The Unlikable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1) by Deborah Wilde

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The Unlikeable Demon Hunter
Deborah Wilde
(Nava Katz #1)
Publication date: April 18th 2017
Genres: Adult, Romance, Urban Fantasy

Bridesmaids meets Buffy with a dash of the seven deadly sins.

The age-old story of what happens when a foul-mouthed, romance impaired heroine with no edit button and a predilection for hot sex is faced with her worst nightmare–a purpose.

Ari Katz is intelligent, driven, and will make an excellent demon hunter once initiated into the Brotherhood of David. However, this book is about his twin Nava: a smart-ass, self-cultivated hot mess, who is thrilled her brother is stuck with all the chosen one crap.

When Nava half-drunkenly interrupts Ari’s induction ceremony, she expects to be chastised. What she doesn’t expect is to take her brother’s place among the–until now–all-male demon hunters. Even worse? Her infuriating leader is former rock star Rohan Mitra.

Too bad Rohan’s exactly what Nava’s always wanted: the perfect bad boy fling with no strings attached, because he may also be the one to bring down her carefully erected emotional shields. That’s as dangerous as all the evil fiends vying for the bragging rights of killing the only female ever chosen for Demon Club.

Odds of survival: eh.

Odds of having a very good time with Rohan before she bites it: much better.

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EXCERPT:

A study in tasteful shades of white, the large formal room was off-limits unless we had special guests. Mom had set that rule when my twin brother Ari and I were little tornados running around the place and while there was no longer a baby gate baring our way, conditioning and several memorable scoldings kept us out.

Hmmm. Could Ari be entertaining an actual human boy? Le gasp.

I beelined for the back of the house, past the row of identically framed family photos hanging in a neat grid, my head cocked. Listening for more voices, but all was quiet. Maybe I’d been wrong? I hoped not. Both finding my brother with a crush–blackmail dirt–and helping myself to the liquor cabinet were positive prospects. What better way to lose that hangover headache than get drunk again? Oh, the joys of being Canadian with socialized health care and legal drinking age of nineteen. After a year (officially) honing that skill, I imbibed at an Olympic level.

The red wine on the modular coffee table gleamed in a shaft of sunlight like its position had been ordained by the gods. I snatched up the crystal decanter, sloshing the liquid into the glass conveniently placed next to it. Once in a while, a girl could actually catch a break.

I fanned myself with one hand. The myriad of lit candles seemed a bit much for Ari’s romantic encounter, but wine drinking trumped curiosity so I chugged the booze back. My entire body cheered as the cloyingly-sweet alcohol hit my system, though I hoped it wasn’t Manischewitz because hangovers on that were a bitch. I’d slugged back half the contents when I saw my mom on the far side of the room clutch her throat, eyes wide with horror. Not her usual, “you need an intervention” horror. No, her expression indicated I’d reached a whole new level of fuck-up.

“Nava Liron Katz,” she gasped in full name outrage.

My cheeks still bulging with wine, I properly scoped out the room. Mom? Check. Dad? Check. Ari? Check? Rabbi Abrams, here to perform the ceremony to induct my brother as the latest member in the Brotherhood of David, the chosen demon hunters?

Check.

I spit the wine back into what I now realized was a silver chalice and handed it to the elderly bearded rabbi. “Carry on,” I told him. Then I threw up on his shoes.

 

Author Bio:

A global wanderer, hopeless romantic, and total cynic with a broken edit button, Deborah writes adult urban fantasy to satisfy her love of smexy romances and tales of chicks who kick ass. She is all about the happily-ever-after, with a huge dose of hilarity along the way.

“It takes a bad girl to fight evil. Go Wilde.” http://www.deborahwilde.com

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Taming the Rebel (Endless Summer) by Dawn Klehr

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Taming the Rebel
Dawn Klehr
(Endless Summer)
Published by: Entangled Crush
Publication date: August 14th 2017
Genres: Romance, Young Adult

Rebel Hart should be at home taking care of her father after his breakup with his boyfriend, not tromping through the woods at summer camp. He’s had his heart broken beyond repair, and the way she sees it, there’s only one person to blame—the boyfriend’s son. So when that infuriatingly gorgeous quarterback turns up at the same camp, she plans to make him pay.

