Thursday, June 30, 2016

Spotlight on Sheri Fredricks' Lord of the Jungle

Blurb: A shipwrecked woman.
The uncharted island.

Jane Porter craves a thrill but when marauders scuttle her ship and she washes ashore onto an island inhabited by animals and one sexy wildman, that’s when the real adventure begins.

Dependent upon her vine-swinging rescuer, who acts more ape than musclebound man, she places her survival in his rugged hands and relinquishes her desire to his raw sensuality.

For more seasons than he can remember, Tarzan has lived among the tiny island’s gorilla band. Instinct propels him to save the female he finds half-dead in the surf, but gazing into her eyes, his mating tool dances an ancient tribal beat.

While the pirates search for their bounty, Tarzan and Jane are in danger. To survive, they’ll have to hang onto each other as they swing for dear life. Their adrenaline-rush of passion among the canopy of the jungle threatens not only a dizzying fall from a great height, but also into love.

Available atAmazon

 About the Author: Always on the hunt for the uncommon things in life, award-winning author Sheri Fredricks thrives on creating romantic adventures. 

A former engineering secretary, she lives on California’s beautiful central coast. "I wanted to move away from a profession of inflexible right angles and create an unboxed world with no boundaries." A voracious reader since her early years, Sheri found her brain crowded with stories of her own. "Ultimately," she says, "my husband encouraged me to write them all down."

Winner of the Paranormal Romance Guild Reviewer’s Choice Award, and a Finalist multiple times for InD’Tale eMagazine’s Reward Of Novel Excellence award (RONE), she has numerous five-star reviews everywhere eBooks are sold.

Sheri loves to spend time at home and connecting with readers. A computer hutch keeps her focused on creating stories, but the panoramic view of life on a ranch will call her outside to play in the sun.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

Melissa Foster's Bad Boys After Dark: Mick Virtual Book Tour (+Giveaway)

Indulge your inner vixen…

Bad Boys After Dark #1
Melissa Foster
Releasing June 22nd, 2016
World Literary Press

Indulge your inner vixen…

Meet the Bad Boys… Four sinfully sexy, fiercely loyal, uber alpha brothers about to fall head over heels for their leading ladies. If dirty talk, cursing, or raw, passionate sex turns you off, the After Dark books are not for you, because everything’s naughtier after dark.


Amanda Jenner is done being a boring-man magnet and has finally taken control of her love life. As any smart paralegal would, she’s researched the hell out of how to seduce a man. She’s waxed, primped, and ready to put her newfound skills into action—and a masquerade bar crawl is the perfect venue for her solo coming-out party.

Entertainment attorney Mick Bad lives by two hard and fast rules. He never mixes business with pleasure, and he doesn’t do relationships, which makes the anonymity of a masquerade bar crawl the perfect place for a onetime hookup.

Amanda thinks she’s hit the jackpot when she bags a tall, dark, and sinfully delicious masked man—until she discovers the man she’s made out with is her off-limits boss. Mick’s already crossed a line he can never uncross, and one taste of sweet and sexy Amanda has only whet his appetite. When Mick offers to give Amanda a lesson in seduction—no strings, no regrets, and for goodness’ sake, come Monday, no quitting—the tables turn, and Mick’s totally unprepared for the lessons this sweet temptress provides.

Amazon | B & N | Google Play | iTunes | Kobo   

Melissa Foster is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling and award-winning author. She writes sexy and heartwarming contemporary romance, new adult romance, and women's fiction with emotionally compelling characters that stay with you long after you turn the last page. Melissa's emotional journeys are lovingly erotic, perfect beach reads, and always family oriented. 

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Thursday, June 16, 2016

Taylor V. Donovan's Heavy Hitters Virtual Tour (+Giveaway)

His toughest opponent is himself.

Caribbean Tales #1
Taylor V. Donovan
Releasing June 24th, 2016

His toughest opponent is himself.

World Boxing Champion Santino Malavé González has been fighting since he was a kid. Poverty, domestic violence, and emotional abuse were early contenders. Guilt and self-loathing were beaten into him at an impressionable age, and now machismo, an integral part of the Latino culture, rules his life. In the ring he’s undefeated. Outside the ropes life constantly hits him below the belt. It takes a sucker punch from his best friend to finally knock the denial out of him and force him to face his true nature like a real man.

