BOOK TOUR: Fake Fiancee by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Pretending never felt so good….

Fake Fiancée by Ilsa Madden-Mills is NOW LIVE! 

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Blurb

A new standalone romance from Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author Ilsa Madden-Mills...

They say nothing compares to your first kiss,

But our first kiss was orchestrated for an audience.

Our second kiss…that one was REAL.

He cradled my face like he was terrified he’d f*ck it up.

He stared into my eyes until the air buzzed.

Soft and slow, full of sighs and little laughs,

He inhaled me like I was the finest Belgian chocolate,

And he'd never get another piece.

A nip of his teeth, his hand at my waist...

And I was lost.

I forgot he was paying me to be his fake fiancée.

I forgot we weren’t REAL.

Our kiss was pure magic, and before you laugh and say those kinds of kisses don’t exist…

Then you’ve never touched lips with Max Kent, the hottest quarterback in college history.

Get ready for breathtaking kisses and dreamy football players…

EXCERPT

Max stalked over to the barrier that divided the stands from the football field and jumped it. The fans went nuts as he brushed past them, some not even realizing it until he was down the aisle. The Jumbotron followed him.

“Good Lordy, what’s he doing?” Mimi asked, clutching at her chest.

“I don’t know,” I said rather weakly, taking the chance to study him the closer he came. He was beautiful, his shoulders impossibly broad. To add to the distraction, his helmet was in his hand and all that dark brown hair was flowing around his chiseled features as if he had a fan in his face. My Viking.

“He’s coming over here,” Mimi commented.

He was. But why?

I stopped breathing . . .right when he came to a halt in front of me and knelt down on one knee.

Eyes the color of a wild ocean gazed at me.

He took my left hand in his right one.

“Max,” I breathed, my heart fluttering.

He gazed up at me. “Sunny Blaine, will you marry me?”

The stadium went wild. In a daze, I looked up at the Jumbotron and felt like I was watching this happen to someone else. Camera phones flashed all around us.

My first clear thought was I’ll kill him.

Aloud, nothing came out but a faint wheeze. Clearly someone had stuffed a giant wad of cotton in my mouth. Clearly I needed something a lot stiffer to drink than this Diet Coke. Clearly my fake boyfriend was a freaking raving lunatic.

He sat his helmet on the ground next to my feet, reached inside it and pulled out a small black box. 

No, no, no!

The box opened, and my stomach churned at the sight of the large round solitaire diamond ring that was nestled on the black silk. I blinked repeatedly to clear my vision.

With deft fingers, Max eased it out of the lining and slipped it on my left hand.

I stared down at it. Then back at him.

I was going to murder the hottest quarterback in the country.

Kiss her, Kiss her, the crowd chanted.

We were the focal point of the entire world.

Max stood and tugged me up with him until we were standing. He slid his hand around my neck and pulled his face to mine. The sky was blotted out as he kissed me.

But I hadn’t said yes! 

I wouldn’t say yes. 

Not to a fake engagement.

The applause of the stadium was deafening. And his kiss—it was deadly. Despite my rage, my body craved him. His lips were hot, so hot, and my tongue met his with a vengeance. We kissed hard, and I nipped at him, my teeth scraping across his lips. But the only one who’d end up bleeding in this scenario was me.

He eased back to take me in, and with a final look at my face he gave a thumbs-up sign to the entire stadium. They went nuts, chanting his name.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered in my ear, letting his hand trail down my arm as he stepped back from me. He walked away backward, eyes on me the entire time. The announcers for the game told everyone who might have missed it that Max Kent had just asked his girlfriend to marry him, and she’d said yes. More cheers came as they replayed him on his knee in front of me with a giant YES written across the top.

I plopped back down in my seat. Frozen.

“. . . did you see her face? Shocked . . .”

“. . . most romantic thing in football . . .”

“. . . luckiest girl in the world . . .”

My face went hot. Even my ears burned. I wanted to crawl under a seat. 

God.

What a lie.

The half ended and our offense came out to the field, snapped the ball, and Max threw it straight to Tate who ran it in for another touchdown. My chest constricted and anger churned in my gut.

