Showing posts with label Kindle Unlimited. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kindle Unlimited. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 4, 2020

Cover & Excerpt Reveal: EASY REUNION by Tracey Jerald


EASY REUNION by Tracey Jerald - Cover & Excerpt Reveal

Release Date: March 30, 2020
Cover Design: Amy Queau - QDesign
Genre: Contemporary Romance

AMAZON PURCHASE LINK
 

SYNOPSIS

It’s always harder to forgive yourself...

Against her better judgment, Kelsey Kennedy flies in for her high school reunion. Since her classmates are as cruel to her as when she last saw them on graduation day, she has no difficulty bailing on the event for the hotel bar. Only it’s there she comes face-to-face with the most painful part of her past.

And he doesn’t recognize her.

Taking full advantage of her anonymity, Kelsey gives herself one night with Rierson Perrault, the boy from her childhood dreams. Being no one's fool, she makes sure she’s gone the next morning before he can ask any questions.

Ry didn’t realize the woman he spent the night with was Kelsey. But when he puts it together, he’s sick at heart. He’s lost his chance to reconcile with her; the only reason he went to the reunion to begin with. Kicking himself for not figuring it out sooner, he returns home embittered.

When Kelsey and Ry meet again in the heart of New Orleans, will another fifteen years need to pass before they find the right words to say? Or will they finally listen to each other's hearts so their easy reunion can begin?

ADD TO YOUR TBR


EXCERPT

I pause to see if he makes the connection. But even as I hold out my hand for him to shake, I refuse to think about the fact I picked my pen name from a derivative of the hurtful name hurled at me day after day for four excruciating years. Until in the end, it was this beautiful man in front of me who did it in the most public, hurtful way imaginable.
Still, I find it difficult to swallow as the boy-turned-man I never quite forgot doesn’t take my hand to shake but instead lifts it to his lips. “Rierson Perrault. Call me Ry.”
Isaac places his drink down next to him, but Rierson doesn’t release my hand. “Tell me about yourself, Kee.”
There’s a kernel of the girl who tutored him who wants to be outraged and offended he doesn’t recognize me. It’s tempered by the more pragmatic part of me who looks in the mirror every day. I wouldn’t know who I was either if I hadn’t lived through the transformation myself. Instead of slamming both of my hands in Ry’s chest, or dumping my excellent wine over his shirt, I find myself slipping into a mask I know well. And within a few minutes, he’s looking at me much the same way most people do when they realize I’ve hit “the list”—with admiration and respect.
It’s a whole different look than the pained one I last saw on his face, that’s for sure.
Shoving aside the voices in my head screaming at me to tell him who I am, I finish my drink and wave for another.
Time passes quickly as Ry and I keep talking. It feels like only minutes, so I’m surprised when Isaac quietly approaches to tell me it’s the last call.
I feel good—so much more relaxed with Ry now than when he first approached me. In talking about my life, even if he doesn’t know who I am, I realize it doesn’t matter if anyone knows. My lips curve. I got the closure I came here for. Feeling more relaxed with the man I’ve been talking to for I don’t even know how long, I’m about to ask Rierson if he’d like a final drink when he brushes my shoulder-length hair away from my cheek. “How about we get a bottle of whatever you’re drinking to go?” His fingers rest on the pulse at the base of my throat.
The invitation is as open and relaxed as our conversation has been. We’re just two strangers. Only I know there’s so much more that lies between us, that long ago, his hurtful words were my last memory of this city.
If I walk away, we’re a chance at what might have been—nothing more, nothing less.
But as I stare into fathomless blue eyes, for once I want to know what it might have been like if I could have had a date—if I was “good enough” to have been seen with, not just for help with tutoring. I want to know for one night what I should have been able to have felt if I were as beautiful as my grandparents told me I was, as Ry himself said I was. Even if he only muttered it the one time when he hugged me after he got the grade that guaranteed him entry to his first-choice college.
So, I do what I normally do when I find an attractive man who obviously is interested in me—even if it’s only for just one night. I turn off the memories of who and what I was. There’s no place for Kelsey here. Then again, other than with my family and with Angel, maybe there’s no place for her anywhere anymore. If I didn’t know Rierson before tonight, I’d want him. And, my heart taunts me quietly, there’s no way I would have been able to have had him before.
Sliding off the stool, I let my hand rest lightly against his chest. “I have an early flight.” I’m pleased to see the flash of disappointment before I whisper, “I don’t need any more wine if I’m going to keep my head on straight when I touch you.”
His nostrils flare dangerously. “Why don’t you wait for me by the elevator?” I suggest. I still need to sign the bill, and I don’t want him to see that Kee Long and Kelsey Kennedy are one and the same.
Tipping his head close to mine, I feel my hard-won stomach muscles clench when his lips brush my ear. “Don’t be long.” He takes a quick nip, then strides off. Quickly, I scribble my real name on the receipt with a hefty tip for Isaac before following him.
I’ll give myself a few hours to indulge in my fantasies, the ones Kelsey had that Kee will fulfill. Then my ass will be on a plane back to New Orleans, never to see him again.
***
Quietly, I slip out of bed where Ry’s still sprawled. The bed is a wreck, much like my body. I refuse to delve into my heart or mind. God, the things we did…it almost makes me want to call the airline and reschedule my flight back, but I force myself to turn my back to him and tug the silky material over my head.
I hunt for—and find—my bra. I don’t bother with the panties since Ry ripped them off me and they’re lying in shreds on the floor. Sliding my feet back into my shoes, I slip out of the bedroom to where I dropped my clutch.
I flick open the clasp and pull out my room key. Holding it tightly in my hand, I pause just before I open the door. God, he seems so perfect. If only I didn’t know what he’s really like.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tracey Jerald knew she was meant to be a writer when she would re-write the ending of books in her head on her bike when she was a young girl growing up in southern Connecticut. It wasn’t long before she was typing alternate endings and extended epilogues “just for fun”.