A natural born entertainer, Luca Jenaro Betancur Ferrer has grown up serving God, performing, pursuing a career in music, and celebrating life among his tight-knit Catholic family under the scorching Puerto Rican sun. Singing the wrong note on stage is not a mistake the multi-platinum award-winning singer would ever allow. Falling in love with a man is not a transgression his devout family may ever accept. The ties that bind him are strong, but the pull toward his childhood best friend may just be enough to tear it all to shreds.

Anger, mistakes, bigotry, and the need to conform put up a good fight throughout their life journeys. Their religious and chauvinistic society constantly challenges their pursuit of happiness, and only time will tell if their relationship will survive the battles, or if they’ll lose each other by technical knockout. 

*Standalone Gay Romance Saga

Excerpt“Déjalo tranquilo, canto ’e borrachón!” Santi couldn’t see him, but he knew Julito had jumped their dad from behind. Julito had done the same thing many times to protect him and Mami. This wasn’t the first night Papi showed up drunk and completely out of control. “Leave him alone!”
“You want a taste of my belt too, you fucking freeloader?” Papi reached behind him and yanked Julito’s hair. “I don’t give a shit that you’re twenty years old. You should be married and out of my house already.”
Santi got up from the floor and walked toward the bed on trembling legs. He positioned himself between his mom and his dad. He couldn’t let Papi hit her again. His fist was too big. It hurt too much.
“I’ve stayed here to protect Mami and my brother and sister from you.” Julito bit Papi’s forearm and punched him in his side. “And don’t call me a freeloader. I happen to have a job. Do you remember what that is?”
Santi blinked rapidly and took a peek at his mom. She was still crying and holding her nose.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Papi grunted, trying to free himself from Julito’s hold but failing miserably, thank God. He was running out of steam. The alcohol was getting the best of him.
“I’m the one who took a shit job as a bellhop at a local parador so I could watch over my family and bring some money to the house,” Julito said, his arm firmly wrapped around Papi’s neck.
“You can’t talk to me that way.”
“I’m the one who’s had enough of watching you beat my mother and little brother to a pulp,” Julito kept going. “I’m the one who’s tired of seeing you sabotage Santi’s boxing career.”
“He can’t have a boxing career,” Papi snarled, and Santi took a step back. “He’s a fucking pato. He has no place in the ring, and that’s your mother’s fault. The only reason I hit her is because she gave me a maricón for a son.”
“I’ll have a boxing career. I’m gonna get married and have kids, and they’re gonna have all the things you didn’t give me,” Santi yelled. “I’ll have the best boxing career ever. I’m not a maricón. I’m gonna prove you wrong!”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he literally spat out. “Tell you what. If that ever happens, I’ll kiss your goddamn feet and beg you for forgiveness.”
“Then get ready for it,” Santi growled, “because I swear on Ma’s life I’ll never be gay, and you’ll be groveling in no time.”
There. That should convince his equally superstitious dad of how serious Santi really was. If he were lying, he’d never tempt fate like that. Not when there were so many bad spirits out there trying to get theirs.  
“Santi has the potential to reach the top,” Julito stated. “He’s won the Silver Gloves three times, and he’ll win the National Golden Gloves if he gets a chance to compete. He’s motivated. Unlike me, he can be a champion, and you haven’t done a damn thing to help him achieve his dream.”
“He needs to learn to behave like a man before he can—”
“I am a man.” Heat flushing through his body, Santi swatted his dad’s arm when he threw a punch. “I make money and buy my own things. I’m more man than you’ve ever been,” he blurted, sick of hearing the same thing over and over.
Julito tightened his choke hold and pulled Papi away from Santi. “What he needs is a good trainer that will help him be mentally and physically stronger,” he carried on in a firm tone. “We all know a few trainers who’d love to work with Santi, so finding one shouldn’t be hard. Hell, Tío Miguel is willing and ready to take him, even though you’ve been a total shit to your own brother and mom.”  
“He won’t get any of that,” Papi yelled, thumping his chest. “I’m the only one who was willing to work with him.”
