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Tuesday, April 21, 2015

DRC Promotions Presents: Vegas Miracle by Liz Crowe; #CoverReveal




Title:  Vegas Miracle
Author:  Liz Crowe
Stand-alone
Genre:  MMF Ménage Romance
Re-Release Date:  May 5, 2015
Host:  DRC Promotions

About The Book:

Ryan and Grace Sullivan have all the outward indications of a happy life: money, success, an undeniable physical attraction that quickly evolved from whirlwind relationship to marriage. But lately, Ryan's become moody and distant. As their relationship starts to crumble, Ryan discovers something about himself he can't admit just as Grace realizes the young man she encounters at an invitation only party, Henri Christophe, a celebrity chef with the most successful restaurant in Las Vegas, is her husband's lover. But Henri holds a secret himself. He wants to be more to both of them.

As they attempt to make their unconventional arrangement work, Ryan's deep-seated fear of relationship failure continues to thwart everyone's happiness. When he finally walks away instead of confronting the emotional connection the trio shares, he returns to find their lives flipped inside out. A sought after hotel and resort consultant, Ryan has yet to meet a problem he couldn't solve. But when it comes to his own heart, he may be too late.


Excerpt 1:

Her skin prickled with exposure to the cool air as his strong hands moved slowly up both legs. Henri focused on her hips, kneading out tension she always held there. But the innocent nature of the moment was long gone. The sensation of his strong hands on her made her want to lift up and expose herself to him. If he didn’t watch it she was going to come right here against this silly massage table.

"Let’s turn you over," he said as he held the blanket up modestly, which made her chuckle. He'd been close enough to finger her a few minutes ago and she wouldn’t have stopped him either so why the sudden propriety now?

She lay on her back as he sat next to her and took her arm on his lap, working through her shoulder tightness. When her fingers brushed up against what was an unmistakable hard on under his shorts, she gasped and pulled her hand away.

"Sorry," she whispered, mortified.

"It’s okay."

Henri put her arm back in place so he could continue to work his way down to her hand, which he caressed finger by finger and into her palm in a way that caused her breathing to quicken.

When he closed his lips over her index finger and sucked, her entire body zinged in response. He paid the same careful attention to each digit and ended with a light lick to the center of her palm, nearly sending her over the edge.

She was panting by the time he switched over to her other arm. She left her hand in his lap and brushed her fingers ever so lightly across the silky fabric of his shorts, just to see how he’d react. He shifted closer to allow her more contact and she stroked his full length twice before he took that hand to give it the same thorough and firm caress. By the time he closed his lips over her finger again, nothing prepared her for the fire of emotion and pure need his lips and tongue ignited.

Henri placed her arms under the blanket and passed a very light hand over her nipples, now hard buds of flesh poking through the fabric. Her breath came in shaky gasps by the time he uncovered one leg and propped her foot against his naked chest. She gaped at his amazing muscle definition as he bent her knee to flex her hip. With each bend, his arm came in direct contact with her bare pussy.

Henri kneaded the flesh of her thigh before moving down to rub each toe, then the sole of her foot, which sent those same zinging, nerve rattling sensation straight up to the top her head. She stretched her hands over her head and allowed the blanket to fall away. Eyes closed, she reveled in the pure sensation of his touch. By the time he switched over to her other leg and placed her foot on his chest again, a low moaning sound had begun in in her throat and had to force herself not to grab him and pull him on top of her. He stretched her knee towards her chest.

"You're very flexible, yes?" His voice was hoarse.

"Yes," she breathed, tilting her hips up to make contact with his arm.

The last time he bent her knee she felt his tongue flick her nipple. She realized he was pulling the sheet off her completely and she gave no resistance. Raising her arms up over her head again, Grace stretched like a cat in the windowsill.

She heard him make a sound deep in his throat before he ran his strong hands from her shoulders down to her nipples and across her stomach. He stopped to knead her hips once more then kept moving down her thighs to her calves and then to her sensitized feet. She arched up and gasped as she felt his tongue again, this time right on her clit. He teased her flesh then sucked briefly before standing up.

Grace kept her eyes closed, her body was on fire, every nerve ending crying out for more. But he seemed to be done so she struggled up to a seated position.

""Would you like a bit more? An internal massage, perhaps?"

"Yes," she nearly yelled out then felt herself blush. “I mean…that’s sort of a lame line, though.”

He chuckled. “I’ll work on my lines a little, after this.” His low, accented voice made her shiver.



About The Author:


Amazon best-selling author, mom of three, Realtor, beer blogger, brewery marketing expert, and soccer fan, Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville currently living in Ann Arbor. She has decades of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as a three-continent, ex-pat trailing spouse.

Her early forays into the publishing world led to a groundbreaking fiction hybrid, “Romance. Worth the Risk,” which has gained thousands of fans and followers interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”).