Justice Brody isn’t happy about trading training camp for actual summer camp. But if he wants to stay on the football team, he has to show that he can be drama-free. He welcomes the anonymity that comes with summer camp…until he realizes the one girl who knows him better than anyone is there, too. Rebel is off-limits, impossibly beautiful…and trouble with a capital T. Still, he can’t stay away. And even as Rebel exacts her revenge, in several very embarrassing and painful ways, neither can she.

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Author Bio:

Dawn Klehr is the author of the young adult thrillers: The Cutting Room Floor and If You Wrong Us.

She began her career in TV news and though she’s been on both sides of the camera, she prefers to lurk behind the lens. Mostly, she loves to get lost in stories –in film, the theater, or on the page – and is a sucker for both the sinister and the sappy. She’s currently channeling her dark side as she works on her next book.

Dawn lives in the Twin Cities with her funny husband, adorable son, and naughty dog.

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Hunt For Evil (ICE #1) by Amy Jarecki

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Hunt for Evil
ICE Book One
Amy Jarecki
Genre: Romantic suspense
Date of Publication:  August 1st, 2017
ISBN: 9781942442257
ASIN: B071JS2JST
Number of pages: 340
Word Count: 90,000
Cover Artist: Dar Albert
Tagline: Who knew battling international terrorism would lead to ravenous passion?
Book Description:
When Navy SEAL Commander Logan Rodgers winds up on a botched mission in the Gulf of Oman, his quick action in saving MI6 asset, Olivia Hamilton, brings him to the attention of the international espionage arena.
Recruited by the mysterious and elite International Clandestine Enterprise (ICE), Logan faces Olivia again, but this time they’re on the same team. Sparks fly as the two compete in a clash between skill and keen intellect, until a French girl is kidnapped by a suspected terrorist.
Posing a married couple, steam erupts between the pair while Logan and Olivia dive deeper into an ISIS kidnapping ring. But when Olivia becomes the kidnapper’s next victim, she enters a madman’s hell. And as Logan races against time to save her, one thing ravages his soul. If he fails, the woman he loves will be lost to him forever.
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Excerpt:
Her heart nearly
stopped when a hand slid over her mouth and another disarmed her. “I’m
Commander Rodgers from the USS Washington, and you’re coming with me now,” an
American growled in her ear. From the girth pressing against her back, he was
solid—but Olivia could take him.
Grinding her
teeth, she threw an elbow to his sternum. He blocked—so like a hotshot. Few
people were fast enough to react to one of her strikes. But she’d nail him with
her second try. Whipping around, she aimed a kick at his groin, but he blocked
that, too. At least six-two and faster than an asp, Rodgers stopped her next
kick by catching her ankle and giving it a twist—a warning.
“Enough. Come.”
Jesus Christ, his eyes were the color of a teal lagoon and they drilled into
her like daggers.
She shook her
head. God, she wasn’t about to go anywhere with dagger-eyes. Not without a
fight.
Suited up in
scuba gear, his facemask cocked atop his head, the man had to be daft. “What
the fuck, Aquaman?” she whisper-shouted. “If anyone sees you, we’ll both be
shot before the first question’s asked.”
His eyebrows
slanted downward over those damned eyes. “Yeah?” he whisper-shouted back.
“Everyone on this boat will be dead in fifteen. If you want to live, you’ll do
as I say.”
Olivia’s mouth
went dry. She blinked, shaking her head. He had to be mistaken. One more day
and al-Umari’s ass would be hers. “Are you off your trolley? I’ve put too much
into this project to have it blown to smithereens. Call off your dogs before
you cock-up the entire op. Now.”
“No can do,” he
said like her hard-earned cover wasn’t about to become the greatest wipeout in
MI6 history. “Sorry to ruin your party, but there’s a bomb attached to the
hull. Can’t be killed, can’t be dislodged, and if you stand here arguing with
me for one more second, you’ll explode into so many pieces, you won’t make a
meal for a goddamned minnow.”
Those are my
choices?
“Christ!” She
jammed her finger under his nose. “When this is over, your ass is mine.”

