Showing posts with label Blitz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blitz. Show all posts

Saturday, August 18, 2018

Seven Minutes 'til Midnight (#3 Rock Gods) Sunniva Dee - Release Blitz



Seven Minutes ‘til Midnight, an all-new Standalone Rock Gods Romance by Sunniva Dee is NOW LIVE!!






A legendary drummer. An outrageous music video... and little me blowing his ever-loving mind in it.


Next thing I knew, my anonymity was a thing of the past.


“Clown Irruption’s smash hit goes from hawt to adult!”— Star Report, April Edition.


The uncensored, all-bared footage was leaked.

And here I was, forced to stare down the same paparazzi lenses the band did.
“Meet Aishe Xodyar, the vixen who made Troy Armstrong reach Heaven on tape!”—Fan Chicks, May Edition.


I cowered behind enemy lines.

Aka joined the band on their worldwide arena tour.

It was another one of my unfortunate miscalculations.

See, Troy Armstrong was formidable.
We were polar opposites, but he still sucked me in like a magnet.


A fragile truce set in between us. Then, a mutual crush.

I had an obsessive nature, but my fixation on him was downright wholesome compared to their new merch girl’s.


“Meet Hailey Pawter, secret stalker, fangirl, and dangerously gifted lookalike.”—Tabloid Minute, June Edition.


As Hailey’s web tightened around us, love in the limelight turned from complicated to impossible.



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Review
5 Stars
⭐🌟⭐🌟⭐

Seven Minutes 'til Midnight is a terrific addition to the Rock Gods series.

Troy and Aishe share a past which was amiable, until it wasn't. Aishe made an appearance for Clown Eruptions forthcoming video. It was meant to be a one off and she would go back to her life now that she has Troy out of her system! She didn't expect for this video to be leaked and all of a sudden, she is back in the band's life. 

Troy is a droolworthy respectable drummer whose principles are admirable. As much as he wants Aishe, he respects her boundaries. The chemistry between them can hardly be ignored. Their biggest problem is Hailey who has set her heart on claiming Troy. Will she succeed or will Troy and Aishe follow their hearts to their happiness? 

The emotions in this novel are palpable. Troy and Aishe fight hard to overcome what previously tore them apart and the reward is more than satisfying. Yet again, this author produces a soulful novel which captivates the heart. 

I was kindly issued with an eARC and the views expressed are my personal opinion. I have also purchased my own copy.

About Sunniva Dee



So you know I’m a writer. I write literary romances that are full of substance and romance. I tend to write in my head all the time, like when I sleep, breath, pet cats, am forced to make dinner, and even while doing my job as an adviser for students at an art college in the South—

I mean…I—I—I write at other times too.

I love international flights when they’re delayed and my Mac and I can dive into a bar. There’s nothing better than an hour or two lost (too quickly) in pages I didn’t know were waiting for me.

I hate schedules, real life, cross-country skiing, and moodiness not inside of me. Not that I enjoy it in me. I’m just used to it, and it feeds scenes in my books, see?

I giggle at everything. I don’t judge easily. People say I’m kind/genuine/shy/stubborn/annoying/aloof/boring, but above it all, I am passionate. A Dragon of the Chinese zodiac and an Aquarius with all-the-air and the brightest color palette. Incidentally, that last fact could be why no one wants to buy the house I’ve got for sale.

But mostly, I love to write.



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Mixed up Love by Natasha Madison - Release Blitz









Hunter

When my business partner asked me to do him a favor, I had no idea he was sending me on a blind date his mother arranged for him. I walked in the bar, saw the woman drinking her third martini, and knew I was in for an eventful night.

After the unexpected second date, she didn't know my real name or who I really was. By that time, the lie was too far gone, and I wanted her too much to admit the truth.

Laney

It's not every day you find out your ex-boyfriend is engaged.

I shouldn't have agreed to the blind date. My mother insisted, and I wasn’t in any position to turn down a night out.

I will admit, I definitely shouldn't have ordered that fourth martini before said blind date even arrived.

The man turned out to be swoon worthy, handsome, condescending—a perfect distraction. Then I found out he was a liar.

I've never been in over my head to this degree.

Then again, I've never been in love.


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I pull up to the front door, and the valet meets me at my door once I stop. “Good evening, sir,” he says once I open my door.

“Yeah, I won’t be here long,” I tell him as I get out, not bothering to take off my sunglasses when I hand him the keys.

“No worries, sir. It will be here when you are ready,” he says, handing me the ticket for later. I put it in the inside pocket of my suit jacket. I walk inside to the hostess table, where a woman who looks like she is eighteen stands smiling.

“How may I help you?” she asks sweetly. I stop and look around to see if I might recognize the woman I’m here to meet, even though I’ve never met her. I spot a couple of women at the bar, but I instinctively know they aren’t her. I also check for exits. It’s not my fault; it’s just instilled in me.