I didn’t care who won. 

I hated football right now. 

Most of all, I hated Max Kent, and I was going to make him pay.

About the Author

Wall Street Journal best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She's addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding females. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Ian Somerhalder, astronomy (she's a Gemini), and tattoos. She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education. When she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets and fuzzy pajamas.

She loves to hear from readers and fellow authors. Email her at ilsamaddenmills@gmail.com.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Goodreads | Instagram

BOOK TOUR: Four Letter Word by J. Daniels

Fate. Hate. Love. Lies.

Which four letter word will change their lives forever?

Four Letter Word by J. Daniels is  NOW AVAILABLE!

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B l u r b

Sydney Paige was never so mortified to hear the words "wrong number" in her life. She meant to tell off the guy who broke her best friend's heart, but unleashed her anger on a perfect stranger instead. And now her world is turned upside down by the captivating man who wants to keep her on the line.

Brian Savage is living a life he's quickly come to hate-until Sydney's wild rant has him hooked and hungry for more. Soon the sexy woman on the phone becomes the lover in his bed. But Brian has secrets, and the closer he lets Syd get, the harder it is to shield her from the devastating mistakes of his past . . .

E x c e r p t 

The sun burned across a cloudless sky. I felt the intensity of it bake into the skin of my bare shoulders. 

Waves crashed against the shore, some carrying surfers with them in the distance. A few feet ahead of me, a small child kicked a sand castle and giggled with his father. 

I sat down on a step and slipped my sandals off. 

The sand was warm underneath my feet as I dug my toes into it, staring out at the world in front of me. I rubbed a shell between my fingers as I watched a couple walk hand-in-hand toward the pier. 

They looked happy. I tried to remember the last time Marcus held my hand, or even reached for it. 

My chest burned when I couldn’t conjure up an image in my mind. 

I looked down at the faint line marking my left ring finger. The token I was left with now that I no longer wore my ring. It was subtle, thanks to my naturally pale skin, but to me it stood out like embers glowing in the dark. 

I hated it. I didn’t need a reminder of how I’d failed as a wife. Or how Marcus stopped seeing me as one. 

Maybe I could coat my entire hand in sunblock except for that thin strip. Burn the memory away. 

The idea seemed promising enough to consider.

From my back pocket, my cell beeped with an incoming message. 

I wiped the tear from my cheek as I stood and palmed my phone, expecting to see Tori’s name lit up on my screen. 

I froze on the step, my free hand on the railing as I stared curiously at the message and the number it was sent from. 

Wild Girl. Eaten any innocent men alive today yet? 

My lip twitched, the hint of a smile. 

I sat back down, reading the message a second time as I remembered my conversation with this stranger yesterday. 

My accidental verbal beat-down. 

Jesus. I really let him have it. 

I couldn’t think of the last time I was that embarrassed. 

I told the guy to remove a dildo from his mouth, for Christ sakes. 

All in all, whoever this was seemed to be a good sport about it. He could’ve laid into me and cussed me out. Made me feel even more like a complete shit for dialing the wrong number and not confirming the identity of my intended victim before I tore into him like he owed me money. 

He was more than decent about the whole thing. Easily forgiving. 

And now he was messaging me out of nowhere and striking up conversation. 

Wild. 

He wanted to talk to me. 

Huh. 

I tapped my thumb on the edge of the phone case, then hovered over the letters of my keypad as I stared at the message. 

Did I even want to talk to this guy anymore? Wasn’t this weird? We didn’t know each other. Our encounter was a mistake. A one-time mishap, never to be repeated. 

Right? 

Want more Dirty Deeds? 

Hit the Spot releases on December 6th.

Pre-order NOW!

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   A b o u t   t h e   A u t h o r

 J. Daniels is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Sweet Addiction series, the Alabama Summer series, and the upcoming Dirty Deeds series.

She would rather bake than cook, she listens to music entirely too loud, and loves writing stories her children will never read. Her husband and children are her greatest loves, with cupcakes coming in at a close second.

J grew up in Baltimore and resides in Maryland with her family.

