out of the question.

Ah. So that was an additional something he now knew about himself. He liked guys. He was…gay. And comfortable with the idea.

But maybe Griffin didn't like guys who liked guys? Maybe that was the problem with Michael Griffin. Although how would he know about Peter's sexual preferences? Peter couldn't imagine him confiding such a thing to…well, really to anyone. Nor did Griffin seem like the kind of guy anyone would want to confide in. Even had he been Peter's type. Which he wasn't. Even if Peter couldn't quite remember what his type was, he was quite sure Griffin was not it.

"Is your memory coming back?" Griffin inquired.

"I was knocked out."

"Oh right. And now you have amnesia. That's the story?"

Griffin did not like him either. That was clear. And Peter did not feel well enough to deal with it. He closed his eyes. Opened them. Said, "Can we…talk about it later?"

"You're not curious about what happened to you? I'd think you'd be very curious…since you can't remember anything, right?"

Peter watched him. "I was mugged?"

"Try again."

Peter tried again. "I was…robbed." Griffin was from robbery and homicide, so that was a safe bet.

His thinking processes must have been transparent, because Griffin said slowly, "You're guessing. Or you're pretending to guess."

God. This asshole was too much. Peter closed his eyes. He couldn't deal with this right now.

Silence.

When the silence stretched -- when Griffin didn't go away -- Peter opened his eyes and surprised an odd expression on the detective's face. Mostly suspicion, or maybe wariness, but there was some other emotion that Peter couldn't read. It vanished the moment Griffin saw that Peter's eyes were open.

"Why don't I help you out with a few points? Your name's Peter Killian. You don't like to be called `Pete.' You're thirty-five years old, unmarried, a native Angeleno. You're the curator at Constantine House. Is this ringing any bells?"

Peter licked his lips. There was a horrible taste in his mouth and his head was pounding sickly. He knew he didn't want to hear anything more. He knew he needed to.

"You've been curator there for a little over three years -- during which time the museum has lost slightly over a hundred thousand dollars worth of antiquities and art objects."

Griffin paused politely. Peter moved his head in slight negation. He couldn't have spoken even if he'd known what to say. His heart was thudding as though he'd found himself cornered by an attack dog -- which was kind of how he felt. Griffin wasn't quite baring his teeth, but somehow the effect was the same.

"Two nights ago, for reasons known only to you, you went down to the grotto in the back of the museum garden and, to all appearances, surprised thieves in the process of removing a priceless, tenth-century painted mural."

Tenth century. A very bad year -- all one hundred of them.

The "Leaden Century" as described by Cardinal Baronius. The darkest of the Dark Ages.

"What was a priceless artifact doing in a grotto in the back of a garden?"

Griffin ignored that feeble protest. "Apparently, you were struck over the head and left unconscious while the thieves made off with the wall painting -- at which point you regained consciousness, made your way back to the museum, and triggered the alarms by not disarming the security system when you let yourself inside the back door."

As Griffin spoke, Peter had a dizzying and fleeting impression of images. A small cave…flashing shadows…voices echoing in argument…the delicate lines and muted colors of a painting…two riders on horseback…Chinese, yes. A tomb painting…yes. He did remember…

He remembered…something.

It took a few seconds to absorb the implications of Griffin's flat pronouncement.

"You don't think that's what happened?"

"I think it's convenient. Like your amnesia."

Peter let that sink in too. He had the disconcerting sensation of trying to feel his way through the smoke.

"You think I was involved in the robbery?" he managed at last.
"Were you?"

"No! Of course not."

"I thought you couldn't remember?"

Peter tried to sit up. Not a good idea. Quite a bad idea, actually. Despite the railing, he nearly overturned right out of the narrow hospital bed. His stomach overturned too as his brain seemed to slam the roof of his skull. Dimly, he was aware of Griffin grabbing him and putting him back against the pillows. Griffin said something to him, but he couldn't make it out. Maybe Griffin rang for help, because he could hear a buzzer going off. Peter felt sick and woozy and cold all the way through. He needed to make Griffin understand, needed to convince him, and he already knew that was going to be a hopeless cause. Griffin's mind was made up. He believed Peter was guilty.

Then the room was full of people. There seemed to be a lot of noise and activity. Somewhere behind the wall of sound, he could hear Detective Griffin protesting -- and being overridden. Peter put a hand to his head, touching some kind of bandage; his skull felt like it was about to split in half. Someone leaned over him; there was pinch in his arm, and suddenly the commotion faded out.

It was quiet again. Warm. Dark. There was black tide rushing toward him and he stepped out to meet it.

Author Bio:

A distinct voice in gay fiction, multi-award-winning author JOSH LANYON has been writing gay mystery, adventure and romance for over a decade. In addition to numerous short stories, novellas, and novels, Josh is the author of the critically acclaimed Adrien English series, including The Hell You Say, winner of the 2006 USABookNews awards for GLBT Fiction. Josh is an Eppie Award winner and a three-time Lambda Literary Award finalist.