Looking to the left, I don’t see anyone sitting alone, but then I look to the right, and I see her. I don’t know why I know it’s her, but I just do. With curly long blond hair, she downs a martini, then picks up another one and brings it to her mouth. I spot a waiter walking with two more martinis on his tray, and I’m not surprised when I see him approaching her table. “Great,” I say under my breath. “I found her,” I tell the hostess and start walking toward the table. She spots me and watches my every move. Luckily, the glasses I’m wearing stop her from seeing my eyes.

The closer I get to her, the more my pulse speeds up. What the fuck? This is weird. I look around maybe to see if something else is piquing my interest or maybe I spotted something to elevate my pulse, but no, it’s her. The fact that a gorgeous woman is sitting by herself and drinking like a fish is enough to get any man’s adrenaline pumping. Isn’t it?

“Are you Laney?” I ask, taking off my glasses, and my gray eyes finally meet her blue ones. She opens her mouth, expecting, I think, something to come out, but nothing does. I continue looking around to see if anyone is watching her, and it’s no surprise that I spot two guys at the bar sizing her up.

“Here are two more.” The waiter smiles at her, putting two more glasses down on the table and taking the two now empty ones away. She laughs nervously, and I want to reach out and trip him when he walks away.

“It isn’t what it looks like.” Her soft voice breaks me out of my plan, and I turn back to her as she smiles at me, causing my heartbeat to skyrocket. The collar of my shirt suddenly feels tight, but it’s not even buttoned.

“Really? I find it hard to believe,” I finally say. Looking around again, I spot the same two guys in suits sitting at the bar watching her. This time, one of them spots me and looks back down at his drink. “It looks like you’re sitting here waiting for something bad to happen.” I pull out the chair and sit in front of her.

“Um.” She still doesn’t say anything.




Review
3 Stars
⭐🌟⭐


A blind date between two reluctant individuals who think that they would turn up, have a drink and make their escapes. As it happens fate has different ideas!

Hunter is ex SEAL and runs a security company with a group of friends. He has flings, but doesn't date.

Laney has her dream job and hasn't dated since she found out that her then boyfriend was a cheat and a liar.

Hunter's friend, Anthony asks him to go on a blind date arranged by his mother. Hunter reluctantly agrees as his friend has other plans. Laney has just discovered that her ex is engaged and agrees to the blind date. Just the distraction that she needs. For once, she lets her hair down and indulges in one too many "refreshments"! Her date arrives when she is on her third and it's no way to make an impression. Does she really care? Most likely not.

Hunter starts to lecture her on her behaviour and soon finds out that she is no push over. This intrigues him, and he takes her to his favourite restaurant. Although, their first impressions were far from desirable, they enjoy the so called date. The first leads to a second and they quite like each other's company. Neither of them has ever felt so comfortable in the company of a date. They are both smitten, but there is a problem. Hunter is still acting under false pretenses! What happens when Laney uncovers his true identity and the lie?

This novel is fairly easy to read and although it's not insta love, the development of the romance is rather fast. Hunter is overbearing when it comes to safety, but the reasons behind his fears sort of justify his behaviour. Laney is dependable, but she makes rash decisions. They work pretty well as a couple. It's a light read with a little humour.

I was kindly issued with an eARC and the views expressed are my personal opinion.



About the Author 





When her nose isn't buried in a book, or her fingers flying across a keyboard writing, she's in the kitchen creating gourmet meals. You can find her, in four inch heels no less, in the car chauffeuring kids, or possibly with her husband scheduling his business trips. It's a good thing her characters do what she says, because even her Labrador doesn't listen to her...













Saturday, July 21, 2018

The Gathering (#1 The Uprising) Bernadette Giacomazzo - Book Blitz







The Gathering
Bernadette Giacomazzo
(The Uprising, #1)
Publication date: March 31st 2018
Genres: Adult, Dystopian

The Uprising Series tells the story of three freedom fighters and their friends in high — and low — places that come together to overthrow a vainglorious Emperor and his militaristic Cabal to restore the city, and the way of life, they once knew and loved.

In The Gathering, Jamie Ryan has defected from the Cabal and has joined his former brothers-in-arms — Basile Perrinault and Kanoa Shinomura — to form a collective known as The Uprising. When an explosion leads to him crossing paths with Evanora Cunningham — a product of Jamie’s past — he discovers that The Uprising is bigger, and more important, than he thought.

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EXCERPT

Jamie


I saw Emperor – looking like a hot air balloon, sounding as ridiculous as ever – blathering on about his personal Reichstag fire, and laying the blame of the explosion squarely at the feet of myself and my brothers-in-arms.


“…and it’s these traitors of the state – the threat to the security of my Empire of the United States of America – the defectors of the Cabal who go by Jamie Ryanand Basile Perrinault and, my greatest betrayal, Supreme Allied Commander Kanoa Shinomura…” he hollered into the microphone, which seemed to reverberate throughout the city.