 

Book Two in the ICE series, BODY SHOT, will release on August 29th
 
About the Author:
Amy embarked on her writing journey shortly after she completed an MBA with Heriot-Watt University in Edinburgh, Scotland. Her first manuscripts were suspense novels and were never published. She calls them baptism by fire—lessons in learning to write fiction. These lessons, combined with several writing conferences and classes, led her to write her first published book, Boy Man Chief, which won the League of Utah Writers award for Best Manuscript, and the Spark Book Award.
A lot has happened since, with some of the highlights being Rise of a Legend winning the national RONE award for Best Time Travel; hitting the Amazon Top 100 Bestseller list; and a host of other accolades.
Amy enjoys the freedom of authorship and the opportunity to work creatively every day. She has lived in Australia, Bermuda and has spent extensive time in Scotland. Whenever possible, she visits the places she writes about to add vibrant realism to her stories.
She loves writing Scottish historical romance, and now she’s adding romantic suspense to the mix. Come along for the ride!
Instagram: @jareckiamy


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Fallen Star by Allison Morse

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Fallen Star
Allison Morse
Publication date: September 21st 2016
Genres: Adult, Mystery

Who killed 1940s screen goddess Gloria Reardon? Her unsolved murder hypnotized the public with its scandalous details and shocked two generations.

Avid feminist and aspiring filmmaker, Kate Bloom discovers long lost footage that holds the key to who murdered her grandmother. Legendary movie star, Gloria Reardon, may be dead, but friends and lovers from the Golden Age of Hollywood’s heyday are still very much on the scene, and it seems everyone has something to gain or lose from Kate’s discovery. Enlisting the youthful and brash film restorer Dylan Nichols as her closest ally, Kate becomes haunted by Gloria’s glittering past. Caught between glamorous Old Hollywood and the gritty, exciting New Hollywood of the 1970s, Kate is determined to find out what really happened to her grandmother and in the process becomes the killer’s new target.

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EXCERPT:

A fitful sleep finally came and with it a dream filled with misty tears of her own, of her mother’s, and someone else’s, too.

The drapes looking over the backyard began to sway as if alive. Kate got out of bed and went to close the windows. The curtains lashed around her. Then she saw the windows were shut, yet the curtains continued to billow and sway. Her heart raced as she watched shadows flitting around the patio garden below and darting across the dark lawn down to the edge of a cliff and dropping into a black chasm.

Run.” A woman’s voice echoed up from the abyss. Kate jumped back from the windows.

Leave,” the voice said, closer this time. Moist heat like the breath of an animal swirled around her.

The presence was here.

She dashed back to the bed and pulled the covers tightly around her.

Everything in the room shook until the window exploded, shards of glass spraying everywhere.

Her skin felt on fire, it pricked and stung with searing pain. She sat up and threw off the blanket. The room spun. A metallic smell filled her nose. The heat turned sticky. She looked down and saw her body dripping with blood.

She screamed.

The door to her bedroom swung open.

“Good God,” Jarvis said. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”

She writhed in the bed and had no ability to form words.

Jarvis ran to her and held her shaking body. “Tell me what happened. What’s wrong?”

Taking in a deep breath, she extracted herself from his embrace.

She gazed about the room and blinked. There was no blood and the pretty room was bathed in the soft pink of dawn. The curtains hung still, and the windows were unbroken.

“I’m so sorry. It must’ve been a nightmare.”

Jarvis rose. “Is that all? I heard you cry out. It was…chilling. Like you were dying.” His gaze became diffused, haunted, as if he were watching something terrible that only he could see. Then he came back to himself and said, “A nightmare? Do you have those often?”

“Oh, no… Yes, I do. I’m so sorry I disturbed you.” Kate jumped out of bed, forgetting she was wearing only a tee shirt and panties.

Jarvis swept an admiring look over her bare legs. She jumped back into the bed and pulled the sheet up.

He smiled.