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Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Sugar Daddies by Jade West

Summary:
A sugar daddy website doesn’t seem a sound basis for an A1 life plan, but I’m a small town girl with big dreams, and there’s this one advert, this one crazy advert I can’t stop thinking about…

Two hot guys seeking their Little Miss Right.

Someone who can entertain them, amuse them, fit in with their corporate schedule.

And sex. They want sex.
Lots of sex.
Bonus, right? One major dose of epic win.

Of course, guys like Carl and Rick have their conditions. One being that they come together, or not at all.

Hell, I can live with that.

And there are no skeletons in their designer closet, none that I can find.

Just two hot sugar daddies, with particular tastes, nothing to worry about.

Until Carl and Rick spill the big one, the one that sends the girls running. A whole string of them before me, running to the hills without so much as a backward glance.

Maybe I should run, too. Thanks but no thanks, see you around, guys, nice knowing you.
But I’m already in way too deep for that.

Warning – as with every other Jade West book, reader discretion is highly advised. This novel contains vivid depictions of MMF / MM relationships, and Jade’s characters, as always, have very filthy mouths. Mature readers only, please.

Author Bio:
Jade West is as dirty bad wrong in real life as you would expect from her books. Dirty Bad Wrong is her first full-length erotic novel, but she cut her teeth writing filth on Live Journal.

Her dirty mouth was developed through her natural interest in filth, and refined through a year-long stint as a sex chatline operator. Writing books isn't the first time she's made a living from horny talk, except this time she's bringing it to a wider audience.

Jade is a real-life submissive, with a healthy interest in pornography, men in suits and taking a decent beating with a cane.

Outside of all things dirty, she enjoys reading, plotting world domination and the odd spot of knitting.

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This is Me CE Wilson

Title: This is Me

Author: CE Wilson

Genre: New Adult Romance, Science Fiction

Release Date: August 11, 2016

Summary:
A-SIST

Anthropomorphic Sentient Individualized Servile uniT

Rogan is a robot. More specifically, he is an Asist – a personalized humanoid servant that provides protection, assistance, and companionship for a lonely young woman living on her own in the city. Chloe is trying to get her big break, singing at bars and clubs all over the city at night while she pays the bills as a substitute teacher during the day. Ever since she activated him many months ago, Rogan has been her beautiful, dependable, obedient, dead-eyed security blanket.

One morning she is shocked when he disobeys a direct command in an attempt to please her and his dull artificial eyes flash a hint of something new. Is this the result of the adaptive Asist servility programming or is Rogan actually thinking? Can a robot think? Can a robot feel?

As Chloe struggles with these thoughts she is blindsided by the singular Niven Adams, a handsome, confident man with the voice of an angel who is everything she’s ever wanted in a boyfriend. He’s the perfect guy for her, except for one problem. Niven doesn’t approve of Asists and takes an immediate dislike to Rogan. As Niven charms his way deeper and deeper into Chloe’s heart, Rogan tries to convince her that he is more than a mass-produced disposable servant.

With Rogan doing everything in his power to prove that his thoughts and feelings are real and Niven trying to persuade her to abandon her robot and have a normal human relationship, Chloe is trapped between the two things that mean the most to her. Does she embrace her relationship with the blond newcomer, or face that her Asist’s feelings may be more than features of his programming?

What really makes a person a person?

Is it a ticking muscle inside their chest, or is it something more?

Author Bio:
C.E. Wilson is 32 years old, grew up in Millersville, Pennsylvania, and has been living in Pittsburgh since 2009. For the first few years living in Pittsburgh, she was an English teacher. Her first book, "Oath of Servitude," was published in 2012. In 2013, she quit teaching to be a full time author and hasn't looked back since. She loves spending time with her daughter and husband.

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Night Watch by Josh Lanyon

Summary:
Three years ago investigative reporter Parker Davidson barely survived a brutal attack by his psychopathic ex-boyfriend. It’s given him a dim view of romance.

When Parker’s ex escapes from a maximum security prison, LAPD Lieutenant Henry Stagge is tasked with making sure that Parker doesn’t end up a victim a second—and final—time.

Most cops believe Parker got what he deserved, but over the course of a few very tense hours, Henry begins to wonder if there’s more to Parker than he thought.

Second chances happen in the strangest places—and at the strangest times.

We're not always given a second chance so when it shows up on your doorstep, never take it for granted.  Night Watch is a short story/novella centering on just that very theme.  Parker may have been duped, nearly died because of it, and vilified afterwords but he was still the victim and now it's Henry's job to keep him safe.  It's no wonder that Parker has a dim view on the idea of  romance but as it often is with Cupid's Arrow, it happens when you aren't looking for it or even wanting it.  The story might be shorter than my usual read but a Josh Lanyon is still a Josh Lanyon, no matter the length. This was a great surprise to find.

RATING:

How could you not know?

That was the question everyone asked. Friends. Family. Reporters. The cops. I think even Ricky may have said it the night he tried to kill me.

It was the question I continued to ask myself three years later.

How the hell could you not have known?

Because I didn’t want to know?

Because by the time I began to wonder, it was already too late?