With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, in successful real estate offices and at times in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are unique and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, frustrate and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.

Don’t ever ask her for anything “like a Budweiser” or risk bodily injury.

Connect With Liz:



Excerpt 2:

At the sound of the key in the lock, Ryan closed his eyes and didn’t move as Henri entered, made a tsk-tsk sound over the mess in the foyer and joined him on the balcony. The sound of liquid splashing over ice and the hiss of the fabric as Henri eased back into his chair brought no response from Ryan. He remained standing, staring at the night sky, unable to form words as his lover sat and watched him in silence. Then he spoke out to the air.

"Just what, exactly were you hoping to accomplish by fucking my wife?"

Henri stood and leaned over the balcony, mirroring Ryan’s stance. 

"I thought it was why you brought her. But I'll say, you were right. She's amazing."  Henri sipped his bourbon and looked at him. 

Ryan turned and frowned at Henri’s deep brown eyes, the eyes that held him the moment they met in Cannes two years ago. That compulsion, the weekend they shared together, led him places he never imagined he’d go and now couldn’t give it up. He shook his head and gazed back out over the Detroit River, remorse and dread twisting his gut in knots.

He shut his eyes once more as Henri’s hands touched his shoulders, kneading, smoothing out the tension in his muscles. 

"You can’t distract me. I’m hugely pissed off at you."

"I know, but at least you won’t be tense so you can really focus on the anger. Now sit so I can reach you."

Ryan sighed, suppressing a smile at the man’s ability to defuse. It was a talent he wished Grace had. Her tendency to ramp up the ante, to find the sore spot and grind her heel into it until Ryan lashed out, made the whole situation much worse than it usually warranted. Sitting, pouring himself one final splash of bourbon, he let Henri work on his shoulders and upper back, groaning as the knots untied and his neck lost some of its rigid stress.

"Ow, Jesus," Ryan yelped when Henri’s knuckle dug into his trapezoid. 

"Shut up already." The young man’s voice sounded airy and relaxed. "Let me work."

After about twenty solid minutes spent over Ryan’s shoulders and upper back, Henri leaned down to his ear.

"She’ll be okay."

Ryan turned and frowned, wincing as the freshly released nerves in his neck sang out in protest.
"You don’t have to treat her with kid gloves, Ryan. She’s a grown woman, a successful author. She's used to being on her own. Just because you swept her off her feet in an admittedly romantic fashion doesn’t mean she needs to be coddled like some hot house rose."

"I think I know how to..."

Henri took his hands off Ryan’s shoulders. “You know what, I don’t think you do.  And that’s part of the problem."

Henri flopped into his chair and propped his bare feet in Ryan’s lap.

"I hardly think a guy who managed to stay married about thirty minutes is qualified to…"
Henri held a hand up cutting him off yet again.

"Don’t be condescending. I never claimed to know anything about women. I just think I have a handle on this one—you know, they one we want to share our lives with?"  He raised an eyebrow at Ryan. “If that’s still your grand plan, that is.”

Ryan pushed the younger man’s feet off his legs and stalked back inside the condo. "How did she get home?"

"I took her."

Ryan stuck his head back outside as he unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it off. "Great."

Henri rose and took the two steps between them quickly, hands on Ryan’s biceps, pinning the taller man against the French doors, his dark eyes angry and hurt. Ryan glared at him.

"Park the attitude all right? I’m just trying to fucking help you get over yourself long enough to salvage your marriage. If you stepped out of your God-damned pity party for half a second you’d see that, you ass."  






Monday, April 20, 2015

RBTL Presents Ill Fated by Rachel Rawlings; #BlogTour


Title:  Ill Fated
Author:  Rachel Rawlings
Series:  Maurin Kincaide #6
Genre:  Dark Urban Fantasy
Publisher:  R Squared Publishing
Release Date:  Feb 11 2015
Edition/Format Available In:  eBook & Print



Blurb/Synopsis:
Some things are destined to end in death. After the first attempt on her life Maurin wasn’t scared. Hell, she was almost flattered. But someone put a price on her head and things are getting complicated. Trouble is brewing in the fae courts and it’s spilling over into Salem. The UnSeelie Dark Guard have answered the call for her head on a platter and people closest to her are disappearing.
Can Maurin master court politics and find her missing men before someone claims the bounty on her head? 

Book Links:

Excerpt:

No one should be awake at four in the morning. Especially me. I ripped the plug for my alarm clock out of the wall around three-thirty.

I forgot about the batteries.

The numbers on the clock taunted me like a green-eyed devil until I finally got out of bed. I fumbled in the dark to make a pot of coffee, refusing to turn on the kitchen light and formally acknowledge the day. I pulled my favorite mug out of the cabinet and filled it before settling at my table.