 

Author Bio:

Allison Morse grew up in a family of actors in Los Angeles; before the age of five she started acting classes, which she adored. She continued in the family business until her early twenties when her curious spirit led her to consider other interests and professions, like counseling and the law. After receiving her B.A. from U.C. Berkeley, Allison went on to graduate from Phillips Graduate Institute with an M.A. in Marriage and Family Therapy and U.C. Hastings College of the Law with a J.D.

Although she loved learning from each of her varied careers one of her favorite jobs was working for the now closed Dutton’s, a wonderful, musty new, used and rare bookstore in North Hollywood with deep roots in Southern California’s literary community. This wonderful, musty new, used and rare bookstore in North Hollywood had deep roots in Southern California’s literary community. Whatever she was doing, books and story-telling ruled her imagination.

Allison always knew that for her, writing is as essential as breathing. But as she pursued her professional life, this great love was consigned to private journals that she filled with musings and story ideas. Ten years ago that changed and she decided to get serious about being a writer.

While continuing to work full time as a lawyer, she kept to a strict writing schedule, took writing classes at UCLA Extension. She joined the Romance Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. Now Allison has completed two novels: a romance entitled The Sweetheart Deal and Fallen Star, a Hollywood gothic.

Allison lives with her husband in a house in the hills that’s filled with books.

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Amnesty (Amnesia #2) by Cambria Hebert

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Amnesty
Cambria Hebert
(Amnesia, #2)
Publication date: August 18th 2017
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

There’s freedom in remembering.

My past is a double-edged sword.

Damned if I remember; damned if I don’t.

Recollection beyond the horrors I already have will change me. Change us.

But what if I’m living a lie? What if everything I believe is wrong?

What if who I thought I was isn’t real?

If not her, then…

Who am I?

Eddie says it doesn’t matter, but deep down, I’m terrified it does.

I’m trapped. Held prisoner by a past I can’t remember and a future that may not belong to me.

There’s a light, though not at the end of the tunnel…

It’s wavering in the distance, calling to me from Rumor Island.

That light, it scares me far more than darkness. Am I brave enough to confront it?

So many questions, so few answers.

I don’t have a choice; the truth always finds a way to the surface.

Finally learning who I truly am will be a permanent life sentence.

Total punishment or absolute amnesty.

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Author Bio:

Cambria Hebert is an award winning, bestselling novelist of more than twenty books. She went to college for a bachelor’s degree, couldn’t pick a major, and ended up with a degree in cosmetology. So rest assured her characters will always have good hair.

Besides writing, Cambria loves a caramel latte, staying up late, sleeping in, and watching movies. She considers math human torture and has an irrational fear of chickens (yes, chickens). You can often find her running on the treadmill (she’d rather be eating a donut), painting her toenails (because she bites her fingernails), or walking her chorkie (the real boss of the house).

Cambria has written within the young adult and new adult genres, penning many paranormal and contemporary titles. Her favorite genre to read and write is romantic suspense. A few of her most recognized titles are: The Hashtag Series, Text, Torch, and Tattoo.

Cambria Hebert owns and operates Cambria Hebert Books, LLC.

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Our First Dance (The Doms of the Cage Novella) by P. Nelson

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Our First Dance
The Doms of the Cage
Prequel Novella
P Nelson
Genre: Romance, Erotica, BDSM
Date of Publication: August 11, 2017
ASIN: B073WCNVTT
Number of pages: 115
Word Count: 39, 291
Cover Artist: VeselinMilacic via Upwork.com
Tagline: The sizzling hot passion only betrayal could tear asunder
Book Description:
We met Calla and Master Flynn as the sub and Dom with so much sexual tension it set the dungeon of The Cage on fire. Find out how their love affair began and why it had to end to protect them both in Our First Dance.
About the Author:
P Nelson has just started her journey in Erotic Romance with her debut novel Take My hand. Our First Dance is a prequel novel to Take My Hand focusing on the characters of Calla and Master Flynn. Nelson calls Vancouver her hometown and is married with one young daughter. At 6.00pm most days she can be found with a G and T in one hand and either her daughter or a good book in the other.