After college in Florida, where she obtained a degree in Criminal Justice swearing she saw things she’ll never quite believe and never quite forget, Tracey traded the world of law and order for IT.

Her work for a world-wide internet startup transferred her to Northern Virginia where she met her husband in what many call their own happily ever after. They have one son.

When she’s not busy with her family or writing, Tracey can be found in her home in north Florida drinking coffee, reading, training for a runDisney event, or feeding her addiction to HGTV.

CONNECT WITH TRACEY

Newsletter Sign Up: http://bit.ly/31KVDOe  
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Goodreads Author Page: http://bit.ly/2ucXKeE  
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Amazon Author Page: https://amzn.to/2QDTr5U  
BookBub Author Page: http://bit.ly/2Ne9h9l

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Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Release Blitz for Carter by Elisa Leigh

☠ New Release ☠
CARTER by Elisa Leigh
(Steel Dagger MC Book 6)

Available for $0.99 or Free on #KindleUnlimited
 

The visiting crew was only supposed to be in town for a few days to help us get rid of our problem. O'Neil is in the wind, and a few days has turned into a couple of weeks. With every day that passes, it gets harder and harder to stay away from the first woman to capture my attention in years. She is as sweet as candy and innocent as a baby lamb. I have no right wanting her the way that I do, but every time I get a whiff of her cotton candy scent, I become even more addicted. 

I’m going to hell for wanting to make her mine. Her brother will likely kill me if I try. I swear if she asks me for a Shirley Temple one more time, I’m going to lose it and claim her on the fu**ing bar top.
She knows what she’s doing to me when she sucks that red cherry into her mouth and stares at me longingly.

Find Elisa Online! 
Instagram: @elisaleighauthor
Twitter: @elisaleighauthor
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Thursday, May 9, 2019

Cover Reveal & Excerpt for Unchaining You by Vic Tyler




Unchaining You

By Vic Tyler

 

 




Blurb:


If he hates me for what happened 8 years ago, just imagine how he feels now…

Do I feel bad for accidentally hooking up with the one who broke my heart?
… No.
Should I feel bad for extorting a job that I need out of him?
… Probably.

But like I said, I need the job.

Life’s kind to some people.
Exhibit A: Devon Leo
Hot, brooding loner in high school → hot, brooding billionaire tech tycoon who’s an international mans!ut.

Exhibit Me: Skylar Kay
Your everyday average nobody → college dropout, moonlighting stripper nobody who’s drowning in debt.

The least he can do for breaking my heart is give me a job.
Yeah, the one I blackmailed him for.

I just didn’t think the job was for a position under him.
I’ll have to be careful not to get under him. Again.
Because this time, his reputation isn’t just on the line.
My heart is.