The dream came every night - technically morning - at three o'clock. I was used to running on little-to-no sleep, this bordered on ridiculous. Yesterday at the range I shot a target in the lane on my left. Fortunately, it had been Mason's and I played everything off by exaggerating my sharp-shooting skills. Someone else could have had me banned. As it was, Mason thought I was being a competitive brat.

I wasn't sure I preferred that to being a sleep-deprived danger to others.

I scratched my neck, pausing when I felt the delicate silver chain. I followed it down to the apple branch charm which rested on my chest. Weird. I could have sworn I took it off last night. I slid the charm back and forth as I went over the dream. Again.

After the first week, I’d broken down and started analyzing it. According to Freud, I had mommy issues. No surprise there. I seriously doubted my relationship - or lack thereof - with my adoptive mother was the cause of the recurring dream.

I fired up the laptop, unwilling to cease my search for answers. Instead of the trippy New Age sites I checked out last night, I went back to my trusty Google. I nodded off twice as I scanned the results.
What the hell did an old woman washing clothes in a river have to do with me? I might have written it off as paranoia or a side effect of all the spicy food I'd been eating, if not for the haggard old woman crooking her bony finger at me and called my name - every time.

I finally got a hit on an obscure mythology website. Bean Nighe, the washer woman of the Highlands. She scrubbed the bloody linens of those doomed to die. Knowing she was fae bothered me more than the knowledge the clothes she washed every night were mine. Impending death I could handle. Hell, I'd slipped through the Reaper's grasp more than once. The Fae on the other hand, well they could be tricky.

The phone rang just as I got up for a refill. The fact someone else was not only awake at this ungodly hour,but calling me, meant it was bad news. No one who valued their life called me before noon unless it was an emergency - one of the perks of my new position as Regulator.

I was now in charge of one investigator, two trackers and a team of cleaners. It was a lot like it sounds. We investigate, we track and we clean up. We clean up everything, no loose ends. You don't ever want to find yourself in need of a cleaner. Late hours came with the new job, hence the “no calls before noon” rule.

I glanced at the screen before answering and recognized the number immediately. It helped I had been dialing it for the last four years - it used to belong to Captain Matthison. Of course Mason, my fae boyfriend and member of the Wild Hunt, was the captain of SPTF now.

We'd been officially dating for a couple months, moved well past first base. Hell, I had a key to his apartment. Granted I hadn’t used it since the night he gave it to me. I'd been dragging my feet, leaving deep ruts in my wake where our relationship was concerned. My track record wasn't all that great. I'd rushed in before, once because I was spelled and once because I wanted to.

Neither ended well.

Things were going great. I was afraid if I labeled it, changed it in anyway, the change would be catastrophic. Thankfully, Mason was a patient man.

Except when it came to a four a.m. phone call. My phone stopped then immediately started ringing again.

My answer was short and to the point. "Morning."

"You're awake?" He sounded more than a little surprised.

"I'm not really sure the state I'm in qualifies as awake."

"Here I was, terrified to poke the dragon, and you're already drinking coffee and talking in complete sentences."

I snorted and took a sip of the aforementioned liquid gold. "Are you always like this in the morning?"
"If you'd let me sleep over you'd already know the answer to that question. Why aren't you asleep?"
In general or just tonight, I silently wondered. "Bad dream. I've been tossing and turning all night. I finally gave in and got out of bed."  

Papers rustled in the background and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, intimate, "You want to talk about it?"

"Something tells me my nightmares are the least of our problems."

"You have no idea. I need you to come down to my office."

I sighed. "Can it at least wait until after sunrise?"

"Would I be breaking the ‘no phone calls before noon’policy if it could wait?"

“There really is no rest for the wicked, is there?”

He laughed and the sound warmed me more than a hundred cups of coffee. "Apparently not, in your case. Now, there's a dirty chai latte and a croissant for you if you're here before Amalie. I can't promise real coffee and pastries will survive beyond five minutes of her arrival."

"It's four-thirty in the morning, Mas. If you know what's good for you, you'll make sure at least one dirty chai and croissant remain unmolested."

"I'll see you soon." He was laughing as he hung up the phone.

Three hours ago, I’d practically crawled through the doorway, exhausted from cleaning up after a newbie vamp who’d broken the Jus Sanguinis Intergentes when she killed her donor. The blood pact between people and vampires had a clear ‘no killing, no exceptions’ clause.

It was up to the maker to ensure their child was ready to feed unsupervised. If something went wrong and the Council found out about it, we cleaned up the mess and the sire was subject to heavy fines and possible revocation of their rights to expand their blood lines. She’d been quite literally a bitch to track and take down.

It had been a long night and it was shaping up to be an even longer day.