Peculiar County by Stuart R. West

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Peculiar County

by Stuart R. West

Genre: YA Paranormal/Ghost Mystery

Release Date: July 30th 2017

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Summary:


Growing up in Peculiar County, Kansas, is a mighty…well, peculiar experience. In 1965, things get even stranger for Dibby Caldwell, the mortician’s fifteen year old daughter. A young boy’s ghost haunts Dibby into unearthing the circumstances of his death. 


Nobody—living or dead—wants her to succeed. James, the new mop-topped, bad boy at school doesn’t help. Dibby can’t get him out of her head, even though she doesn’t trust him. No, sir, there’s nothing much more peculiar than life in Peculiar County…except maybe death in Peculiar County.
 
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EXCERPT:
I pushed through the doors. They swat at my backside, squeaking with mischief. Eee-hee, eee-hee
Down in the workshop, the cold really packed a wallop. I rubbed my arms, stamped my feet. I rode my hand along the wall, searching for the light switch.
Tik…tek…tik
Fluorescent ceiling lamps sprung to life, duller, deader than usual. Instead of providing warm luminescence, they cast everything in an odd light, everything touched in artificial tints.
Immediately, the strong, familiar odor of ammonia enveloped me. But I couldn’t place the other smell, couldn’t describe it. If pressed, I suppose I’d catalog it somewhere between sweet and metallic. Sorta the way blood tastes when you prick your finger and suck on it. I’d never smelled anything like it before, not in Dad’s workshop or elsewhere.
An overriding smell rode in like fog. A strong, wrong odor that brought to mind mold and rot. A primal scent from a different time or place.
Ching! Ding! Ting-a-ling!
Impatient as a hungry baby, the bell-ringer called.
Click.
The walk-in refrigerator door handle swung up.
Chumpf!
The door released its seal and opened, just a few inches. A pale blue—hardly blue, more like moon-white—cone of light fell across the floor. A swirl of frost slivered out, twirled in the bare luminescence.
Ding! Ding! Ching! Ting-a-ling-aling
Cut off in mid-ring, the bell silenced. Everything hushed. No sound, not a peep, a tick, a drop. Just the silent shroud of death.
Slowly, I crept toward the refrigerator. Which didn’t make a lick of sense as I knew Hettie waited for me. There didn’t seem to be any real sense in maintaining silence either. But any noise—even my own—made me want to scream.
Above me, the light flickered off, on, then sizzled like bacon before settling on dark.
My hand gripped the handle. Arctic cold, I wrenched my hand back. I flagged it ‘till the stabbing needles of cold left. With my shoulder, I nudged the door. It pushed open half-way, then stopped. I followed with a mighty mule kick.
The door opened about as far as its hinges would allow.
I took a deep breath, held it. When I exhaled, I spouted out a frozen, visible vapor.
“Hettie?” I whispered.
I entered. To the left, the metal shelves on the wall were unoccupied. On the opposite side, all but one sat empty. A rumpled plastic cloth lay across the bottom shelf.
The eerie blue light had no visible source, but it provided ample light to see by. Maybe too much, considering.
“Hettie?” I repeated a little louder.
In the back of the unit, where Dad housed his supplies, a hanging shower curtain billowed out. Plastic crinkled. Something moved, fluid behind the curtain’s rippling waves. Not exactly flesh-colored, not much of anything.
Tinggg!
My heart urged me to turn back. Traitorous feet wouldn’t comply.
White snails of fingers crawled around the plastic and gripped it. Slowly, the curtain pulled back. Rusty rings on a rustier rod squealed screeeeeee.
Hettie stood exposed, naked. Except for the black “X” stitching up her innards. Varicose veins twined her legs. Toes exploded into corns the size of thumbs. Her scrubbing pad of hair stood up on end, a static raised brush of black and white.
Clouds had moved into her eyes, milkier than when I’d found her, yet intently focused on me. She showed that awful cavernous smile again. Barnacle-like teeth jabbed out of her gums.
Her lower jaw wobbled, then dropped ajar. Not an involuntary movement caused by gas either, the way sometimes happened to corpses. She gasped, a hissing radiator.
She took a doddering step toward me.
Ding!
The bell tied to her toe tolled.
Ding-a-ling!
Each step forward took great effort. A kind of ghostly arthritis hampered her dead limbs, encased them in cement. When she moved, wood cracked. More wood splintered, her body falling apart. She raised an arm. Dark veins spiraled around it, swimming upstream with determination. They rode toward her sagging bosom, traveled north up her neck, snaked beneath her chin, and set up house on her face.