Stalk Her: Facebook | Twitter | Website |  Goodreads

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BLOG TOUR: Professed by Nicola Rendell

At a secret masked ball at Yale, Naomi Costa is literally swept off her stiletto-blistered feet by a man with a killer jawline, a perfect body, and an even-better kiss. They bust out of an emergency exit and have axis-shaking sex. He pours whiskey in her belly button and after they run out of condoms, they have to get creative. That kind of sex.                                                                                                                                                                     The next day, she learns that he is none other than Dr. Benjamin Beck, a brand new member of the Yale faculty and the hottest thing to happen to academia since… well, ever. She has to take his damned junior seminar to graduate, but it gets worse. He’s also her College Master: her boss, her advisor, her everything. And he’s just moved in, right downstairs.                                                                                                                                                 They can’t stay away from each other. They're either fusion or fission or both. They’re making out in libraries, hiding notes between stones, and sneaking off to nautically themed AirBnbs. Hear that sound? It’s the academic code of ethics going up in flames.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

   If they're found out, he’ll lose his job and his reputation. She'll lose her scholarship and be forced to return to the life of lobster fishing that she thought she’d escaped.

And they will be found out, yes they will.

So what the hell are they going to do? 

***

To the reader: Things get damned dirty in this book. The characters curse, the sex gets explicit. It’s an erotic love story with fury. Be advised.

Other tasters’ notes: HEA. Sweet. Funny. Dirty. Muddy. Wet. Inspired by a real professor.

 

Amazon US ~ Amazon UK ~ Amazon CA ~ FREE ON KINDLE UNLIMITED 

ONE: 

I need to drink whiskey from that belly button. Screw every other idea I've ever had. Jack Daniels. Belly button. Naomi. That’s the only fucking philosophical logic I will ever need.

She’s still on the heels of her orgasm, and I want to leave her there just like she is, but I have to take her with me. I have to keep her close. I hook my head under her bound wrists and take her off the bed to bring her with me as we kiss—because I cannot stop kissing her, will not stop kissing her. With my hand behind me, I fling open the minibar and fumble around blind. Chips, nuts, pretzels, what is that, a roll of Mentos?

Jack Daniels, where the hell are you?

Grabbing what feels like the right little bottle, I turn to look down. Gin. I toss it towards the desk. Second try, and bingo. I've got it.

But I’m going to have to let go of her to open this damned bottle. Proof that the world is an unfair and unkind place. It’ll have to be done. I let go of her face, and it makes her moan, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she grips onto the back of my neck with my tie and hangs on even tighter through the kiss.

As I crack the lid, her eyes widen, inches from mine. I feel her cheeks rise as she smiles. With one last dip into her mouth, I force myself to break the kiss, ducking down to get my head out from under her bound arms.

We stand there staring at one another for an instant. Her pupils dilate, and that’s when I press her to the bed. “Hope you’re not ticklish.”

Even as she lands with a cushy thunk on the mattress, she’s giving me that all-trouble smile. She scoots back towards the pillows, her long black hair a gorgeous tangle behind her, the same color as my tie. There’s a tan line at her stomach, and it’s killing me.

“So ticklish. But I can take it.”

        I lie down at a right angle to her body, with my cheek to her stomach. I can smell her wetness in the air and on my fingers.

        “Ready?” I ask. I sink my cheek deeper into her skin. God, this skin. God damn, this superfine skin. I tip the bottle towards her stomach.

“Ready,” she says. I feel her whole body quiver. The ticklish before the tickle is the agony of agonies.

When the whiskey hits her, she grips my hair tight. For one second, I resist all temptation: I watch it all unfold. The whiskey shivers, her body shivers, and then the shivers come out as a jagged gasp.

I lick it off, and she squirms and sucks air through her teeth. I suck it from her and growl into her body. Her feet hook around my calves. I move to her nipples, dribble on a few drops and smear them around with my tongue. I move to that perfect little depression at the base of her neck. Straight-up Naomi. Fucking heaven. Her skin, that hair, her sounds, the way her body moves under my mouth? Lemonade, when it’s too hot for anything else? I can still feel my first orgasm deep in my cock, but I’m hard again. She’s not only wrecked all my philosophies. She’s turned me into a goddamned teenager.

