Friday, August 26, 2016

Excerpt Reveal: The Bachelor Auction by Rachel Van Dyken

We have your first look at THE BACHELOR AUCTION releasing on October 4 and we can guarantee, you do not want to miss the first book in this brand new series from Rachel Van Dyken!

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Cinderella never had to deal with this crap.

Jane isn’t entirely sure that Cinderella got such a raw deal. Sure, she had a rough start but didn’t she eventually land a prince and a happily-ever-after? Meanwhile, Jane is busy waiting on her demanding, entitled sisters, running her cleaning business, and . . . yep, not a prince in sight. That is, until a party and a broken shoe incident leave Jane wondering if princes—or at least, a certain deliciously hunky billionaire—maybe do exist.


Except Brock Wellington isn’t anyone’s dream guy. A prince would never agree to be auctioned off in marriage to the highest bidder. Or act like an arrogant jerk—even if that is just a façade. Now, as Brock is waiting for the auction chopping block, he figures it’s karmic retribution that he’s tempted by a sexy, sassy woman he can’t have. But while he and Jane may not get a fairy tale ending, maybe they can indulge in a little bit of fantasy . . .

   
Excerpt

Thick wavy auburn hair fell in disarray over his forehead. It was lush, shiny, perfect. Were guys born with hair like that? Or was his somehow chemically engineered? His full lips pressed together in a secret smile as the equally handsome man next to him said something, then erupted in laughter.

The first man stiffened, then shook his head. His broad shoulders seemed to grow tight as a drum. A slight tic in his jaw was the only clue that he was irritated or maybe outright angry.

And then his shoulders slumped as he was handed another drink and then another.

Nervous. He must be nervous. But what could a man like that possibly have to be nervous about?

He easily towered over most of the men in attendance. Suddenly his posture changed, then he smiled.

Jane felt her mouth drop open in shock.

Dazzling.

He was…like a duke or a lord or a prince from a storybook. Clearly, she read too many romance novels, but his entire presence demanded attention; screamed authority, importance, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Yes, his virility was a tangible thing, as if she could reach out and grasp it with her fingertips.

“What are you doing?” Esmeralda yelled in her right ear, interrupting her blatant sexual fantasy about a complete stranger. Great. That’s what her life had come to. And sadly? It was the most fun she’d had all night.

Jane turned to Esmeralda, prayed for patience, and answered. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“You’re so boring.” Esmeralda rolled her eyes. “No wonder you got dumped.”

Another fun fact? Esmeralda was mean when she was drunk.

The reminder of the breakup burned like acid.

It had been a year ago, not that it mattered. It still hurt that the last guy she’d dated had told her that although she was cute, she wasn’t really doing it for him anymore.

Right. Doing it.

Maybe that was because she hadn’t done anything for him or with him, and he found that lacking. But they’d only dated for a few weeks. Did normal girls do that? Put out after a few weeks? Apparently.

She wasn’t normal.

But if that was normal, maybe she was better off being strange.

“Jane, are you even listening to me?” Esmeralda whined. “Essence needs you to dance next to her for a bit. I’m tired and tipsy. I want to sit. Plus your dress blends in enough that it won’t take attention away from her.”

No way. What? What had she just said?

Jane wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m sorry, what?”

Without warning, Esmeralda grabbed Jane’s hand and jerked her toward the dance floor, causing Jane to lose her footing and crash directly into Esmeralda’s back. Then, like a domino, she slammed back into Essence.

Jane opened her mouth to shout out an apology, but Esmeralda was already too drunk to listen to reason. With determination in her eyes, she reached for the pearls at Jane’s neck but grabbed the fabric of the dress instead.

Her poorly sewn dress ripped instantly, causing the fabric to slink past her strapless bra. A diagonal slit split up her thigh almost all the way to her hip. In an effort to cover herself, she took a step and tripped, thanks to her clunky shoes.

And then she fell to the floor.

Hard.

Her sisters watched in horror—but neither of them offered a hand. They were probably kicking themselves for forcing her to come. Esmeralda leaned over but missed Jane’s shoulder by a mile, grabbing her hair and giving it a tug, which only made Jane wince harder.

Both sisters were completely tanked.

And she was less than two minutes away from being trampled by the other sweaty bodies around her.

She glanced up.

And into the eyes of the man she’d just been lusting after.

Oh God, the humiliation was complete.

That one glance told her he’d seen it all. She swallowed back the thickness building in her throat. Of course the only time he’d notice her would be when she’d ripped her dress and nearly took out a few guests on her way down to the dance floor.

