Wednesday, 6 April 2016
Friday, 18 March 2016
Fun and feisty Elle is an independent woman with a successful business, ready for her new start in the big city. The bustling streets of New York are not quite what she expected, yet finds the freedom exhilarating. One interaction at the mailboxes with her shy, handsome neighbor is all it takes to turn the strong-willed woman into a bumbling mess.
Jonah Quinn is withdrawn for good reason; he harbors a dark secret. He lives his life in the shadows, playing his music in late night bars and hiding himself from everyone. Except Elle’s cat. His tattoos bear if pain, while music is his outlet.
His silence keeps his shame at bay.
Can one night of passion between the two of them lead to more than casual glances exchanged at the mailboxes? Will Elle be strong enough to help Jonah with his personal demons. And will Jonah break his silence regarding the past which haunts him?
The rules for this relationship are unwritten.
A future needs to be forged.
About the Author
M. A. Stacie is never without a book or her eReader. A voracious reader, with a love of sexy, yet angst ridden novels, she loves getting lost in new worlds. Her need to write did not grip her until after her second son was born, when her previous rambles became fully fledged stories.
She describes herself as one huge contradiction, and though not the most conventional of hobbies, she counts getting new tattoos as one of hers. Along with running, knitting, and listening to loud music. However, she is yet to work out how to do them all at the same time.
M. A. Stacie lives in the UK with her husband and three sons.
Monday, 29 February 2016
Shifters are passionate at the best of times, but at their most intense… Let’s just say you might not need the extra blankets when you read these stories.
11 new BBW shifter stories featuring USA Today and New York Times best-selling authors!
Spend a night (or several) with your wildest and hottest dreams, played out in these steamy stories about big, beautiful women and the shifters who need them. This menagerie of lions, tigers, bears, wolves, and more is busting at the seams!
Marian Tee — The Alpha’s Courtship
Lynn Red — Can’t Quit Lion
Marissa Farrar — Wolf Snatched
Kate Richards — Evening at Animal’s
Dominique Eastwick — Bear With Me
Ever Coming — Breathless For Her Bear
Lila Felix — Alpha Mine
Dara Fraser — Lion to Herself
Becca Vincenza — Alpha Protecting
Lisbeth Frost — Encounter in the Jungle
Skye Jones — Bear With a Sore Head
Available from Amazon for only $0.99! Grab it now!
Keep reading for a super-hot except from my novella, Wolf Snatched!
Damn, this girl was frustrating.
Cole Fraser shoved her back down onto the chair and grabbed the first loop of rope. Not planning on making the same mistake again, he moved behind her and pulled her wrists together. She hissed air in over her teeth, but she didn’t call him any more names—not for the moment anyway.
His nose throbbed from where she’d kneed him, but he ignored the pain. He liked that she was fighting back and hadn’t given in to him. He’d been able to tell from her scent that she was a feisty one, and so far everything she’d done had confirmed as much.
But he needed to prove things to her. He needed to convince her he was the one man she needed in her life, that he could give her everything she’d ever need, and she should turn her back on her pack and go with him. Cole only knew one way of doing that and to do so he needed to take her back to her basest state, to make her forget the role she’d been given in life. She shouldn’t be some bottom of the rung pack member. A woman as vivacious and beautiful as she was should be ruling the pack. She should be their queen.
He needed to open up her mind, and her body, to a different way of life. If he didn’t break her down, she’d get right back up and run back to that pack of hers. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
Securing the rope around her wrists, he pulled the knots tight.
Unable to help himself, he leaned in and pressed his nose to the soft, blonde waves of her hair. God, that scent. It did something to him he couldn’t explain. He’d never experienced this before—that absolute certainty he had to have this woman. He had to have her as his own, or he’d never mate with anyone. Her luscious curves didn’t help matters. The way the thin cotton dress clung to her breasts, hips and backside made him hard, and having her struggling beneath him had practically made him come in his jeans.
But he wouldn’t do that to her. He wanted her to want him. He wanted her to beg him to touch her, to understand he was all she would ever need.
Moving around to the front of her, but keeping his face and body at a safe distance, he picked up the second length of rope. She glowered at him with those beautiful brown eyes, her full mouth pinched, her nostrils flared. He ignored the dirty glares and grabbed her ankle and held it against the leg of the chair. Quickly, he looped the rope around and tied a knot, and then pulled the rope over to her left leg and tied that to the other leg of the chair. The chair was solid and heavy, and there was no way she’d be able to run with her legs tied to it, plus she’d no longer be able to knee him in the face if the desire took hold.