Santi fisted his hands by his side. “I can get anything I want.” He fought the urge to introduce his right jab to his dad’s face. His jaw looked very tempting right about now. 
“You know that’s not true, Pa.” Julito said as he gave him a look, warning him to stay put. “But even if it were, you’re not good for Santi.”
Papi thumped his chest repeatedly. “I’m the best trainer he could ever have.”
Julito laughed humorlessly. “Promoters don’t want to deal with you.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “You’re toxic. Everything around you is toxic and the environment you provide isn’t good for Santi. We don’t have money to pay for memberships and gyms and no one will touch him as long as you’re around. We’ve got to find sponsors willing to pick up the tab, and you’ve alienated everyone. Santi needs a good team in his corner, and he’ll get it in a heartbeat if you’d just step aside. He has a chance, Pa. Stop messing with his head and let him go.”
Santi gulped and looked at his older brother. Julito’s support and confidence in his ability meant the world to him. He was so touched he could’ve hugged Julito—if only men were allowed to express themselves that way.
“He doesn’t deserve a boxing career. None of you do! I dedicated years of my life to train all of you, and for what?” Papi yelled, throwing his arms in the air and glaring at Santi. “Héctor decided he wanted money more than he wanted to go pro, you were a disgrace in the boxing ring, always complaining about the pain, and this little pussy turned out to be a maricón.” He spat on the floor and tried to kick Santi. “You’re a bunch of good for nothings… Buenos para nada… You’ve wasted my time.”
“I’m not a maricón,” Santi said, swiftly moving to the side. “I’m not.” Breaths bursting in and out, he gripped the mattress and swallowed hard.
Mami was right. He hadn’t touched a boy. He certainly wasn’t in love with one. He could fix himself. It wasn’t too late to make things right.
He didn’t want people laughing at him.
He didn’t want to get sick.
He didn’t want to die.
“Héctor didn’t decide he wanted money more than he wanted to go pro. He decided he needed to eat better and buy clothes for us and himself more than he wanted to fight,” Omayra said from the door. “He had to make money fast. You weren’t providing for us, and Mami was working herself to death trying to make ends meet. She’s still doing the same. You’ve destroyed this family. Vanessa got pregnant as soon as she could because she was desperate to get away from you, and now you won’t even let her come visit us!” Breathing noisily, she pointed a trembling finger at him and screamed, “You’ve done nothing for any of us other than criticize, put Mami down, and beat on her and the boys.”
“Should’ve beaten the shit out of you, too,” Papi spat. “I should’ve shown you your damn place. You’re sixteen years old. It’s time you learned.”
“Stay out of this, Omayra,” Mami said softly, wiping blood from her nose. “Please.”
“My place will never be under the fist of a man,” Omayra rolled her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Not even my dad’s. Things have changed. Women work, run countries, lead in lots of fields, and we have a say in a relationship!”
Santi looked at his sister with bulging eyes. “Don’t talk,” he mouthed at her, even though he’d been doing the same seconds earlier. “He’ll go after you.”
And if he does, I’ll punch the shit out of him. I’ll punch him until he’s swallowing blood and begging me to let him go.
A sudden coldness hit his core. He barely recognized himself. He didn’t know what was going on in his head.
Talking back to one’s parents wasn’t acceptable, not even when one was a grown-up. They all knew that, and, usually everyone stayed out of Papi’s way when he was drunk, but tonight they all seemed bent on egging him on. Santi knew he couldn’t take on any more abuse, and Omayra had always been outspoken about her opinions on machismo and domestic violence. But Julito kept quiet more often than not. He made sure things didn’t get more violent than usual without saying a word. So what the hell was he doing tonight?

Pre-Order Links Available Soon
Check Taylor's website for more information

Taylor V. Donovan is a compulsive reader and author of gay romance and suspense. She is optimistically cynical about humanity and a lover of history, museums, and all things 80s. She shamelessly indulges in mind-numbing reality television, is crazy about fashion, and passionate about civil rights and equality for all.

When she’s not writing or making a living in the busiest city in the world, Taylor can be found raising her two daughters and their terribly misbehaved furry baby in their home.