The crowd gathered around her.

And the sexy man disappeared—probably off in search of a girl with perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect clothes.

She really should have stayed home.

Tears filled her eyes as a heel pressed into her right hand. With a jerk she tugged her hand free, struggling to get up to stand on her wobbly feet, when suddenly she was pulled to a standing position and then swept up in strong arms.

Jane’s eyes were still so blurry from unshed tears she couldn’t make out the man’s face as he carried her out of the crowd.

He smelled like heaven.

She fought the insane urge to press her face against his chest and just…close her eyes.

Because he felt safe.

Pathetic, when a stranger’s arms provided more safety than her own family. And yet he felt…right.

In a world where things for the past ten years had felt so wrong.

He felt right.

Maybe she’d had too much champagne.       
About the Author


Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor. She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers! Want to be kept up to date on new releases?



Text MAFIA to 66866! You can connect with her on Facebook www.facebook.com/rachelvandyken or join her fan group Rachel's New Rockin Readers. Her website is www.rachelvandykenauthor.com  





Blog Tour: Wait by A.L. Jackson

Wait Release Banner



A

About WAIT

From NYT & USA Today bestselling author comes a new Bleeding Stars stand-alone novel…

She is his strength and he is her weakness. And this time he won’t let her go.

Edie Evans is gorgeous.
Sexy.
Kind.
She’s also the definition of off-limits.
But that didn't stop me from sneaking into her room to comfort her at night.
But guys like me? We destroy everything, so it should have been no surprise when I destroyed us, too.
The night I sent her running, I thought I’d never see her again.
Until I saw her standing like a vision in the crowd.

Austin Stone is dangerous. 
Alluring.
Tempting.
He broke my heart and I refused to give him the chance to do it again.
It’s been years since I’ve seen him, and now I can’t do anything but stare at the gorgeous, tattooed man playing onstage. I should run. I know I should. But like a fool, I run straight back to him.
Our desire is overpowering.
Our need unrelenting.

She is my hope.
He is my weakness.

Amazon | iBooks | Kobo | Nook | Google Play









Excerpt

“Shit,” I hissed, bracing myself against the spray of the icy shards pelting from the shower head.
I sucked in a breath, released it between clenched teeth, and forced myself fully under it.
Head dropped and chest heaving as rivers of ice-cold water slicked down my shoulders and back.
But it did nothing to lessen the need. Gave me no sanity or pacification.
Because all I could think about was the girl on the other side of the door.
My girl.  
In my bed.
Wearing just her panties and my shirt.
An angel I wanted to dirty.
I always had.
Love was messy like that.
All of my restraint scattered. I gripped my cock. Squeezed the base. My mouth dropped open at the pressure of my hand against my rigid length.
A fool thinking it might be enough.
Shit.
God, I was a bastard, but there was nothing I could do before I was giving in, leaning forward and bracketing my forearm above my head to hold my weight.
Water pounded down on my head and back while I pounded my fist against my dick.
Trying to keep silent when all I wanted was to moan, teeth digging into my bottom lip as I pictured the girl spread out for me.
My breaths were coming short.
Panted and hard.
I gave into imagining the sounds she would make when I finally got to bury myself in her body.
A soft, soft gasp.  
I slowed, trying to convince myself that throaty sound was all in my mind.
Just another part of this fantasy.
Until I heard the small thump against the wall.
Shit.
I mashed my eyes closed, like it might hide me.
Conceal the depravity of my actions after I’d just been comforting her hours before.
Heart thrashing, I turned and moved far enough to peek out the small section where the fabric shower curtain hadn’t been drawn fully closed.
It was just a little sliver that left me exposed.
But it was enough. When I peered out, I was looking right at my girl pressed up against the wall.
She stared right back at me.
And I wanted to be horrified, my mind scrambling to conjure every weak apology I could summon. Ready to fucking grovel to keep her from turning and running once again.
Because that’s exactly what I expected her to do.
But her expression…her expression clutched me in the center of the chest and sent what little brain function I had left stampeding south.
Red, lush lips were parted, her hand pressed to her hollow of her throat, pupils dilated so big that her hooded, cerulean eyes appeared black. Needy breaths were coming at me from that sweet mouth like a goddamned freight train.
Desire swelled in the confines of the too-tight room.
Alive.
She pressed deeper into the wall as if it might support her weakened knees. Head rocked back. Thighs squeezing together.
Motherfuck.
My hand shot to the shower wall to steady myself. “Warning you, Edie, you need to get out of here. Right now.”










