Sunday, 30 March 2014

Excerpt from Murder in Moscow by Storm Chase

Murder In Moscow
By Storm Chase

Burned out ex-undercover detective Cassidy Stone leaves London for a new life in Moscow, but her past continues to haunt her. Life begins to look up when a favour for the embassy leads her into a lethal ambush, and into the orbit of Dmitri Milyukov, a fun loving millionaire who shares her passion for extreme sports. Cassidy slowly learns to love again – until she stumbles on proof that Dmitri is at the center of a carefully plotted Red Mafia corporate espionage operation aimed at her employer. Worse, there is a gruesome murder in her office, and everyone is convinced Cassidy is the killer…

Murder in Moscow: a thrilling tale of passion, romance, intrigue, betrayal and murder.

Excerpt from Murder in Moscow by Storm Chase

She heard the sound of running feet coming towards her. More trouble, Cassidy thought. If they had reinforcements, she was definitely dead.
The one with the martial arts training was fumbling in his pocket. Frightened he had a gun, Cassidy knew she had no more time for trickery and deception. She went in fast and close and took him in the solar plexus with a swift eagle strike. As he slumped, his hand came up with a knife.
The sight of it produced a surge of fear that provided an extra spurt of strength and determination. Cassidy moved in close and banged her hands over his ears, bursting his eardrums while she kneed him in the balls. He folded like a sack, retching with a high squealing sound.
“Are you all right?” With surprise Cassidy saw it was Dmitri. He moved lightly, stepping over the unconscious man at his feet. Cassidy hadn’t seen him go down. It must have been fast. As her first victim stirred and tried to sit up, Dmitri gave him a casual kick in the ribs. “Stay down,” he ordered. It was a hard voice, used to command. The man slumped instinctively.
Police, Cassidy thought. He must be plainclothes division.
Looking around he smiled at her. “That was great,” he said. “Karate with a bit of Muay Thai improv. Or was it taekwondo? Either way, love it!”
“Thanks,” Cassidy said warily. Having done routine paperwork like converting her drivers’ license and getting her residence card, her experience was that the Moscow police always had their hand out. She wondered how much this would cost her.
Dmitri saw with interest that his redhead was completely unmoved both by the attack or his appearance. She was breathing a little fast but otherwise she looked cool and composed; as if it was completely normal to stand about talking while three muggers were heaving their guts up all over the street. She really was something. He grinned companionably at her. “Let’s get this scum cleared away, huh?”
He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Instantly there was an answering call.
Shit, Cassidy thought. She didn’t want to be mixed up with official reports even though clearly the handover was off.
Dmitri saw her wariness and thought she might not remember him. Men were probably trying to get her attention all the time. “Remember me? I’m Dmitri. We met earlier. Can I buy you a drink?”
Cassidy stared at him. “What?”
“A drink. I really wanted to ask you to dance but after this you must be thirsty, so drinks first and a dance later?”
He was drunk, Cassidy decided. No sober man would ask her for a drink while stepping around three semiconscious, retching, groaning men. Dmitri looked sober but he must be plastered. Cassidy stifled a groan. A clandestine meet that had been a complete fuck-up and now a tanked up copper looking for a date. Terrific. This just couldn’t get worse.

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Thursday, 27 March 2014

Gina Whitney: Beautiful Lies Chapter Reveal

Title: Beautiful Lies
Author: Gina Whitney           
Genre: Erotic Romance
Reveal Host: Lady Amber's Tours


Synopsis:
Enigmatic Cameron Sterling is quickly rising through the ranks at New York’s most prestigious and corrupt law firm Wotherspoon and Associates. He has willfully avoided any meaningful personal relationships and is content to casually hook up with Becky, a young woman who fancies herself as his actual girlfriend. As a child, Cam witnessed his father murder his mother, and this was the genesis of his relationship-avoidance issue. The only thing he cares about now is becoming a partner at Wotherspoon and Associates. Cam is obsessed with the promotion and will not let anything—or anyone—stand in his way.


But when Cam crosses paths with Lilly Amsel, a fashion model, the edges of his well laid plans begin to fray. At first, Cam is unimpressed by Lilly’s exaggerated effervescence and entitled air. However, he is taken aback by her incredible beauty—legs as long as an Amazon’s, silky honeyed-hair, and blazing body. This undeniable physical attraction disturbs Cam on all levels, leaving him intrigued by Lilly and wanting to get away from her at the same time. 

Lilly is strongly aroused by Cam’s moody presence. His dark, erotic looks and heady scent ignite long-dormant embers of wanton desire buried deep within her. Practically hypnotized, she finds her body reacting in the most surprising and carnal of ways. However, the two separate and never expect to see each other again, but somehow they manage to still linger on each other. Lilly’s larger-than-life persona that Cam initially encountered is a sham, though. It is a well-crafted costume that masks deeply rooted insecurity and an unfortunate dependence on prescription drugs. This stems from a horrifically abusive childhood that she is trying desperately, and unsuccessfully, to forget. Her mediocre modeling career was the perfect vehicle for her to escape that tumult and simultaneously receive acceptance and praise. It did not matter to Lilly that the kudos were based on superficial assumptions. She was still almost satisfied with the result and what modeling could not fix, the drugs could. 