At the sound of Kanoa’s name, the Cabal members below the balcony slammed the butts of their guns on the floor in rhythm. I knew that rhythm all too well – it was meant to be a war cry for those of us in the rank-and-file of the Cabal – but, to the untrained ear, it sounded like a machine gun going off…which was exactly the point.


But I couldn’t help but sneer at the accusation that the blast that nearly killed Evanora and Tommy was somehow our fault. He’d spent decades trying to catch us and failing miserably, yet in the same breath, believed we were inept enough to set off a blast that took no lives and could be cleaned up during a balmy New York evening. And he managed to sell this ridiculous belief to the crowd, no less.


“Let’s make something clear, asshole,” I muttered, “if it had been me and the boys that lit your shit up, you wouldn’t be standing here today.”


Despite the absurdity of the accusation – and despite the obvious absurdity of the accusation – the victims of psi just grunted along, agreeing with everything and anything that came out of Emperor’s mouth, in part because they didn’t know any better (they were psi victims, after all), and in part because any disagreement with what Emperor had to say was met with a fierce, painful punishment.


“His Word, Before All and Above All,” I muttered. “With liberty and justice for no one, so kiss my peasant Old New York ass and take a breath mint afterward, unless you like that funky aftertaste…”


My voice trailed off as my eyes focused on a strange woman on the balcony.


At first, I couldn’t discern who she was – she looked like someone I’d seen before, yet someone I’d never seen before.


Her hair was a garish white-blonde, stringy and lifeless, and pinned tightly behind her head with a set of black ceramic chopsticks. Her makeup was almost cartoonish – cat-like black eyeliner and matte black lipstick sat atop a ghostly white foundation. Even her outfit was a hideously hilarious cultural appropriation – a black silk kimono paired with a set of black stiletto heels. I’d seen Old New York 42nd Street prostitutes, with terrible heroin problems, sell the “Asian coquette” look better than what I’d seen before me now.


“Who the actual…” I began, hesitantly, unable to process who I was seeing before me.


And then it hit me, all at once, who she was.


For the first time in a long time, I was literally speechless.


When I could finally find my voice again, it barely came out in a whisper. “Rosie,” I squeaked.


I walked into the Ludlow Street apartment I shared with Angelique and was instantly greeted with the smell of a meat dish that, I would later learn, was calledcarne asada.


“Angelique!” I called out over the loud sizzling of steak as I kicked off my black Frye boots and set my matching acoustic guitar down. “Where are you, my love?”


“In here!” she called, out of sight, from the kitchen, where more clanging and banging sounds echoed over her voice.


I began walking through the apartment, shedding layers as I went along until I reached the kitchen wearing nothing but my black leather pants and a mischievous smile. I was hoping to have a little appetizer of crΓ¨me d’Angelique before dinner, but when I reached the kitchen, I realized – much to my chagrin – that we weren’t alone.


Angelique, her hair tied back into a messy ponytail, was wearing a tight, white, see-through shorts jumper and a matching white apron. She was standing next to an unfamiliar-looking woman with a matching messy ponytail, but whose thick chocolate brown hair stood in sharp contrast to Angelique’s thin flaxen locks. The rest of her, too, was in stark contrast to Angelique, but not in a bad way – she was olive-skinned, in contrast to Angelique’s pale white skin; she was curvy, in contrast to Angelique’s ectomorphic figure; she was fiery, in contrast to Angelique’s ethereal nature.


They were standing side by side, working on something that smelled simply delicious. Angelique was mixing flour, sugar, and garlic powder, and her friend was adding melted butter and salted water to the resultant powder, then kneading it until it formed a dough.


“Am I interrupting something?” I asked as I walked behind Angelique, wrapped my arms around her waist, and kissed her neck, breathing in her scent of lilacs as I did so.


She smiled, then took her index finger and bopped the tip of my nose with the flour mixture. “Hey handsome,” she said, beatifically. “We’re making something special for you for dinner. We’ve got carne asada in the pan over there – we’ve got some arroz con gandules in the rice cooker – and we’re making…wait, girl, what’s this called?”


Arepas,” her friend said, smiling as she continued to knead the dough between her hands, her silver thumb ring glistening in the light of the dusk as she did so.


“Right, arepas,” Angelique repeated. “Ramira here is teaching me all her magic ways – she says this is the exact dinner I need to make if I want my man to marry me.” She giggled, then elbowed Ramira, who giggled along with Angelique.


I couldn’t help but giggle, as well, as I unentwined myself from Angelique and walked over to Ramira to properly introduce myself. “I’m going to be stuffed fordays with all this delicious food, so it’s only right that we become friends,” I began, extending my hand. “Hi there. I’m James Randall Ryan IV, I somehow lucked out enough to convince this lovely lady Angelique to be my girlfriend, and it’s a pleasure to meet you. You can call me Jamie.”