About the Author
A.L. Jackson is the New York Times bestselling author of contemporary and new adult romance.

She first found a love for writing during her days as a young mother and college student.  She filled the journals she carried with short stories and poems used as an emotional outlet for the difficulties and joys she found in day-to-day life.
Years later, she shared a short story she’d been working on with her two closest friends and, with their encouragement, this story became her first full length novel. A.L. now spends her days writing in Southern Arizona where she lives with her husband and three children.
Connect with A.L. Jackson online: www.aljacksonauthor.com
To stay up to date with important news on A.L. Jackson, including new releases, sales, and exclusive specials and excerpts, text “jackson” to 96000 to subscribe!
Snapchat: aljacksonauthor

Release Blitz: Ace by J.J. Marstead


IT'S LIVE!




Alison

I’ve lived in a small town my entire life.  At eighteen, I don’t have a whole lot of life experience, and all I really have time for is my job.  I’ve heard of the Brimstone Kings MC, but I’d never seen them until a group of them shows up at the diner where I work.  That’s the day I met Ace.

Just his name sends shivers up my spine.  That man is sex on a stick.  But he’s a man.  I’ve only ever been around boys.  I don’t know if I’m ready for the kind of life that comes with a man like Ace, but he isn’t giving me much choice.

Ace

Shit, she is fucking beautiful.  When I first laid eyes on her, I didn’t think there was a chance in hell she was legal.  The minute I found out she was eighteen, it was game on.  I will make her mine, if it’s the last thing I do.

Getting her to be mine proves to be harder than I thought though.  I need to prove to her that I am the man for her.  That I can take care of her.  That I won’t hurt her.  This woman is stubborn as hell, but I’m determined to make her see what it feels like to be with a real man.












Waking up groaning, I feel a pair of lips sucking my cock. Nice way to wake up.


I pry my eyes open looking down to see Porsche licking and sucking the tip of my dick. Porsche looks up and smiles, “Good morning Ace.”


I give her a lazy grin and moan, “This is nice, waking up having my dick sucked; every man’s dream.”


Porsche hums around my cock; I feel the tingle down my spine straight to my balls. I grab her head and give a couple of slow strokes, going as far as I can go. She gags but takes me in like a pro.

That is what I like about Porsche; she takes whatever I give her with no arguments. I look down at her bobbing up and down on my cock and she gives me the look that I know she wants, my cum down her throat.


“I’m going to cum Porsche, are you ready?” She sucks harder, and I moan letting go giving her all I got.


Porsche swallows every drop. Looking at the clock beside the bed I see it's eight twenty-five. Shit, I am supposed to meet the guys at the diner.


She makes her way up my body to give me a kiss, but I get up before she can deliver. “Sorry Babe, but I got to go; the guys are waiting for me.”


She gives me a little pout, “Baby, are you sure you want to go, I am sure you can have breakfast here.” She spreads her legs showing me her shaven pussy like it’s a buffet.
“Can’t babe, I got to go.”






J.J. Marstead lives in a quiet little town in Quebec, Canada. 
She is originally from a small Island in Canada called ‘Prince Edward Island’.
J.J. Marstead is the pen name; she wanted to have a pen name because it seemed pretty awesome.

Her real name is Jessica Martell, and no she is not ashamed of writing.
She loves to read and now she has taking up writing as a new adventure. 
She’s a stay at home mom, so she has plenty of time to think of naughty things to write.
Married to the love of her life of nine years, they have a lovely daughter who is seven years old, and they have two dogs, full house.

Follow J.J. on Facebook


Hosted by:

New Release: Stripped Bare by Kalinda Grace























Night after night, Tesla Jones dances on stage.

She’s beautiful, unbridled, and unattainable.

Or is she?

Billionaire Jax Monroe is determined to find out.

Powerful in both the boardroom and bedroom, Jax isn’t used to being told no.

There’s no deal he can’t close.

No woman he can’t charm.

Until now.

When an indecent proposal becomes desperate infatuation, Jax and Tesla find themselves

Stripped Bare.