The stance spread her legs apart and he noticed her press her knees together in order to hide her underwear from him. The movement caused her cheeks to flare with color and the angry expression melted from her face to one of embarrassment. She pressed her lips together and glanced away.
He remained on one knee. “You shouldn’t ever feel self-conscious about what makes you a woman.”
“You’re closing yourself off from me. You shouldn’t feel you have to do that.”
“You’re crazy. I’m not just going to spread my legs for you.”
The idea of her doing just that, lying wanton and delicious on her back, those thick thighs spread wide so he could see right into the very center of what made her a woman filled his mind and he felt himself start to get hard again.
He forced the thought from his mind. “I don’t want you to be frightened of me.”
Her head snapped back to center and her dark eyes focused on him again. It was such an intriguing combination—the golden blonde hair with the fierce dark eyes.
“You kidnapped me, threw me in a trunk, and now you’ve tied me to a chair. What else am I supposed to be?”
“I knew you wouldn’t come with me voluntarily.”
“Too damn right, I wouldn’t! I’m hardly going to choose to go off with some woman snatching rapist.”
He jolted back at her words. “I’m not a rapist, Alyssa.”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know my name?”
He thought quickly. “I checked your purse after I’d thrown you in the trunk. Your license was in there.”
“If you’re not a rapist, what do you want with me?”
“I want to get to know you.”
“Most guys would ask a girl out on a date.”
He felt his smile widen. “I thought you’d figured out by now that I’m not most guys.”
“No, you’re not. Most guys I know are decent.”
He narrowed his eyes at her and she shrank slightly in the chair. “Is that right, Alyssa? Most guys you know are decent?”
“Well… I…” She stumbled over her words. “They don’t go around kidnapping girls, I know that much!”
“Is that the worse thing I can do to you? Stop you from going back to your life with the pack.”
“You’ve frightened me,” she said, a blush in her cheeks rising high, giving her an innocent appearance. “You’re frightening me, still.”
“What if I stop? What if I make you feel good instead?”
Her whole body went rigid, her eyes widening. “What do you mean?”
“Are you a virgin, Alyssa?”
“That’s none of your god-dammed business,” she snapped.
“You haven’t found your mate yet,” he said, ignoring her comment. Perhaps she’d screwed around with guys who weren’t wolves—God knows, he’d fucked enough human women in his life, but he’d never taken the binding step of finding another wolf-shifter to mate with. Maybe she had, but he got the impression she was far too well-behaved to leave her pack and head into town to find some regular guys to screw around with. His guess of virgin was most-likely the correct one.
“You know we mate for life,” he continued, “even if some wolves decide to take other mates, they never leave the ones they had at the beginning. The fact you didn’t mention anyone when I talked about the men in your pack means you haven’t been mated yet. Besides,” he moved closer to her and reached out to run the backs of his fingers along the fine line of her jaw. “I’d be able to scent it about you if you had. No wolf has claimed you yet.”
“Is that why you took me?” she said, her voice a whisper. “You plan to mate me?”
He bent down and placed his face beside hers to speak low in her ear. “No, I plan for you to mate me.”
(All rights reserved, Marissa Farrar 2016)
Monday, 22 February 2016
The bestselling Edge young adult box set introduces Beckon Me, a novel by Cindy Thomas. This is just one of 20 page-turning, full length novels for only $.99! Order your copy today!
Her heart…and her soul are on the line.
Everything nineteen-year-old Karina Mitchell knows about death changes the instant that she and her best friend, Rainey, are shot. For one, souls don’t die. They cross over. Only, Rainey’s soul hasn’t, and her ghost is hell bent on haunting Karina.
When Karina begins her sophomore year of college and moves into the apartment that she was supposed to share with Rainey, she learns a few shocking truths from her mysterious and gorgeous blue-eyed neighbor, Eli.
One: Karina has been chosen to become a Beckoner—an immortal conduit of the dead who helps safely guide souls to the other side.
Two: She’s the reason that Rainey’s soul can’t cross over—Rainey followed her back from death and missed her window to be at peace.