Ramira smiled, then shook my hand with two of her fingers, taking care not to smear the wet dough across my palm. “Well, my name is Ramira Diaz, Angelique is my best friend, and it’s a pleasure to meet you too. You can call me Rosie, though. Everyone else does.”


I sat under a wilting star magnolia tree and stared, intently, through the open window of a room that had to be Rosie’s dressing room. She peeled her black silk kimono off and turned her back to the frameless window, exposing her prominent ribs and shoulder blades as she did so. The sight of her suddenly-bare, emaciated frame shocked me, especially given how pronounced her curves were in our younger years, and tears welled up in my eyes yet again.


In the decades since Angelique and my son had died, I could count the number of times I’d cried on one hand. In the past 72 hours, though – as I realized that my best friend’s kid, and my best friend’s girlfriend, were alive and well, and that the Uprising was bigger than I’d ever imagined – the tears came quickly and flowed easily, and I couldn’t decide if this was a sign of strength or weakness on my part.


Rosie slipped a shimmering white camisole over her emaciated frame, which she then tucked into a pair of white linen slacks. I couldn’t get over how thin she’d gotten, then wondered if this was by her own design, or if she was under orders from that evil husband of hers. No way would Jordan be cool with this, I thought to myself. On his fucking grave would this go on. On his fucking grave. And wouldn’t you know it – here we are, on his fucking grave.


I saw Rosie leave the room and begin to head down a flight of stairs, and I took that as an opportunity to get her alone, away from the rabid Cabal and out of sight of the vainglorious Emperor. She’d taken a few steps away from her building, and into Emperor’s Park, before passing by the wilting star magnolia tree that I was hiding behind. It was only when I saw the back of her slicked back, perfect ponytail – what a difference from the one she was wearing when we first met, I thought – that I saw the opportunity to get her alone and began walking behind her. 

“You’ve come a long way from making arepas on Ludlow Street,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder when I finally caught up with her.


She spun around, her face scrunched up in fear, and for a split second, I thought she was going to hit me. But just as quickly, she relaxed as her eyes registered who owned the disembodied voice. “Jamie,” she whispered tearfully. “You’re here. You’re alive. I didn’t realize…”


“How the hell did you not?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows and side-eyeing her. “Your damned husband has been hunting me for decades.”


“I knew that,” she said, taking ragged breaths. “But just the fact that he was never able to take you alive led me to believe that you were…you know…” Her voice trailed off.


I wasn’t convinced, and I continued to stare at her intently as I scratched my left cheek, which was now beginning to show the first signs of salt-and-pepper beard stubble. “First of all, why the hell are you talking like you’re Queen Elizabeth? Second, let me just state it for the record: you give your asshole husbandway too much credit if you think he can take me down.”


Rosie bit her lower lip, then shifted her eyes down. I put my hand under her chin and tipped her face up, forcing her eyes to meet mine as I tried, desperately, to search for a sign of the Rosie I once knew. “Rosie,” I whispered intently. “It’s me. You don’t have to hide from me.”


Her face was a blank slate. “My name is Rose. Rose Cunningham,” she said with flat affect.


“Oh, bullshit,” I whispered, even more intently. “Whatever happened to ‘call me Rosie, everyone else does’? What happened to that woman who was makingarepas in the kitchen with my Angelique?”


That got her attention, and her deep brown eyes flashed with fire as she balled up her fists and began swinging at me. “You shit! You bastard! You did it! You almost killed my baby!”


I ducked, bobbed and weaved, avoiding each blow as I carefully tried to talk her down from the ledge. “Rosie! What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t do that shit! I swear!”


She continued to swing at me. “Yes! Yes, you did!” she squealed tearfully, repeating the same “yes, yes” with each swing, her voice getting louder each time.


“Do you want to knock it off before the fuckin’ Cabal finds us, Rosie? The fuck is wrong with you? Jesus Christ!” I was shouting despite myself and began scanning the landscape frantically for Cabal soldiers that would have undoubtedly heard us, all while bobbing and weaving like a prizefighter to avoid getting punched in the face.


She swung even harder and squealed even louder. “You tried to kill my baby! Just like you killed yours!”


That line finally got me to react, and I had to steady my breathing to stop from clocking her in the mouth. Even in the throes of the worst of my Faustian behavior, I never hit a woman, and neither did any of my bandmates – the thought of violence against a woman, let alone a woman we’d loved, didn’t even cross our drug-addled minds.


Instead, I grabbed her wrists and forced them down to her sides, holding them in place at hip level as she struggled, trying to hit me, until she finally began whimpering in defeat.


“Now you listen to me, Ramira Diaz, and you listen well,” I began, angrily. “You may have forgotten everything you were and are, but I sure as fuck haven’t forgotten a goddamn thing, and let me rest assure you, I never fuckin’ will.”