        I grab a condom, from my wallet this time, and tear it open. “We’re going to need more of these.”

        But she shakes her head into the pillows. She holds my stare as she slides her hands all over her body, red polish on porcelain. “Put it here. Put it everywhere.”

Christ. It’s official. I've been pussywhipped in record time.

And I don’t even know her last name.

TWO: 

 Dean Osgood’s voice fills the room. He always talks too loud for the space, always. I notice it’s getting hot in here, and a little stuffy. Late August, and all the linen and sports jackets and menopausal hot flashes.
            Everybody’s eyes still off of me, I grab the second puff and jam it in my mouth.
             “Just wanted to say a few words to welcome our new Master,” Osgood says. Compulsory pause. Hand to God, he must practice this stuff in front of a mirror. “So I present to you all, with greatest delight and excitement, Professor Benjamin Beck.”
            I pay no attention. I turn away so nobody sees me chewing while I pretend to gather up napkins from the coffee table. That’s when I hear a voice, his voice, that voice, saying, “Please, Dean, call me Ben.”
            I freeze. Slowly, with little shuffles of my Danskos, I turn around and stop chewing.
            It’s him.
            It’s Ben. He’s in a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches.
            It’s Ben. Ben is the Master.
            I fucked the Master.
            No, the Master fucked me.
            Hard.
            Perfectly.    
            Oh shit. Oh shit!

            He hasn’t seen me yet. Oh, sweet Jesus, God above. What if I just ran out the French doors right now, just bolted across the quad and locked myself in my room? Lucy could bring me food. I could say I’m in quarantine. My professors could send me everything by email! I’d never have to face him. He’d never have to know.
            Except I can’t. I can’t take my eyes off him. And there’s nowhere to go. My mouth is full of artichoke cream, I’m in the crush of bodies, pinned next to the curve of the grand piano. I’m stuck, staring. At Ben.
            Just the sight of him makes my whole body tighten, and I can literally feel myself getting wet. Let me feel you, beautiful. Let me feel it.
            Osgood raises his glass and says, “Join me in our traditional Durham toast…”
            At that moment, Ben’s eyes fall right on me.
             His face says, Holy shit. 
             I clutch my cocktail tray. Oh God. What have we done?
            All the fellows echo back, “Welcome, Master Beck!”
            Ohhhhh. No.

Professed Playlist

Nicola Rendell writes dirty, funny, erotic romance. She likes a stiff drink and a well-frosted cake. She is at an unnamed Ivy and prefers to remain mostly anonymous for professional reasons. She has a PhD in English and an MFA in Creative Writing from schools that shall not be named here. She loves to cook, sew, and play the piano. She realizes that her hobbies might make her sound like an old lady and she’s totally okay with that. She lives with her husband and her dogs. She is from Taos, New Mexico.

Sign up for her newsletter here to get all the hot-off-the-press goodies: http://nicolarendell.com/follow

Facebook ~ Website ~ Spotify ~ @AuthorNRendell (Twitter) 
IG: @cute_chameleon





CONFESSED is coming September 14th! 
Add it to Goodreads! 

Professed Blog Tour Giveaway

BOOK TOUR: Burn by Elisabeth Grace

Are you ready for more Marco? 

The conclusion to the Duplicity Duet is NOW LIVE! 

ON SALE for $2.99 RELEASE WEEK! 

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B L U R B 

One word.

Two letters.

But those two letters changed everything.

It was impossible to predict the impact I would have on the life of the only woman I'd ever truly loved. No way to know that I would result in her ruin.

I’d suffer for eternity with the knowledge that it was me who brought devastation to her doorstep.

Though I deserved the anguish I felt, to see her suffer was unacceptable.

I would fix this.

Somehow I would prove to her that I wasn't the monster she thought I was.

Even if it meant becoming a monster in order to make that happen.