***

 Excerpt:

Chapter 1
Skylar

A slow, synth beat starts to thump, muted, from the speakers all around the dim room. I was hoping for something a little more upbeat since I’m running on three hours of sleep, and the velvety couches lining the walls of the VIP Room are starting to look like plush black clouds at this point of the night. If I strain my ears, I can hear the enthused and muffled whomp-whomp-whomp in the main room where everyone’s hunting -- for money or attention.
The VIP Room is just quiet enough for the patrons sparsely spread throughout the area to converse with the dancers whose time they’re procuring hourly. Of course, some of them aren’t really looking for conversation.
Like Bill.
The pudgy, leering man sitting in front of me looks up hungrily as I lean forward to fill his vision with my heavy breasts. Even though they’re taped down securely, I’m still paranoid that the thin, elastic straps of my black, lacy bikini are going to snap, leaving me with no more than black, lacy pasties with sad, dangly tentacles.
I say ‘bikini,’ but it’s the kind you’d never wear in public unless you want to scandalize parents at the public pool and become a budding teenage boy’s first wet dream. The kind that would never survive a cannonball, and the one that makes your nightmare of seeing your bikini pieces floating up right next to you come true. More like a skinny dip-kini.
“Destiny.”
Bill holds out a few Andrew Jacksons, and I push my hip toward him so he can slip it into the side string of my thong. He takes his time, his dry fingers grazing roughly against my skin, taking advantage of the one opportunity during our time together that I let him touch me. After all, he’s more generous with his tips when I let him brush a feel or two during our hour.
Lowering my voice to a sultry hum, I purr, “Stay for a little longer, Bill.”
He chuckles in that not smooth way -- the sound gutturally choked by his bubbling lust.
“Can’t tonight, baby.” He lowers his voice, trying to sound seductive. “Unless you want to come home with me.”
He arches his brow with a cheesy smile as his fingers touch his wallet.
It makes me feel dirty. Very, very dirty. And not in the sexy way.
For eight hours a night, a few nights a week, my sensitive bitties of skin are slapped on with cash like I’m a papier-mache project. I’m basically rolling around in money, and if you mix in a little paste, you can make a cash cast out of me. But let me tell you, the whole ‘rolling in dough’ thing is an idea that’s only appealing to be entertained theoretically.
I mean, money’s pretty gross if you think about it. You never know where it’s been. Stuffed in wallets, forgotten in pockets, hidden in shoes or bras, dropped in gasoline-laden puddles on the street, handled by greasy, pizza-oiled hands, rolled to snort coke, slid into a stripper’s asscrack.
The first time I went home with a huge stack of tips, I did it. I spread out a bed of green and laid down on it. It’s really not that exciting. But go ahead and try. And if you’re more like me than you are Ebenezer Scrooge, you’ll find out that carpeting your floor with money doesn’t make it any softer.
It’s still cold, hard cash. In a cold, hard world.
I fight the urge to scrunch my nose, instead lowering them to watch my manicured fingers walk up his white dress shirt, his suit jacket lying forgotten next to him to minimize the layers between us. “You know I can’t go home with customers.”
Can’t, won’t, don’t want to. What’s the difference? In the end, it’s not going to happen.
Some of my clients are sweethearts. Just lonely ones. But some men, like Bill, wave around their money using the carrot-and-stick approach. The cash being the carrot, and the stick being… well, their stick. When I say I don’t provide those services, they don’t back down.
They raise their offer.
Bill’s eyes travel over me as he continues fingering his bulge. The wallet, of course. It’s not the only thing bulging in his pants, but at least he knows which of the two I’m interested in, period.
The lines in his shoulders relax as he gives up for the night and leans back against the couch. His doughy cheeks pull back into a smile.
“Shame,” he drawls pointedly, hinting at how much I’m missing out.
Considering that chipmunk sized tent he’s pitching, I’m pretty confident I’m not missing out on much.
But I hood my eyes seductively and pout a little bit. “You can always stick around for a little longer. You know how much I love spending time with you.”
Ten months ago, I would’ve never imagined I could make a man empty his wallet just by changing where and how I look at him.
I still remember my first day at Starlette when Sage, the strip club’s house mom, pulled me back from making my awkward rounds waddling around the floor. It was my first wearing six-inch fuck-me heels when I’ve only ever worn two-inch-high Mary Janes for church.
She pursed her lips and said, “Honey, if these men wanted to look at a woman who looks as miserable as you do out there, they’d go home to their wives.”
She made a science out of flirtation and laughed when I whipped out my trusty pen and paper. Gave me a big “mhm, you do that” when I said I’d go research all about ‘the art of seduction.’
Even now, Sage likes to joke that her greatest accomplishment to date is turning “Sunday School Skye” turn into “Devilishly Dazzling Destiny.”
Flashing a toothy, hopeful smile, Bill changes tactic. “Then how about dinner? Tomorrow night?”