Her lower lip was trembling, her eyes were watering, and it became evident that she was on the verge of tears. Still, I continued. “So, let me get a few things out of the way now, so we’re not confused. Number one: that blast? It wasn’t me. It wasn’t anyone tied to me. It wasn’t anyone whose name I can even spell. Because let me assure you, again, that if it were me, or anyone tied to me, we’d have burned down the entire fuckin’ city, even if it meant killing ourselves in the process, and wouldn’t have left a survivor anywhere on this God-forsaken island.


“Number two: you know goddamn well I didn’t kill Angelique or our baby. Now I wear their death on my heart every. Fucking. Day. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in twenty fucking years, from the day they were killed, because I can’t get their murders out of my mind. There are times I wish I was dead, just so that I don’t have to live with the guilt of their murders, but no, here I am, and ain’t that a fuckin’ bitch from Hell. I’d give all the money in the world to have my Angelique back. I’d trade my life for Jordan’s any day of the week. And my son – my only legacy – never had a chance at life, and you think that’s all fair?


“Number three – and this is the most important part, Rosie, goddamnit, you’d better fuckin’ listen to this if you listen to nothing else: remember that promise I made to you in the hospital room? All those years ago? Because I fuckin’ do. And that’s why when Evanora and Tommy came down the Bowery after the blast, and I realized who she was, I made sure she was safe and clean and warm…”


Rosie looked shocked. “Wait. She came to you?”


I searched her face, trying to see if I could register where her loyalties lie before I continued to answer the question. For some reason, however, I couldn’t make it out. I even tried to read Rosie’s mind using a gentle form of psi, but I still couldn’t read her mind at all. It was like trying to probe a brick wall. So, to protect Evanora – and the rest of us – I chose to cover my tracks. “Yeah,” I said airily, “she mentioned something about listening to Uprising Radio.”


The name of Uprising Radio registered some type of recognition with Rosie, and her eyes lit up slightly. “My baby has heard Uprising Radio?”


“I don’t know for sure,” I continued, still adopting an airy affect, “but I’m pretty sure that’s what she said.” Using my Cabal training, I put a mental wall between my thoughts and Rosie, mostly because I didn’t know how much training she’d had in the psi arts, and I wasn’t sure if she, too, could read my mind. And if, God forbid, her loyalties lied with that pathetic excuse of her husband, I could at least protect, if not myself, then the whole Uprising movement.


I made sure the wall was firmly in place before I continued. “I think I’ve heard Uprising Radio a few times, but I don’t know much about it, who does it, or anything of the sort.”


“Yeah,” Rosie said, hesitantly, behind a mental brick wall of her own, “I have no idea, either.”


We were calmer, now – our breath was steady, our thoughts were collected, and Rosie’s fists were limp. I finally felt confident that she wasn’t going to try to hit me again, so I loosened my grip on her wrists.


But I suddenly found myself unable to let her go, so I slid my hands from her wrists to her hands and grabbed her fingers lightly. I was overcome with emotion.


“What is it, Jamie?” Her voice was cracking.


I exhaled loudly, then drew in a ragged breath. “Do you think about him, Rosie? Do you think about Jordan at all?”


She closed her eyes and allowed the tears to fall as she exhaled shakily. “Every day of my life,” she said softly. “There’s not a day that goes by that Jordan doesn’t cross my mind. Every time I look at Evanora – every time I hear her laugh – he comes to my mind. Sometimes, she gives me this look – you remember, Jamie? You remember when Jordan would hear something that was just too stupid for words, and he would get this look on his face, like, ‘were you dropped on your head as a child?’” – and to this, I gave a half-smile and a nod – “and now, she gets that look. And that one eyebrow” – she took her finger and drew on her left eyebrow – “it would just go up like…like…”


She dropped her hand as her voice trailed off, her eyes filling with tears.


I nodded my head, closed my eyes, and sighed. “Fuckin’ guy,” I said, opening my eyes and looking at Rosie. “So. You didn’t see me, right?”


Rosie smiled and winked at me. “Ivan Sapphire? Please. Get over yourself, rock star.” She squeezed my hands one last time for good measure. “I’m going to leave now. I’m not going to look back because I don’t want to see where you’re going. This way, if someone with bad intentions against you asks me if I know where you are, I can answer honestly when I say I don’t know. But just because I don’t look back, doesn’t mean I want to see you go. I need you to understand that, Jamie Ryan. I don’t need you to over-analyze things that don’t need over-analyzing. I need you to let me go, Jamie Ryan, and I need you to know that I love you, and I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”


She finally let go of my hands, gave me a slight nod, then turned and walked back to her home. I watched her, silently, keeping the promise I made so long ago to Jordan Barker and didn’t leave what was once known as Central Park until I saw, for sure, that she was safe inside.