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Thursday, June 9, 2016

Julie Ann Walker's Hot as Hell Freebie Blitz


Deep Six #0.5
Julie Ann Walker
Released June 1st, 2016
Sourcebooks Casablanca

An exciting prequel novella to New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julie Ann Walker's thrilling new Deep Six series
Harper Searcy didn't want to fall for a soldier, but she couldn't forget her hot Navy SEAL friend or their one night stand. When the U.S. Embassy in Pakistan where she works comes under attack by terrorists, there is only one man she knows who would move heaven and earth to rescue her: Michael "Mad Dog" Wainwright.
"The Deep Six series is going to be one exhilarating ride." -RT Book Reviews


Deep Six #2
Julie Ann Walker
Releasing July 5th, 2016
Sourcebooks Casablanca

The former SEALs of The Deep Six return in a sizzling series from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julie Ann Walker.

Maddy Powers's life revolves around cocktail parties, political fundraisers, and charity events - but she can't forget the daring former SEAL who appropriated her father's yacht a few months ago ... or the scorching kiss they shared before he disappeared into the deep blue sea.

Bran Pallidino carries a dark secret behind his lady-killer eyes - one that keeps him from pursuing a serious relationship with Maddy. But when she's taken hostage during a trip to the Dry Tortugas, the men of Deep Six Salvage drop their treasure hunt for a sunken galleon and embark on a dangerous mission to save Maddy.

As they fight her merciless kidnappers, they discover this isn't a simple hostage situation, but something far more sinister. Passion boils between Bran and Maddy, but what good is putting their hearts on the line if they don't survive the dawn?


Julie Ann Walker is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of award-winning romantic suspense. She has won the Book Buyers Best Award, been nominated for the National Readers Choice Award, the Bookseller's Best Award, the Australian Romance Reader Awards, and the Romance Writers of America's prestigious RITA award. Her books have been described as "alpha, edgy, and downright hot." Most days you can find Julie on her bicycle along the lake shore in Chicago or blasting away at her keyboard, trying to wrangle her capricious imagination into submission.

Be sure to sign up for Julie's occasional newsletter at:

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Gina L. Maxwell's Shameless Release Blast (+Giveaway)

Enter to Win a $25.00 Amazon Gift Card...TWO WINNERS!

Playboys in Love #1
Gina L. Maxwell
Releasing May 30th, 2016
Entangled: Scorched

People say I’m shameless. They’re right.

I like my work dirty and my sex even dirtier. It takes a hell of a lot to tilt my moral compass, and dancing as a private stripper for horny suburbanites doesn’t even register. Neither does hooking up with them afterward whenever the mood strikes—it’s one of the bennies of the job—but it’s always a one-and-done. I don’t do repeat performances. Ever.

Until I meet the one girl in all of Chicago not interested in dry humping my junk. She’s all I can think about, and that’s a problem, because I made sure she wants nothing to do with me. But I’ve seen her deepest secrets, her darkest fantasies, and they match mine to a fucking T.

I want her. Bad.

Now I need to show her how good it can feel…to be shameless.

Chapter One


If such a thing as a Landlords of Chicago Convention existed, and said convention had an award for Worst Landlord of a Multi-Unit Building, mine would win by a landslide. A freaking landlord landslide.

Cursing his name for the umpteenth time in the last half hour, I wrap a Band-Aid around the cut in my thumb I’d acquired trying to unclog the pipes under my bathroom sink. God forbid Walter would actually do his job and call a plumber for me.

Since I’d moved into my small apartment in the South Shore area, my hot water heater, oven, and window A/C unit had all taken a crap at one point or another—just a few of the perks of living in a building so old that it predates the invention of the elevator—and each time it had taken Walter weeks to get them fixed.

But I’m nothing if not independent and self-reliant—traits born of being the child of workaholic parents. I’d managed to repair my garbage disposal and replace the tank assembly in my toilet by browsing the almighty Google and ignoring all my girly squeamishness at the ick factor of both. Neither instance had been pretty, but it wasn’t anything a hot shower and the satisfaction of a job well done couldn’t wash away.