And still she kept coming.

 

About the Author
Stuart R. West is a lifelong resident of Kansas, which he considers both a curse and a blessing. It’s a curse because…well, it’s Kansas. But it’s great because…well, it’s Kansas. Lots of cool, strange and creepy things happen in the Midwest, and Stuart takes advantage of them in his workCall it “Kansas Noir.” Stuart writes thrillers and mysteries usually tinged with humor, both for adult and young adult audiences.
Stuart spent 25 years in the corporate sector and now writes full time. He’s married to a professor of pharmacy (who greatly appreciates the fact he cooks dinner for her every night) and has a 25 year old daughter who’s dabbling in the nefarious world of banking.

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Social Media by J.A. Huss

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Social Media
JA Huss
Publication date: August 15th 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

When Grace @FilthyBlueBird tweeted her dirtiest, most delicious secret desires to MovieStar @VaughnAsher she never expected a reply, let alone a face-to-face meeting and an offer of a lifetime.

And when MovieStar @VaughnAsher figured out the woman vacationing at his family’s St. Thomas resort was the author of all those dirty hashtags she was relentlessly tweeting at him… well, that was a challenge he couldn’t pass up. He was more than happy to #RockHerFilthyWorld.

@FilthyBlueBird’s online fantasy is about to collide with her real-life reality. And it’s about to happen now.

What started out as a fun, filthy tweet turned into the romance of a lifetime. If—that is—your idea of romance is the #asshole real-life persona of a kinky off-screen control freak.

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EXCERPT:

GRACE @FilthyBlueBird

I can’t stand silence, it drives me crazy. So I’m a talker. I’m a gabber. I’m what they call… social. I pin things, I share things, I plus things. I like, I follow, and I comment.

But most of all… I tweet. I’m a tweeter. I live for the Twitter. I chirp good morning like a little blue bird from my bed in the AM and then chirp good evening again every night.

Even before social media took over the world I was this girl. From my very first year I have been one of those butterflies. Yes—I’m putting my hand up to stop the protests—my very first year. Because my first birthday picture was of me whispering a secret into my big brother’s ear.

And after social media took over the world I embraced this girl. My bestie, Bebe, and I have this whole social thing down to a science. We are the champions of chatter, the proponents of prattle, the backers of blather. We are the goddesses of gossip and we own this shit. We take bubbly optimism to a whole new virtual level. Our motto is Happiness is a #Hashtag and we live life knowing the fairy tale is possible, even if you only get it online.

Who needs reality anyway? Reality is being orphaned at thirteen. Reality is foster homes and loneliness. Reality is a risk ripe for disappointment.

But thank God for Bebe and her family. They welcomed me in with open arms and instead of something tragic, I became the poster child for surviving and came out the other end not only intact, but better than ever.

But back to my mouth—and by extension, my fingertips since they do all my talking on Twitter—it has a mind of its own.

And that mind is very dirty.

Yes, my name is Grace Kinsella and I’m a filthy tweeter.

I can turn a hundred and forty characters into living sex. I can string words together in a way that will make you wet your panties with lust. I can make a man blush before he even gets to the hashtag. I am famous for pithy filth.

In fact, my girlfriends and I have an online Facebook group called the Filthy Blue Birds. And we’re not the only ones. The world of pithy filth is booming, friends. There are endless groups like ours. There are legions of shy girls who come alive when faced with the hundred-and-forty-character challenge. And there is a very special place online where we meet, challenging each other to achieve a new level of smexy typing.

I call that Twitter list Dirty Heaven. I made it up, like literally I’m the freaking founder. So Dirty Heaven is my kingdom and I’m the queen.

I’ll stop here to take a bow.