A sudden gust of wind hit the unmarked police sedan, shaking me out of my thoughts. I took note of the distant snow-dusted mountains. Sharp-edged blue silica and granite outlined against darker blue skies. Not much farther now.

I glanced in the side mirror. Caught a slice of my own reflection: dark hair, dark sunglasses, dark and unshaven jaw. The road behind us was empty except for the small speck of an RV we’d passed minutes earlier.

“That’s the turnoff up ahead?” Lt. Stagge asked, double-checking the directions recited by the mechanical voice of the GPS.

“Yeah.”

A flash flood had taken out the faded, bullet-riddled sign over a year ago. The road department never got around to replacing it. Nobody lived out this way. Not even the deer that Deer Lane had been named for.

“Beautiful country,” Lt. Stagge said, and I laughed.

He looked away from the road, a trace of surprise on his face as he met my disbelieving gaze. “I grew up in Lompoc. I like the high desert,” he said.

“Sure.” I stared ahead at the worn and fading highway. Grayed and pitted asphalt, edges crumbling away to sand and sagebrush. The morning sunshine cast luminous golden light over the stark and unforgiving landscape.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched Lt. Stagge. Not that I suspected him of anything; it was just hard to tune him out.

He was about my age. Late thirties. Medium height, compact build. Light eyes that could have been blue or maybe green. Gray? Square shoulders, square jaw. The kind of haircut that only looked good on a marine. Which, he’d probably been before he’d joined LAPD.

He had that kind of blunt, serviceable attractiveness you see in a lot of those Died in the Line of Duty photos.

I did not want Lt. Stagge dying in the line of duty protecting me.

Enough people had already died thanks to me.

That’s what happens when you fall in love with a psychopath.


The first time I ever saw Ricky Barbour, he was testifying in court against another inmate who had assaulted and nearly killed a prison guard.

Ricky was in his early twenties then. Blond and bearded, with soft brown eyes. In addition to being handsome, he was polite and well-spoken. A very different animal from the predators he was speaking out against. I was impressed by his courage.

Pretty white boys don’t do well in the prison system, and his guts and integrity made me curious about his case.

What I learned was not encouraging. Ricky was starting a life sentence for second degree murder. The woman he’d been living with had come at him with a broken beer bottle, and in the struggle, he’d accidentally killed her. His lawyer failed to get the charges reduced to self-defense or even manslaughter because the girlfriend had placed a couple of domestic violence calls previous to the fatal incident. Worse, Ricky was strongly suspected in the death of his girlfriend’s ex-husband.

There hadn’t been enough evidence to charge him in the husband’s death. And there was a good chance that if he was guilty, he hadn’t acted alone. If he’d had an accomplice—assuming he’d been involved at all—she was dead now. In the case of Mariah Evans, the evidence against Ricky was mostly circumstantial, but there was a lot of it. Enough to convince a jury.

You get cynical covering the crime beat. But I kept thinking of how Ricky had acted to save that guard—and then how he’d spoken up in court against vicious offenders he still had to live with. He had to know he was risking his own safety, but he had done the right thing. I couldn’t forget the quiet dignity he’d displayed despite the way the defense had tried to discredit him.

I went to see him at the Central Men’s Jail in Orange County.


“You want to stop?” Lt. Stagge asked, breaking the silence. “You need to stretch your legs?”

“No.”

No, I just wanted to get to where we were going. I did not want to admire scenery or make conversation. I did not want the lieutenant feeling like he had to be courteous, to pretend this was anything but an unwelcome assignment.

What was his story?

Not that I really cared. It was just my natural curiosity.

Or maybe my unnatural curiosity.

My mother was a big fan of the TV show The Hardy Boys when she was growing up. Particularly of Parker Stevenson, which was how I ended up with the first name Parker.

Being named for a prime-time sleuth might even explain my unhealthy interest in other people’s business. During the trial—the second trial—some clever asshole at the Times had referred to me as “Nosy Parker,” and the other papers, including my own, had picked it up.

Anyway, aside from a tendency toward small talk, Lt. Stagge seemed professional and competent, and that was all I needed from him. That was all I had needed from any man for a long time.

Joshua trees, twisted and spiked silhouettes, flashed by in the bright spring sunlight. Despite the ongoing drought, gold and purple wildflowers supplied startling bursts of color in the otherwise bleached landscape.

Another jackrabbit darted out across the road. The last time, Lt. Stagge had veered slightly, and the rabbit lived to endanger other motorists. This time a jeep was coming from the opposite direction, and Stagge never swerved. The rabbit hit the tires with a grim thump, the jeep zoomed past, and we sped on our silent way.

Author Bio:

A distinct voice in gay fiction, multi-award-winning author JOSH LANYON has been writing gay mystery, adventure and romance for over a decade. In addition to numerous short stories, novellas, and novels, Josh is the author of the critically acclaimed Adrien English series, including The Hell You Say, winner of the 2006 USABookNews awards for GLBT Fiction. Josh is an Eppie Award winner and a three-time Lambda Literary Award finalist.

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