I wasted little time getting dressed, opting for a slip-on black jersey dress, eighteen hole Docs and a leather jacket. Jewelry was a hindrance in my line of work. My meeting with Mason could easily turn into a run. Choked with my own chain? No, thank you. Unclasping the necklace, I set it in a glass dish on my bathroom counter. I ran a brush through my hair, a toothbrush over my teeth and slipped into the Between. I stepped out of the alley two buildings down from the station and walked the last block and a half.

Amalie was swarmed by detectives trying to get at the goodies she brought over from the Daily Grind. She greeted me with a warm smile, shaking her head when I offered to pull her out of the fray. She had managed to endear herself to the entire department in record time. All it took was real coffee and fresh pastries. I pointed to Mason's office. She'd make her way over once the starving masses had their fill.


Mason was so engrossed in the file on his desk he didn't hear me come in. He looked as tired as I felt - too many double shifts. Despite an uptick in activity, SPTF was short-staffed due to budget cuts. Without enough man power to staff the shifts properly, overtime was mandatory.

"Is that for me?" I pointed at the to-go cup and white paper bag on his desk.

He finally looked up and gave me a smile which lit up his whole face. "As promised."

I stole a quick kiss, grabbed the coffee and croissant, and settled in the chair across from him. I took a long sip of my latte, savoring the delicious mix of tea and espresso. "Man, I needed this. Is that the case you're working on?"

"Yeah, we've got a real problem on our hands."

"Don't we always." I tried to peek at the file.

Mason closed the manila folder. "I'd rather wait until everyone is here."

"Who else is coming besides Amalie?" My curiosity was definitely peaked now. I reached across his desk, hoping to grab the file.

"You look exhausted. Tell me about your dream while we wait."

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. "I see this for the obvious distraction it is.” Sighing, I rubbed my temple. “However, I'm exhausted, too exhausted to argue. So I'll tell you. Prepare to be confounded."

He listened intently as I filled him in on the nightly visits from the weathered old woman who washed my clothes and hauntingly called my name. I expected him to laugh and tell me it was just a dream, that I had nothing to worry about.

I didn't expect him to look so stricken.

"Bean Nighe." He whispered the name.
"You've heard of her?"

"Of course I've heard of her. How long has she been coming to you?"

I stared at him curiously. "A few weeks. Why?"

When I agreed to give this thing with Mason a chance I also agreed to some conditions. No more flying solo, no more rash decisions or rushing off to play the hero. We were a team, in everything. This was just one of many setbacks.

"A few weeks and this is the first I'm hearing of it?” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, obviously struggling to control his temper. “We talked about this. No holding things back, remember?"

"I thought it was just a dream.” I shrugged. “Honestly, I didn't think it was a big deal."

"It was a big enough deal for you to research it." Agitation rolled off him in waves.

"I got curious, did a little digging. Until tonight, everything I found pointed to deep-seated family issues, particularly with a mother figure. I've told you about my childhood, does that dream analysis surprise you?"

His growl told me he wasn’t in the mood for reasonable explanations. "When did you discover the true meaning of the dream? How long have you known about the Bean Nighe?"

"Tonight. This morning. Before you called me." I held up a hand to stop the tongue lashing I knew he wanted to give me. "I would have told you. I got the impression on the phone there were more pressing matters than my insomnia."

"Is this why you won't let me stay at your place?” His gaze roamed over my face, searching. “Why you never stay at mine?"

"Is that the real reason why you're so upset?" I arched my brows. “Because we’re not having sleepovers?”

"I stayed at your lovely apartment the first night we met."

I turned to watch Aidan glide into the room, stopping behind my chair. Rolling my eyes, I snorted and muttered, “In the closet.”

Mason's jaw twitched, but he didn't take the bait. "Aidan."

"It's almost sunrise. Shouldn't you be hunkered down for the day?" I sighed, wondering what he was doing here. I was too tired to deal with Aidan and Mason and their combined testosterone.

About the Author:
 I was born and raised in the Baltimore Metropolitan area but my family is originally from Rhode Island. I spent summers in New England with my grandparents, which probably sparked my fascination with Salem, MA. I started writing fictional stories and poems in middle school. In fact I had notebooks and notebooks full of incomplete stories and poems. One of which I managed to hold on to and is safely stashed in a box under my bed. When I was in seventh grade I entered a poetry contest in the back of an Archie comic and won, after that I was hooked on writing after that. Amazingly it took almost two decades to find a voice for my snarky, ass kicking heroine Maurin Kincaide and complete my first length novel. Meeting the love of your life and raising three amazing children together must have caused a rift in time because I still can't believe it's gone by so quickly. I'm fortunate to have a loving and supportive family who don't mind sharing me with all the other people in my head.

Author Links:



Other Books by Rachel Rawlings: 

Maurin Kincaide Series:
Wolfsbane #3 Novella
Mistletoe Meltdown #5 Short Story