Unfortunately, my stupid bathroom sink pipes aren’t going to be added to that list of accomplishments anytime soon. I don’t know if the slip nuts (thank you, Google Images) had been screwed on by the Incredible Hulk or fused in place by the lesser known supervillain Rust Man. Either way, those suckers aren’t budging for a mortal female with minimal experience handling a pipe wrench. (Feel free to insert dirty joke here.)

I glare at the standing water in the sink, hands on my hips, willing it to magically go down. I’m so focused on trying to Jedi-mind-trick the bastard into submission that I jump when my phone rings. Jogging into the living room, I snatch up the cell and answer as I plop onto the couch.

“Hey, you,” I say, greeting my best friend Addison Paige. “Aren’t you supposed to be burning the midnight oil?”

“It’s only seven p.m., but I’m sure I’ll still be here when midnight rolls around,” Addison says wryly. “You writing your paper?”

I laugh. Calling my masters thesis on social work a paper was like calling the Taj Mahal a chapel. I’ve been working on it for two years, and I’m almost—almost—done. Turning it in is the last step in getting my dual degree. Then I can finally get a job in my field and start making some real money instead of the piddly-ass wages I make as an intern and part-time waitress. (And then move.)

“Surprisingly, no,” I say. “I’m still trying to fix the clog in my bathroom sink, but all I’ve managed to do is pinch my thumb. Luckily, I managed to staunch the flow before I bled out all over the floor.”

“Damn good thing, because if you die before I get my fun friend back, I’ll kill you myself.”

“You know what I love about you?” I ask, laying the sarcasm on thick. “It’s that you make complete sense when you threaten me. I think it’s what makes you the best lawyer ever.”

“And I love that you love that about me. And also that you repeatedly tell me I’m the best lawyer ever instead of acknowledging my pathetic peon status. This boys club of a law firm isn’t going to give me my own cases anytime soon.”

“Nonsense. It’s only a matter of time before they see your brilliance and make you a partner,” I say with confidence. “Wait—since when am I not your ‘fun’ friend? I’m fun.”

“Seriously? When was the last time you went out? For fun. Not for school or work or any other life-sucking activity. Like, to a dance club or a bar or a fucking baseball game? I don’t know…anything.”

I open my mouth to respond with a list of all the things I’d done recently that qualified—because surely there is a list—but came up with nothing. I honestly can’t remember the last time I’d gone out to be social. I’ve hung out with Addison, but that was more lunch dates and Netflix than clubbing and cavorting.


“Exactly,” Addison crows.

Okay, so she’s not wrong. It’s been a while since I’ve had a social life and an even longer while since I’ve had a sex life, which makes me grateful she didn’t bring that particular nugget up. My recent hermit status may have slipped my notice, but I’m painfully aware of how long it’s been (for-freaking-ever) since I’ve been satisfied by someone other than myself.

Completing my masters coursework in two years instead of three, and then replacing school hours with work hours, doesn’t leave me with any time to invest in a relationship. I’m all for casual flings or even one-night stands, but the handful of forays hadn’t been worth shaving, much less the Brazilians I’d splurged on. After my last underwhelming sexual rendezvous, I decided that I wouldn’t drop trou for anyone else unless I’m positive it’ll be worth the pain of getting my pubic hair ripped out by the roots by a sadistic woman armed with strips of hot wax. If you’ve ever subjected yourself to that particular brand of cosmetic torture, you know that’s setting the bar for sexual excellence pretty high.

So while I wait for Mr. Mind-Blowing-In-The-Sack, I bought a Hitachi Magic Wand—God bless the misguided man who thought he designed a great neck massager—and became a frequent purveyor of internet porn.

That’s right. I’m a closet porn addict.

Don’t judge me. It gets the job done. With the right video, I can be turned on in minutes. Then, depending on my mood, I’ll either watch several to build the anticipation, or simply dive right in and get myself off in what I call an “express O.” Bing, bam, boom, done.