M Y   R E V I E W :

5/5 STARS

"The grip I felt at the end of Hook was successfully sustained when I started reading Burn. The intense run of Elisabeth Grace’s words seeped right into my skin, making every scene so raw and fully felt. There were scenes that are so hard to read but those just really added to the unique experience this book brought. It was suspenseful, raw, angsty, emotional, and genuine all at the same time! Burn was a consuming read; a break from the ideally-driven romantic suspense, but a bone-deep romance all the same."

CLICK HERE FOR MY FULL REVIEW 

E X C E R P T 

Then the door swung open and there he was. For a brief moment I was taken by his handsome features—his olive skin and pronounced jaw, the sparkle in his dark eyes, his perfect, straight nose. More than anything, it was the pull that remained between us that surprised me. Like I was a planet still circling his sun.

There was a moment when we locked eyes that the gravity of all that had happened wasn’t weighing heavy between us, and it almost caused me to stumble back.

Then, after the moment of intimacy had passed, I was sure I saw dread slip over his expression. I wasn’t going to stay put and find out though. 

I wouldn’t be standing on his doorstep begging for whatever scraps of information he deemed worthy of casting my way. No, I was here to demand what he, at the very least, owed me, and I wouldn’t leave until he gave it to me.

“We need to talk.” I pushed past him, careful not to make contact, and bolted down the hallway toward the living room.

“Emily, this isn’t a good time.” Marco’s footsteps followed quickly behind me.

“I don’t care. Put aside whatever it is you’re doing. I want answers.”

I came to an abrupt stop when I stepped into the living/dining area and found Alexa sprawled across the couch like she was a feast ready to be enjoyed.

Her blouse was half unbuttoned, her legs draped over the cushions, causing her skirt to ride up a bit on her thighs, and her lips slightly swollen. Her lipstick had been rubbed off her mouth and onto her skin. She wore a saccharine smile that I wanted to rip off her face.

I crossed my arms over my chest and turned back to Marco. “Oh, I see. Well, pardon me for interrupting.” There was no disguising the venom in my voice.

His tortured gazed darted from me to her and back a few times before he schooled his features and responded. “Can we have this conversation some other time?” he asked, his voice neutral.

“Marco, who’s this?” Alexa purred from behind me.

I spun to address her with a fake smile on my face. “I’m Emily. We met at the art show a few months ago when I was there with Marco. Back when we were still fucking. You can call me Brandi, though.” I turned to lock gazes with him before finishing. “Everyone who knows me intimately does.”

His fists clenched at his sides and his jaw tightened. Good. Some small part of me was pleased that I was still able to elicit a reaction like that from him.

I swung my attention back to the blonde on the couch. “I’m sorry to swing by unannounced like this and interrupt what was obviously going to be a good time for you both. I just need a few minutes with Marco, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Alexa’s eyes narrowed on me for a moment, and though she was playing nice with me—probably for Marco’s benefit—it was clear she wasn’t pleased with the interruption.

“Perhaps I should go,” she said.

“No!” Marco said, whip fast. “Emily should be the one to leave.”

Not going to lie.

That stung.

A lot.

No matter that everything between Marco and I had been based on lies, the fact that I was so easily tossed aside smarted.

“I’m not going anywhere until we speak.” I leveled him with a gaze that told him I was serious.

“Why don’t you use my bathroom to freshen up, Alexa? It’s that way through my bedroom.” He pointed toward the room that we’d spent many a night in. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

A victorious smile crept across her face, and her gaze swung to me as she rose from the couch. She brushed her fingers across Marco’s chest as she passed him. “Don’t be too long.”

He nodded but didn’t spare her a glance as she passed, his gaze still fixed on me.

As soon as the bedroom door closed, I spoke. “Sorry to interrupt your play time, Marco, but you owe me some answers and I’m ready to collect.”

Haven’t met Marco Valenti yet, Now is your chance!

Hook (Book One)

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About the Author:

USA Today Bestselling author, Elisabeth Grace, has a soft spot for romance novels with happily ever afters and a hot spot for alpha males! She currently lives outside Toronto, Canada with her hubby and two small children. Life is busy, but never to busy for a good story and to share her love of reading and writing with others.

Website: http://elisabeth-grace.com/

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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7276641.Elisabeth_Grace

G I V E A W A Y 

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