Author Bio



With an impressive list of credentials earned over the course of two decades, Bernadette R. Giacomazzo is a multi-hyphenate in the truest sense of the word: an editor, writer, photographer, publicist, and digital marketing specialist who has demonstrated an uncanny ability to thrive in each industry with equal aplomb. Her work has been featured in Teen Vogue, People, Us Weekly, The Los Angeles Times, The New York Post, and many, many more. She served as the news editor of Go! NYC Magazine for nearly a decade, the executive editor of LatinTRENDS Magazine for five years, the eye candy editor of XXL Magazine for two years, and the editor-at-large at iOne/Zona de Sabor for two years. As a publicist, she has worked with the likes of Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson and his G-Unit record label, rapper Kool G. Rap, and various photographers, artists, and models. As a digital marketing specialist, Bernadette is Google Adwords certified, has an advanced knowledge of SEO, PPC, link-building, and other digital marketing techniques, and has worked for a variety of clients in the legal, medical, and real estate industries.

Based in New York City, Bernadette is the co-author of Swimming with Sharks: A Real World, How-To Guide to Success (and Failure) in the Business of Music (for the 21st Century), and the author of the forthcoming dystopian fiction series, The Uprising. She also contributed a story to the upcoming Beyonce Knowles tribute anthology, The King Bey Bible, which will be available in bookstores nationwide in the summer of 2018.





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Friday, July 20, 2018

What Lies in Shadows by Siena Noble - Book Blitz








What Lies in Shadows
Siena Noble
Publication date: July 20th 2018
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Romance, Suspense

Ten years ago, former San Francisco police detective Daniel Yun lost everything when he lost his beloved wife and partner, Christine, to the very serial killer they were hunting. Now a private investigator, Dan has done his best to move on with his life, burying himself in his work and being a devoted uncle to his nieces and nephews. His weekends are occupied with a succession of boring blind dates and a long string of willing submissives, but the one woman who has managed to creep into his heart is the one woman he can’t allow himself to have: Heather, Christine’s best friend.

Since the brutal murder of her best friend, homicide detective Heather D’Angelo has dedicated her life to keeping the city safe from scum like Christine’s killer. Between her stressful job and the demands of being a divorced single mom, Heather has little time for romance, preferring the familiar company of Dan… and the occasional Saturday night at the local BDSM club. But no Dom can compare to the man whose touch first awakened her hidden desires years before: none other than Dan himself…

For nearly a decade, the man believed to be the San Francisco Slasher has been behind bars, until a vicious killing all too similar to Christine’s forces the police to reopen the case, and Dan to confront all the fury and pain he thought he’d buried long ago. When the trail of the Slasher and Dan’s latest case converge and lead straight to the city’s BDSM community, he and Heather find themselves working intimately together, bringing their long-suppressed passion to the surface. But as they fight feelings stronger than friendship, the body count continues to climb, and the Slasher isn’t the only threat they face. Only together can Dan and Heather overcome the demons that have haunted them for so long, especially since the killer may be far closer to them than they ever imagined…






Author Bio

A proud Pittsburgh, PA area native, Siena Noble has explored and inhabited all kinds of fictional worlds through her writing since age ten. Although she’s always been a sucker for a good love story and possesses an incredibly dirty mind, she never imagined that her publishing debut would be erotic romance. What started as a silly short story idea quickly became something much bigger, a demanding Master of a manuscript whose every whim Siena submitted to.

When she’s not busy reading, writing, binge-watching Game of Thrones, or doing a million other important things, Siena enjoys traveling, archery, and getting lost in the woods (also known as “hiking”). She and her better half/writing buddy/sometimes Sir/sex muse live together in Pittsburgh. Their dream is to relocate to the middle of nowhere and build a castle capable of withstanding the impending zombie apocalypse.






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Monday, July 16, 2018

The Boyfriend Whisperer by Linda Budzinski - Book Blitz







The Boyfriend Whisperer
Linda Budzinski
Published by: Swoon Romance
Publication date: November 15th 2016
Genres: Contemporary, Romance, 
Young Adult

As President and CEO of Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises, Lexi Malloy is Grand View High School’s undercover Cupid. One problem: She’s stuck in the friend zone when it comes to her own crush, Chris Broder. She and Chris have been best friends since the third grade, and he doesn’t even seem to realize she’s  a member of the opposite sex.

When pretty and popular cheerleader Lindsay LaRouche hires Lexi to whisper Chris, she has to decide whether to place her commitment to her company—and Chris’s happiness—before herself.





EXCERPT

I crank up Mumford & Sons on my iPod and pull up the Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises files on my tablet. With Valentine’s ten days away, I need to plot out some big moves for my clients.
I start with Jolene. I watched Brendon staring at her this afternoon during the pep rally. He’s falling hard. No need to play it subtle. He likes spicy food, so Red Hots are an obvious choice, in a heart-shaped tin. What should the card say? Something super flirty. “Let’s heat it up on Valentine’s.” No … “spice it up.” I jot that down and move on to my next client.

Just as I’m picking out a sweet YouTube link I want her to send her BF-to-be, Coach Reilly pulls my earbud out and scares me half to death.

“Malloy! I’m talking to you. What are you working on?”