Besides being a list, Dirty Heaven is an online competition that happens on Twitter every Saturday night across the world—yes, we have filthy tweeters from all walks of life. At 8 PM Eastern the FT’s come alive and each league puts up their best and brightest. You get one tweet, one hashtag, and one chance to shine.

I don’t win anymore, it’s simply not fair. I’m now the judge. But back when we were first putting this together my tweets took me to Dirty Heaven time after time after time. That’s back when we used to have the competitions nightly and the group was small. Just fifteen or twenty of my closest online stranger friends. Each competition we had an online muse and we took turns choosing who would benefit from our blush-inducing prose. Sometimes the girls picked models or rock stars.

I only ever had one muse and his name is Vaughn Asher.

Yes, the Vaughn Asher. A Hollywood legend. He started out in the boy band 2 Far Out, then when his angelic voice changed as he hit puberty he graduated into Disney sitcoms. Most child actors would fade after that, never able to make the transition. But Vaughn Asher doubled down on the workouts—gaining the title of Most Envied Body in Hollywood six years in a row from Buzz Hollywood Magazine—and the preteen wannabe turned into an action-hero heartthrob overnight.

Just thinking his name makes me sigh. He’s so freaking gorgeous. That messy dark hair that makes him look like he just rolled out of bed. Those tight abs that just make you want to drag your tongue all over them to see if they taste as good as they look. And that package, boy. He’s never done any nudes so I have to use my imagination, but my imagination is vivid. I have a very clear picture.

Besides, you know what they say about a man’s thumbs, right? Well, Vaughn Asher has incredible thumbs. And large feet. They say that too.

Yes, doing filthy things to his six-foot-two frame has been my idea of Dirty Heaven for almost three years now. I’d like to say I’ve said everything imaginable about him, but that’s not true. I never run out of ideas. It’s like my brain only exists to compose a one-hundred-and-forty-character sentence that will turn him red.

That’s my fantasy. That’s my fairy tale. Vaughn Asher doing things to me that can only be said in a hashtag.

 

Author Bio:

JA Huss is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than fifty books. She likes stories about family, loyalty, and extraordinary characters who struggle with basic human emotions while dealing with bigger than life problems. JA loves writing heroes who make you swoon, heroines who makes you jealous, and the perfect Happily Ever After ending.

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Blood Money (Lone Star Mobster #3) by Cynthia Rayne

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Blood Money
Cynthia Rayne
(Lone Star Mobster #3)
Publication date: August 14th 2017
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

How far would you go to protect someone you love?

When Jasper Tan joined the Lone Star Mafia, his family said he’d dishonored the Tan name and turned their backs on him. Jasper vowed to never let anyone get close again—until he met Victoria Hale. Vick is a hacker and the outfit’s secret weapon when it comes to digging up dirt on folks. They’ve become the best of friends and Lord knows Jasper wants much more, but he can risk letting her in?

Vick puts her family first as well. Her older brother, Jackson, has been fighting an addiction for years and she’s stayed by his side, even when their parents gave up on him. Jackson owed money to some dangerous people. To save him, Vick compromised her morals by striking a scandalous arrangement with Simon Caldwell.

Infatuation has turned to obsession, and Simon is a cold-hearted, ruthless bastard who’ll stop at nothing to keep Vick. Can Jasper protect her? And will these friends become lovers?

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Author Bio:

Cynthia Rayne is a USA TODAY bestselling author of the Lone Star Mobster Series, Let it Ride Series, and the Four Horsemen MC Series. While Cynthia was born and raised a damn Yankee in Ohio, her parents hail from Dixie, and she grew up on homemade buttermilk biscuits and southern wisdom. In her spare time, she enjoys shopping, reading way too many romance novels, and drinking a truly obscene amount of coffee.

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Beautiful Mess by John Herrick

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Beautiful Mess
John Herrick
Publication date: July 30th 2017
Genres: Adult, Romance

A fallen star. Four Los Angeles misfits. And the Marilyn Monroe you only thought you knew.

Del Corwyn is an aging relic. An actor who advanced from errand boy to Academy Award nominee, Del kept company with the elite of Hollywood’s golden era and shared a close friendship with Marilyn Monroe. Today, however, he faces bankruptcy.