But like I said, it’s not something I’m ready to share with the class. Not even with Addison. Not because I think she’ll judge me—that girl is all for owning your freak flag and letting it fly—but because I’d inevitably have to answer questions about how often do I watch it (several times a week), and what kind do I like (the rougher, the better), and do I have a favorite porn star (hands down, James Deen). I’d just rather not get into the gory details of how I take the edge off my sexual frustrations, thank you very much.

“What’s it called when the lawyer is being an obnoxious asshat?” I ask my best friend. “Is it contempt? I find you in contempt of court, and I object. Your argument is erroneous. I don’t need a good time right now, I just need someone to fix my pipes.”

“Yeah, your lady pipes,” she jokes. “Things are probably just as rusted shut down there as they are under your sink.”

Actually, since I don’t use a dildo of any kind, it’s highly likely. “Okay, that’s it,” I say, laughing in spite of myself, “I’m hanging up. You need to get back to work, and I need to do anything other than talk to you at the moment.”

Sighing dramatically, Addison acquiesces. “Fine, killjoy. Does this mean you don’t want the number of a handyman who came highly recommended to me?”

I sit up a little straighter, perking up at the words “highly recommended.” Growing up in the digital age as I have, you’d think that I would trust online reviews of products and services. But things on the internet can be bought or faked. I’d much rather take the word of someone I know, and I’m ready to cry “uncle” and be done with this whole situation. “Who recommended him?”

“Rebecca, one of our paralegals. She said he’s worth every cent and more. I believe her exact words were ‘the best ever.’”

That sounds promising, so I grab the pen and pad of paper from the side table. “Okay, what’s the number? I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”

“One sec, I’ve got another call coming in. Hang on.” And with a click the line went silent.

I lean back on the couch, staring at the spidery ceiling paint, following the bigger cracks and admiring how they fan out with reckless abandon. Of course, they probably knew what I knew: no way was I standing on a ladder and painting upside down to fix them. When Addison clicks back over, I tell her, “All right. I’m ready for the number of my miracle plumber.”

“No need,” she replies. “I just called and paid in advance. Consider it an early birthday present. He’ll be there in about an hour.”

“What? It’s too late for anyone to be making house calls on a Friday night.”

“Riiiiight. Because everyone’s shit only breaks between the hours of eight and five on weekdays.” Addison is just as fond of sarcasm as I am. It’s one of the reasons we make such great friends.

“Point taken, but you still shouldn’t have called.” I hate it when she tries to pay for things. Peon or not, she makes a good living as a lawyer and likes to make up dumb reasons why I should let her pick up the tab on stuff. “My birthday’s not even for another six months.”

“So then it’s a half birthday present. Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to look a gift-friend in the mouth? Have some wine, read a book, tweeze your eyebrows. I don’t care, as long as you let the man do what he’s hired for when he gets there, okay?”

“Yes, Mother,” I say with the tone of an audible eye roll. But then I add a sincere, “Thanks, Addie.”

“You’re welcome, babe. Oh, and make sure you call me tomorrow and tell me all the juicy details. Ciao!”

Before I can comment on the ridiculousness of anything involving a middle-aged man with plumber’s crack being “juicy,” she hangs up. Belatedly, I realize I never even got the name of the guy or his business. I almost call her back to ask, but figure it’s not a big deal. The odds of someone showing up coincidentally under false pretenses as a handyman in disguise are pretty much nil.

It’s been a long week, and that glass of wine Addison mentioned is suddenly calling my name.

Blowing out a deep breath, I stand and head to the kitchen where I have an open bottle of red. For once, I’m going to take my friend’s advice: enjoy a glass of wine and a book while I wait for the “best ever handyman” to arrive and do his thing. Now that I know help is on the way, I’m really looking forward to getting my pipes fixed.


Gina L. Maxwell is a full-time writer, wife, and mother living in the upper Midwest, despite her scathing hatred of snow and cold weather. An avid romance novel addict, she began writing as an alternate way of enjoying the romance stories she loves to read. Her debut novel, Seducing Cinderella, hit both the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists in less than four weeks, and she’s been living her newfound dream ever since.

When she’s not reading or writing steamy romance novels, she spends her time losing at Scrabble (and every other game) to her high school sweetheart, doing her best to hang out with their teenagers before they fly the coop, and dreaming about her move to sunny Florida once they do.

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