Amazon ~ FREE on Kindle Unlimited






EXCERPT ONE

I feel powerful.
Even as his finger slides between my breasts . . . stinging me, burning me . . . I feel powerful. Because he asked permission, and I granted it.
The decision was mine.
Jax doesn’t have to know that I’ve dreamed of his hands, and his fingers, and his lips. He doesn’t have to know how tempted I am to say yes.
I writhe on his lap, swaying to the music, and he groans roughly. His hands grip my hips, crushing me harder against him, and I feel him. I feel all of him.
He wants me. There’s no denying that.
But I’m a naked girl dancing on his lap. Of course he wants me.
Jax trails his nose against my throat, and the sensation causes me to cry out. He breathes me in, making my body tingle and crave and tremble. His quiet groan vibrates against my neck as my hips grind against him.
“Does that feel good, Tesla?”
I whimper, because it does. It feels amazing.
“Imagine how good it’d feel . . . without the barriers. Without the rules. Without the clock. This could be us, in my bed, in those heels, and I could touch you. Really touch you. The way I’ve wanted to touch you since the first time I saw you on stage.”
My fingers find his hair, and I pull roughly, causing him to growl my name.
“If you’d just been a gentleman. Maybe asked me out to dinner. Asked for my number. I wanted you to ask. I’ve wanted you to ask for weeks.”
“I’m not a gentleman, Tesla.”
It’s a confession.
A warning.
Our eyes lock, and I see him. I really see him. He’s handsome and rich and used to getting his way. His touch scorches me. His eyes radiate through me. He makes me feel beautiful, sexy, and desired.
But it’s not enough.
No matter how good it feels to be held by his strong hands, and no matter how good it feels to grind against him . . .
I’m not this girl, and I never will be.
There’s a knock on the door, and I leap from his lap, leaving him confused and breathless and very, very aroused.
I struggle to catch my breath as Rick’s voice slices through the music.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Monroe. But your driver’s here.”
Jax growls, and I have no idea if it’s because he’s angry or horny.
Or both.
Probably both.
I reach for my shirt and jeans, desperate to be dressed and out of this room. The clock says I still have thirty minutes, but fuck it. I’ll tell Rick to dock it from my pay.
“Do you know what’s really sad, Jax Monroe?”
He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “What’s that?”
“You could have had me for free.”
I walk out.





EXCERPT TWO

 Her long brown hair flows down her back as she wraps her legs around the pole. She's poetry in motion . . . graceful and gorgeous as she dances on the stage. In a room filled with the completely generic and fake, she is extraordinary and real.

She arches her back, giving us a spectacular view of her perfect breasts. Peaks and valleys of soft pink flesh that are just begging for my hands. For my lips. For my tongue.

I'm the one who is completely ordinary, because I'm no different than any other man in this room.

We all want her.

None of us can have her.

Or so they say.
I've built a billion-dollar empire by being a master negotiator, and I am determined to prove “them” wrong.
Whoever they are.
She dances on this stage, and around that pole, night after night. We watch, because we're men, ruled by our animalistic desires and straining erections.
We all want her, but the rules are consistently enforced.
You can look, but you can't touch.
I want to touch.
Desperately.
Her legs are long and lean in her stilettos, and I wonder if she would wear them in my bed.
I bet I could convince her.
Money is quite the bargaining chip. It can move mountains, open doors, and crumble defenses.
And, I think, it can convince a beautiful stripper that one night in the bed of a billionaire would have to be better than dancing for a room full of them.
I'm not a complete monster. I know there must be a story behind the pretty green eyes of the woman draped around the silver pole. Most girls don't dream of becoming strippers. Granted, this is a gentleman's club, which means the tables are a little less sticky and the bouncers wear tuxedos, but I'd still be willing to bet my life's fortune that this particular career choice is her idea of a last resort.
It doesn't have to be.
The thumping bass of the song resonates in my ears and the liquid in my glass coats my tongue as I drink and watch. Her beautiful body shimmies down the pole . . . slowly . . . enticingly, and I hear the quiet murmurs of appreciation from the other assholes in the room.
She dances away from the pole and closer to the edge of the stage. She bends, tilting her head forward, and I watch, mesmerized, as her hair cascades like a waterfall. The music changes, and she leans her head back. My eyes linger over her . . . along her lovely neck and down the length of her delectable body.
I lower my glass just as her eyes meet mine.
I'm paralyzed.
Hypnotic.
Emerald.
Our connection is brief, but in that moment, I get a glimpse of her soul.
And she gets a glimpse of mine.
The song ends, and the spectators whistle and cheer.
But not me.
The gears in my mind shift and spin, and within seconds, I have a plan.





Kalinda Grace enjoys the little things in life. She loves the cool side of the pillow, the sound of rain on a tin roof, and restaurants with drive-thru windows. When she’s not chained to her laptop, she’s either watching college football or binge-watching her favorite shows on Netflix. Kalinda hails from the Midwest. Stripped Bare is her first novella.

Amazon Author Page ~ Facebook ~ Goodreads
Twitter: @Kalindawrites