Three: Eli is hot. As in swoon-worthy, to-die-for, will-make-you-forget-yourself hot. And it turns out, Eli is a Beckoner, too.
Despite her attraction to Eli, the decision to become a Beckoner isn’t an easy one—it would mean giving up her own mortality … her own soul. But if she doesn’t, her best friend will be left to suffer an eternity at the hands of the evil Ceptors, dark creatures that feed on the souls left behind. After all, it’s her fault Rainey is haunting her.
Time is running out, and Karina needs to decide: Are love and loyalty worth sacrificing her soul?
"A super sweet paranormal romance packed with action that reminds me of why I love paranormal so much." - # 1 New York Times Bestselling author Jennifer L. Armentrout
Cindy has dreamed of being an author since third grade when she won a writing contest for a story she wrote about her deceased great aunt. She hasn’t been able to ignore that dream since and chooses to spend most of her free time listening to the voices in her head and writing their stories.
Outside of her writing, Cindy is happily married and is the mother of all boys. She lives in PA, but was born and raised in NC. Even though she’s lived in the northern half of the US for over a decade, she still very much misses grits for breakfast and every now and then goes on a country music binge.
Twenty of today's favorite YA & NA authors have come together to bring you a collection packed with full-length, spellbinding reads sure to keep you keep you on the edge of your seat and up way past your bedtime!
READER BEWARE: These novels take everything to the edge--and not just the edge of your seat. With authors who aren't afraid to push the boundaries, you get stories that take everything to limit, creating whimsical reads that teens can actually relate to and that adults can enjoy, too.
Thursday, 18 February 2016
Today I'm excited to have the lovely Mary O'Sullivan on my blog talking about different spaces we authors like to write in and her new thriller novel, Thicker Than Water. I tend to write at my desk in the corner of our lounge. It means I'm rarely writing in peace and quiet - the television is normally on, my husband sitting behind me, and my kids constantly interrupting me. I have a busy family household, so locking myself away in solitude is something of a dream.
Take it away, Mary!
The Write Space
There are people who can write, anytime, anywhere. They may be seen in cafés, surrounded by clatter and clamour and a half-finished, now cold, skinny latte. They appear to be focused solely on the tablet or laptop on which they are tapping away. Assuming that no office workers take their memos out for coffee, it is a good guess that the keyboard tapper is a novelist. Maybe they channel the energy of noisy, busy settings into their creativity. Or it could be possible the whole public exercise is about whipping up interest in the finished work. I admire their powers of concentration, not to mention the will power it must take not to constantly order cream doughnuts. However, the space I choose for my own writing has no witnesses to my keyboard tapping – or not- and no cream doughnuts.
Because I started writing when I was very young, and have now reached what could be called ‘a good age’, I have seen many technological changes develop. I learned to write – as in physically form letters on a page - using pencil, then pen and ink. I fell foul of spilled ink and big blots on finished homework many times and ink-stained fingers were the norm. My fascination with the written word began then. I used to marvel at the fact that a symbol on a page could convey a sound, a sight, a feeling. I sat at the kitchen table in my home and experimented with the shapes and meanings of letters and words. As I learned, I heard the gentle sound of my mother kneading dough on a floured board, the crackling of coals in the old range, the snores of our dog by the fire. It was a warm and safe cocoon. It was also my very first writing space.
Some of you may remember the early home computers. They were big clunky things and not at all suitable for plonking on top of the kitchen table. At that time, I commandeered the dining room table for my computer. Since that table was used only on special occasions, which were few and far between, I could leave my computer and mess of notes set up for long periods of time. As computers became smaller, they were moved from the dining room table, to coffee table and eventually to a desk. I remember the excitement of that first computer desk with the special shelf beneath for the tower and above for the monitor. There were little holes cut where the forest of connections snaked through to the wall sockets behind. Best of all was the fact that the desk was in a little space we grandly called the computer room because it would have been too mean to call it the computer cupboard.