Humiliated, Del is forced to downgrade his lifestyle, sell the home he’s long cherished, and fade into a history of forgotten legends—unless he can revive his career. All he needs is one last chance. While searching through memorabilia from his beloved past, Del rediscovers a mysterious envelope, dated 1962, containing an original screenplay by Marilyn Monroe—and proof that she named him its legal guardian.

Del surges to the top of Hollywood’s A-list overnight. But the opportunity to reclaim his fame and fortune brings a choice: Is Del willing to sacrifice newfound love, self-respect and his most cherished friendship to achieve his greatest dream?

A story of warmth, humor and honesty, Beautiful Mess follows one man’s journey toward love and relevance where he least expects it—and proves coming-of-age isn’t just for the young.

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EXCERPT:

“You wrote a screenplay?”

Wide-eyed, Del ran his fingers across the crisp, white paper, a stack of sheets bound together by brass fasteners along its left margin. He was in his early twenties.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Marilyn Monroe replied with a staccato laugh. “I’m a woman of many wonderful traits.” Though thirty-six years old, she took childlike pleasure in his reaction. Innocent. She had exquisite diction, a byproduct of training with Natasha Lytess, her first acting coach.

“When did you write this?”

“During my hiatus, the one I took after we wrapped up production on The Prince and the Showgirl. Arthur and I split our time between New York and Connecticut, and he helped me as I wrote,” she replied, her countenance now matter-of-fact, her voice sultry yet airy. “I believe it was an outlet for him, too. He was so frustrated by that time, wondering about his own future. He believed in me, and I think it helped him believe in himself. So as I wrote the scenes, he gave me advice on how to make the characters richer, more alive.”

They sat together in the living room of her home in Brentwood. “Johnny Angel” played on her phonograph. They were alone in the house.

“This must have taken a long time to write.”

“I had eighteen months before I returned to Hollywood to shoot Some Like It Hot,” she replied. Her gaze fell to the floor, and her voice grew softer. “I’d been through so much by that point. Trying to make my second marriage work. The pain of losing a child…”

As her words drifted, young Del noticed she had waded into the territory of the forlorn. For the past year, she had seemed more prone toward that tendency, and pain filled Del’s heart whenever he watched it emerge. He tried to return her attention to the script, which seemed to make her happy. It was an obvious source of pride for her.

“You never mentioned you’re a writer. Why doesn’t anybody know?”

Her countenance brightened again, and Del felt relieved. She shot him a cunning glare.

“There’s more to me than the reporters know about,” she replied with a wink, wagging a red-polished fingernail at him, ever the mentor. “Here’s an important tip for you: Never tell them everything. Always keep a little secret or two for yourself, something to hold in your heart. Something you can control in this crazy world.”

Del fanned the pages, opening the document at random points to scan snippets of dialogue. What a sense of accomplishment she must have felt! He admired its professional layout, which looked identical to the scripts he’d used on the sets. Del wondered it Marilyn had typed this on the manual typewriter he’d seen Arthur Miller use in their home.

“Is this any good?” Del asked. “I mean, have you shown it to anyone?”

“Only to Arthur, back when we were married.” She giggled in her typical Marilyn manner. “Can you imagine? The great Arthur Miller coaches Marilyn Monroe in literature,” she punctuated with a male reporter’s voice, underscoring it with faux solemnity. “You do know he rewrote the script for Let’s Make Love, don’t you? He said the original was a catastrophe and he wanted to protect me. Wasn’t that sweet? Many people don’t know that. He wrote the script for The Misfits, too. The man certainly knows what he’s doing, if you ask me. Look at Death of a Salesman. Pure genius! Regardless of how our marriage worked out, the man was a brilliant writer.”

Young Del ran his hand across Marilyn’s screenplay again, eager to read it from beginning to end. Maybe they could perform in it together!

Yet he couldn’t ignore a chill that raced up his spine. Why here? Why now?

 

Author Bio:

John Herrick is the author of From the Dead and 8 Reasons Your Life Matters. A graduate of the University of Missouri—Columbia, readers turn to him as a chronicler of spiritual journey and the human heart. Herrick lives in St. Louis.

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