I slam my tablet shut. “What? Homework. Sorry. What do you need?”

She shoves my backpack to the floor and plops down beside me. “Let’s talk about tomorrow. We’re expecting scouts from all over. Rumor has it someone from U Conn might even turn up.”

She pauses as if to gauge my reaction, so I force a smile. “U Conn? Wow. That’s great.”

She leans in. “There’ll be a lot of buzz in that arena. Parents, coaches, other players.

They’ll all be talking about the scouts and about you and your future. Here’s the thing: You need to ignore them.”

“Ignore them.”

“Exactly. You have one job tomorrow, and that’s to play the best game Alexis Malloy knows how to play. Run, pass, shoot, rebound. That’s it. The rest is static. Ignore the static.”

“Got it. Static.”

Coach furrows her brow. “You nervous?”

“Maybe a little.”

She pats my arm as she stands. “A little nervousness is good. You’ve got this, Malloy. You can do it.”

I smile and slump back into my seat. The fact is, I’m not at all nervous. I only said that so she wouldn’t launch into a lecture about being too cocky. She’s forever vacillating between warning me not to be too nervous and not to be too cocky, when in reality, I’m neither. The truth is, when it comes to college scouts, I just wish they’d leave me alone.


Author Bio


My young adult novels, EM & EM (2015) and THE FUNERAL SINGER (2013), were both published by Swoon Romance YA. My upcoming novel, THE BOYFRIEND WHISPERER, scheduled for publication in fall of 2016 by Swoon, received the Romance Writers of America Young Adult Chapter’s 2015 Rosemary Award and the Virginia Chapter’s 2015 Fool for Love Award.

I live in Northern Virginia with my husband, Joe, and our feisty chihuahua, Demitria (also known as Dee Dee, The Puppy, and Killer). I’m a sucker for romance and reality TV and have been known to turn off my phone’s ringer when watching “The Bachelor.”

My favorite flower is the daisy, my favorite food is chocolate, and my favorite song is “Amazing Grace.”

When I’m not writing, I work in nonprofit management. I’m represented by the amazing Andrea Somberg of Harvey Klinger Inc.






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Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Murder Girl (#2 Lilah Love) Lisa Renee Jones - Release Blitz




Title: Murder Girl

Author: Lisa Renee Jones

Release Date: July 10, 2018

Series: Lilah Love #2


New York Times bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones returns with the second book in her electrifying series featuring Lilah Love, an FBI profiler who doesn’t fight her dark side—she embraces it.

It’s Lilah Love’s job to inhabit a killer’s mind. The unapologetically tough FBI profiler is very comfortable there. But her latest case is making her head spin. It’s a string of brutal assassinations carried out across the country, each tied to a mysterious tattoo. Body by body, she’s followed the clues all the way back to her hometown. And every step of the way, the killer has been following her.

Here, beneath the glamour of the privileged Hamptons community, is a secret long buried but never forgotten. It’s bigger than Lilah. It’s powerful enough to escape the reach of the FBI. And it’s more personal than anyone can imagine. Because it’s hiding in Lilah’s own past. To fight it, she’s forced to turn to her lethally tempting ex, Kane Mendez. He’s an expert at bringing out Lilah’s darkest impulses. If she plans to survive, she’s going to need them.

**You MUST read book one, MURDER NOTES, prior to reading this book. 


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Review
5 Stars
🌟⭐🌟⭐🌟

This second part of Lilah Love takes off at a blistering pace and remains fast moving right to the end. I was on the tenterhooks throughout the whole thing!

Lilah, an FBI profiler is still determined to catch the real serial killer despite all the barriers thrown in her way. There is so much going on that one puzzle leads to another and she is now more convinced that everything is tied to the reason why she left the Hamptons in the first place. 

Her love/hate relationship with her ex, the formidable Kane is entertaining despite her attitude towards him. Together, they solve one mystery after another until she discovers that there is a dangerous secret organisation at play. She is one of the targets, but she doesn't shy away from danger. Besides, Kane would rather die than allow anything to happen to her. The biggest issue is who in her surroundings belongs to this organisation. Can anyone be trusted? 

This is one convoluted story which is very well constructed and one thread of the story intertwines seamlessly with the others. Each time, there is a reprieve, something else is thrown into the mix. Despite all the cover ups and lies, I felt relieved towards the end until the plot turns full circles! 

I absolutely love this series, but would like to see a more stable relationship between Lilah and Kane. I now look forward to the next book in the series. 

I received an eARC and the views expressed are my personal opinion.





I enter the building and ignore the pretty brunette behind the triangle-shaped stone desk and head to the stairs.