I’m obviously not going to get him to stay another hour tonight. Lowering my voice huskily, I brush back his hair with the lightest of touches. “Dating is against the rules. But you’ll be the first to know if that ever changes.”
My own rules. Nothing against the other dancers who do date their customers. Believe me, I heard some of the cute love stories shared in the back, and even I’ve dreamed about a sexy, respectful millionaire who can’t resist me after a crotch grind, a motorboat, or an hour of very fulfilling conversation in the half-nude who wants to get to know the real me. And then I remember my clientele includes… well… Bill and his ilk.
No offense. Bill behaves (most of the time), and some of my regulars are nice. But even if I were interested in any of them (which, spoiler alert, I’m not), my stomach doesn’t get all fluttery with butterflies when they’re talking about their wives and kids. A club isn’t exactly ideal breeding grounds for a relationship… or breeding.
That doesn’t mean I don’t pretend I want them. I do. I pretend hard.
Winking at Bill, I peel myself off the couch and straighten as I turn around, looking at him cutely over my shoulder. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to handle a heartbreaker like you.”
He chuckles low in the back of his throat. “Baby, I’d never break your heart.”
I feel a little bitter on behalf of his wife. She’s probably sitting home right now on a Wednesday night, helping their six-year-old son with his alphabets or maths or coloring homework, while he’s here, dishing out his paycheck for a few boob shimmies and butt rolls.
But I shouldn’t complain. After all, Bill is a platinum donor to the Skylar Kay Survival Foundation.
“You break my heart every time you leave.” I wink before walking away, swaying my hips and letting my ass shake.
A couple of wandering eyes flit over to me as I sashay through the room. This is about as private as it gets for those who don’t have enough dough to cough up for some actual one-on-one time in one of the Champagne Rooms.
Nothing sketchy happens back there, of course. At least, it’s not supposed to. But it’s not unusual for a dancer to take off her bikini top for the several extra hundreds she’s getting for the same hour-long session.
I’ve never, and I won’t ever. Not because I think I’m better than any of the other women (God knows I’m in just as much of a shithole, if not in a worse one, as some of them). But I’m just not that comfortable with exposing my nips to strangers who don’t even know my real name. Only my ex-boyfriend has ever seen my bare nipples, and that’s not going to change for any amount of money.
I envy the girls who dance here because they love flaunting their gorgeous bodies and basking in the spotlight. But I’m not one of them.
I love dancing -- heck, I wanted to be a professional dancer -- but I’d rather dance with clothes on and not on a stage with a pole on it. I’m a statistical cliche working here out of desperation.
“You can always come home with me,” Bill says optimistically, trying one last time as we head toward the exit. “You know I’ll take real good care of you.”
It does make me wonder whether men’s bedroom skills improve if they pay for sex. Do they try to make the most of their money? Or is it an easy done deal since the sex is an expectation?
I’d assume the latter.
Is it terrible that I assume they’re mediocre at sex? Maybe even bad at it? Horrible? The lose-faith-in-mankind’s-manhood kind of sex?
Either way, I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been around one and a half naked guys. The second one was a Tinder date that finished with a handjob that lasted twenty seconds. We took a longer time taking our pants off. Not our clothes. Just our pants. Like I said, he didn’t even see my nipples.
Tinder Dude definitely made me lose faith in Tinder, and I haven’t even tried hooking up with anyone since. Why bother if I’m just a heated, fleshy replacement for some Kleenex?
At the door, the bouncer stands menacingly with his thick, meaty arms crossed, glaring at the pasty, Pillsbury Doughboy-esque businessman.
Bill knows the drill. He pulls his wallet out so fast, I would’ve missed it if I blinked.
I brush my fingers along his elbow as I press my boobs against his arm, drawing his attention to my cleavage.
“Come see me again, Bill,” I coo. “You know I’m here from Wednesday to Saturday, eight to four.”
Maybe I should become a camgirl instead. I got the script down pat.
Thanks for watching my strip show! Don’t forget to click on that Subscribe button to watch me fiddle my channel!
Bill doesn’t bother hiding his disappointment when I pull away, but the tease is what keeps him coming back every week.
“Destiny,” he murmurs, his eyes still glued to my tits. He raises them to wink at me. “You’ll warm up to me one day.”
Internally, I cringe. I really, really doubt it.
But winking with a perfectly practiced, sugary sweet smile, I croon, “See you next week, Bill.”





About Vic Tyler:


Vic Tyler is a new author of contemporary romance novels.
She has a tinkering sense of wanderlust and loves to travel to new places, explore new cultures, and most importantly, eat delicious new food (yummm). Her dreams include finally having nice handwriting, owning a collection of onesies, and making a croquembouche.

Stay up to date with VT’s new works  → http://eepurl.com/dKoTO-/
Check out VT’s books  →  https://amazon.com/author/lovevictyler


Connect with Vic Tyler


#VicTyler #CoverReveal #Romance #ComingSoon #KindleUnlimited
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