This tiny place with the big name became my precious writing space where I penned my short stories and my first novel, Parting Company. Both my parents died from cancer. Creating a fictional short story, where my main character discovered the cure for that dread disease, was cathartic. Short story finished, I was still grieving and angry, so I expanded on it, kept bashing away at the keyboard. It was not easy to find time then with a full time job and a family to care for. I would snatch an hour here and there, whenever I could, and disappear into my little computer space. It became my oasis of peace and quiet. It had the same safe feel as my childhood home where I had learned to form letters as my mother baked bread and watched over me. I was again learning, but this time about the demands of novel writing. Very early on I realised there is no blueprint, just patience and the strength to wrestle the words into place. I grew to love my characters, even the baddies. I looked forward to going into my little writing space, closing the door, and sneaking off into the fictional world I had created. That book, rooted in grief for my parents and anger at cancer, became my first published novel in 2006. It holds a very special place in my heart, as does the computer cupboard.
Computers have got smaller but my writing space has grown. It’s just a slight exaggeration to call the place where my desk now sits a computer room. I have the space to place some of my treasures on my desk. Family photos of course, but also my stones. I love to pick up a stone from any new area I visit. I inscribe the place and date so that I don’t forget .Stones come in so many shapes, colours and textures, they are fascinating. The Russian doll my son brought me from ---well from Russia--- is always near at hand also. When I can’t find the word I need, or when the blank page intimidates, I open up the nest of dolls. By the time I’m down to the tiniest doll, I have usually found a way out of my impasse. Above my desk hangs a poster of Martin Luther King with the opening lines of his ‘I have a dream ‘speech. His words continue to live on and inspire. That poster has many a time given me the courage to go on when I felt like giving up.
I have a lap top now and an empty nest since my sons have grown up and left. I can write anywhere I like. But where I like is the computer room, which used to be the computer cupboard, preceded by the coffee table via the dining room table, and before that the kitchen table in my parent’s home. It’s been a long journey, and one I hope will continue for many more twists and turns. My writing space in the computer room is always ready and waiting.
Thank you to Marissa for hosting me on her blogspot today and thanks also to Lucy Felthouse (Writer marketing Services) for organising my visit here.
Excerpt from Thicker Than water
Maeve Crocker liked to have the radio tuned in as she worked about the house. She didn’t always pay attention to what was on but she was concentrating now as she listened to a renewed appeal for information on the whereabouts of a missing girl. The fourth to disappear without trace in the past eighteen months. This girl was a student named Andrea McGee. Nineteen years old. Two months ago Andrea had caught a bus from the college in Waterford city to her native Dungarvan in the county. Witnesses and CCTV proved that she had arrived safely in the square of her home town at five fifteen in the afternoon. She then left the town on foot to walk the mile to her house on the coast road. But she had not reached home and there had been no contact from her since. A cold shiver crept down Maeve’s back. Andrea, unlike the other girls, was not a prostitute. Her fleeting thought, that the disappearance of the student was more tragic than that of the prostitutes’, filled Maeve with self-disgust. All the girls had parents, siblings, people who loved them. All had a right to be safe.
She switched off the radio, picked up her phone and keyed in her daughter’s quick dial number. It rang a few times before she heard Evelyn’s voice deliver her ‘sorry I can’t take your call. Leave a message, please,’ recording.
Blurb for Thicker Than Water :
When local teenager, Keira Shannon and her father, business man Gerard Shannon, go missing, the town of Ballyderg unites to search for them.
As the search continues rumours of domestic violence, extramarital affairs and criminal behaviour are rife. The crisis causes families and lifelong friends to doubt each other.
The only certainty left is that the town has been visited by evil. Or has it? Could it be the evil one has always lived there sharing history, laughter and tears? And if so, who could it be?
Amazon buy links : http://authl.it/3st
Tirgearr Publishing http://bit.ly/1J6E7ZV
Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/1RpGnhf
Mary worked many years as a Laboratory Technician. Her hobby, her passion, has always been writing. Busy with family and career, she grabbed some moments here and there to write poetry and short stories. She also wrote a general interest column in a local newspaper.
As the demands on her time became more manageable she joined a local creative writing class. It was then, with the encouragement of tutor Vincent McDonald, that the idea of writing a novel took shape. She began to expand on a short story she had written some years previously. It was a shock for her to discover that enthusiasm and imagination are not enough. For the first time she learned that writing can be very hard work.
Mary now has six traditionally published novels, nine eBooks and hopefully more to come, inspiration permitting.
Social Media Links
Please visit my web page at : http://www.maryosullivanauthor.com
Chat to me on Facebook at : http://www.facebook.com/authormaryosullivan
Follow on Twitter at : https://twitter.com/authorosullivan
Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/mary-osullivan/
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