“Excuse me,” she calls out, but I ignore her. Kane knows I’m coming. He has people watching me and this building. He knows I’m in the building by now. I don’t need “sweet thing” down there to announce me in yet another way. I’m at the top of the stairs before she finishes her fourth excuse me, which is now a bit louder, as if I just haven’t heard her the other three times. I turn down the hallway and walk toward the desk outside Kane’s office where Tabitha sits, minus any more originality today than the last time I was here. She’s still bleached blonde, with her fake, giant-ass boobs hanging out of a silk blouse with numerous buttons undone that turn it into a slut show that could have been professional.

I pass her without a word, approaching Kane’s double doors, when she says, “Drama follows you, Lilah Love.”



“No,” I say without looking at her. “Dead bodies follow me.” I glance over my shoulder at her. “You should remember that.”

And with that statement that really had no purpose other than it felt really damn good, I open Kane’s door.

I step inside Kane’s office and find him sitting behind his desk, just in time to hear him say, “She’s here,” into his intercom and then release the button.

With exaggerated drama that I reserve for moments when I want to be a smart-ass or simply announce my fucking presence, I use my body to shut the door, but I don’t hang out and wait for it to grow roots. I rotate and charge toward Kane and that King Mendez desk of his that he doesn’t get to use as shelter. By the time I round the wooden atrocity, he’s standing, towering over me in a charcoal suit and a purple shirt with black stripes and some sort of black-and-gray tie. It’s flashy, expensive, and works on him when it would not on nine out of ten other people. But then, while I keep a low profile—aside from the door drama, of course—and favor my black nondescript looks, his entire persona says “look at me” with the intended message of “I have nothing to hide.” A lie he tells the world and, after he drugged me to keep me from knowing what happened last night, apparently me.

We stand there for a beat or ten without words before he says, “Lilah,” and the very fact that he says it like sex is all it takes for me to snap.

I slap him in the face, because my bare fist is too small to hurt him the way his jaw would hurt me. It’s also a disgrace to a man to be slapped, which is why one UFC fighter I’ve watched here and there does it to his opponents. And Kane is my opponent. He turns his head with the force of the blow, my palm stinging in the aftermath.

“Well now, beautiful,” he says, fixing me with a brown-eyed stare. “I know you like it rough, but is now the time? We both have questions we want answered.”

I slap him again, and this time he catches my wrist before I pull back. I try to slap him with my free hand, and he catches it as well, this time before contact. “You get two, not three.”

My gaze flicks to the handprint on his right cheek that matches the one on the left before I meet his stare and say, “Two was pretty damn satisfying.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your stalker?” he demands, his question low, lethal, his anger banked just beneath the surface, while mine is the cherry on top of every lie he’s told me. “Because we both know that’s what we’re dealing with here,” he adds.

“Let go of me, Kane,” I bite out, my voice taut with impatience. No. Make that a desire to smack him again.

“After you tell me about your stalker and the notes.”

“Let go of me, Kane,” I repeat slowly, “or my next move will be a knee to your family jewels. And I promise you, it will be hard enough that neither of us will have to worry about our urge to fuck ever again.” My jaw sets hard, but he doesn’t release me. “You drugged me,” I remind him, “and then searched my house before leaving me with a gun that I was too drugged to use. So if you think I won’t do it—”

He releases me but doesn’t step back. “I didn’t leave you with a gun you couldn’t use. I kept you at my house until sunrise, and I left a team guarding your place, front and back. I protected you, like I always do.”

I don’t analyze why that makes me angrier. That’s for later. For now, there is this: “I’d pull my gun on you and back you off, Kane, but I swore the next time I did that, I’d shoot you. And I need information from you.”

“I’m all yours, beautiful,” he says, holding his hands out. “I always am.” He motions to the sitting area to his left and behind him. “Let’s sit and make this peaceful.”

“Peaceful, my ass,” I say.





Title: Murder Notes

Author: Lisa Renee Jones

Series: Lilah Love #1



New York Times bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones’s heart-pounding thriller of a woman’s secrets—and a past that’s about to come out of hiding…

As an FBI profiler, it’s Lilah Love’s job to think like a killer. And she is very good at her job. When a series of murders surface—the victims all stripped naked and shot in the head—Lilah’s instincts tell her it’s the work of an assassin, not a serial killer. But when the case takes her back to her hometown in the Hamptons and a mysterious but unmistakable connection to her own life, all her assumptions are shaken to the core.


Thrust into a troubled past she’s tried to shut the door on, Lilah’s back in the town where her father is mayor, her brother is police chief, and she has an intimate history with the local crime lord’s son, Kane Mendez. The two share a devastating secret, and only Kane understands Lilah’s own darkest impulses. As more corpses surface, so does a series of anonymous notes to Lilah, threatening to expose her. Is the killer someone in her own circle? And is she the next target?



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New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series.

In addition to the success of Lisa's INSIDE OUT series, she has published many successful titles. The TALL, DARK AND DEADLY series and THE SECRET LIFE OF AMY BENSEN series, both spent several months on a combination of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling lists. Lisa is also the author of the bestselling WHITE LIES and LILAH LOVE series.

Prior to publishing Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women's Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.











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