Enthrallment and lust have other plans, though. Despite their best efforts to stay apart, Cam and Lilly come back together and embark on a tempestuous affair. For both of them, a torrid weekend getaway in the mountains unleashes years of pent-up sexual frustration and destroys inhibitions. Cam has no problem taking charge as he relishes Lilly’s delicious inner nectar. Again and again, Cam delivers Lilly pleasure she has never known before, leaving her trembling as she reclaims the goddess within.

If I had known then that Lilly Amsel would set such a fierce blaze in my life, I would have taken the next elevator.
All I wanted that morning was to get a hard run on the treadmill and go to my office to put in some weekend overtime. I arrived at The Equity, the most prestigious gym not only in New York City but in the country, and was checking my work-issued Blackberry as usual. I tended to avoid such pretentious settings, but membership was one of the many perks of my employment at Wotherspoon and Associates. As a law student at Aldensburg University, I had interned at the corporate law firm and had been offered a position after I’d passed the bar five years ago. Aldensburg was not as premier a college when compared to the Ivies; in fact most people have never heard of it. But, like me, it got the job done. And professionally the job I was trying to get done now was making partner. I know it was an ambitious goal, but I had nothing but faith in my skills to make it happen.
For the moment I was there at The Equity in my sagging basketball shorts and stretched-out T-shirt, standing amid chichi air kissers. I was not there to hobnob; I actually had a serious goal. I worked out not only to maintain my body but to keep my mind sharp, focused, and ready at all times. That was what separated me from those people. I was a shark among peacocks.
The cheerless receptionist with the sucked-in cheeks eyed me as I stepped through the door. I could see her hostile nostrils widen like a bull’s as she feigned a barely polite smile. She knew who I was but played this ridiculous game with me every day. Always pretending not to know me.
“I’m sorry, sir. You must be looking for the gym down the street.”
That was her way of telling me that my choice of clothing was not up to par, and I might consider some more appropriate attire. I had known plenty of people like her growing up and knew that the best way to handle her was to be in her face every chance I got, to be the proverbial pebble in her shoe. I swiped my security pass card and told her, “See you tomorrow.”
The Equity was an “it” destination for celebrities and all manner of the rich and powerful. The entry level consisted of a wide, stark-white hallway with electric-blue tube lights lining the walls and ceiling, and filled with the ethereal melody of a string orchestra. This main hallway connected with several more, with the last one ending a spacious, low-lit lounge area. Scattered about were suede couches and glass tables; black-and-white photos of perfectly sculpted body parts hung on the walls. This was where those who came to be seen strategically posed themselves just in case an undercover paparazzo managed to sneak in. The lounge was usually empty in the morning because its denizens could not manage to roll out of bed until well into the afternoon.
I made my way across the rugs to yet another hall that led to a bank of elevators. I pushed the “up” button, eager to start my workout. Then I heard the quick click clack of feminine footsteps come up behind me. I sighed because I knew those shoes—probably high heels—were not made for running. This was just another pampered pest whose idea of working out was getting a massage. I did not even have to turn around to figure this chick out.
Her heavy perfume was layered with the fresh smell of soap and shampoo. Typical of someone who saw the gym as a social occasion rather than a place to exercise. I never had patience with lackadaisical people who were not willing to put in the effort to achieve anything. I wanted so badly to turn around and say, “Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be having Sunday brunch over at Peacock Alley?”  
However, I was not there to judge. I was there to work out. But I was curious as to who was standing behind me. I looked into the stainless-steel door of the elevator to see if I could make out the reflection. The dull surface only revealed that the grayish silhouette behind me was tall and lanky. Not as tall as me at six foot three, but tall nonetheless.  
Then a hoard of more click-clacking footsteps arrived, accompanied by raucously shrill voices greeting the first woman. I thought, Oh god. Jersey girls.
“Lilly!” they all screamed in unison.
The first woman, Lilly, chirped back. “Sweetie pies, how are you?” 
One nasally voice responded, “Fine if you like your nipples turning into Popsicles. It’s cold as hell out there. What’s on your agenda today? ”
“Pilates with Jean-Paul. Thirty minutes.”
“What is he? A slave driver?” another woman said seriously with a croaky smoker’s voice.
“I know, right?” Lilly agreed. All I could do was roll my eyes at that nonsense.    
Lilly had an odd way of speaking that only a discerning ear could pick up. She was trying her best to affect a newscaster accent, that plain Midwestern way of speaking. However, she would occasionally slip into an upward inflection that made every sentence sound like a question. She was definitely a So-Cal transplant. It was beyond me why, in the midst of shudder-inducing Jersey accents, Lilly hid her natural one.
As the elevator numbers slowly ticked down, I noticed in my peripheral vision the number of men passing. They were all doing double takes at Lilly. Either she was gorgeous or hideous beyond measure. Either way, it did not matter to me. I had seen plenty of both and was not swayed by the slop or gloss of anything. An ethics professor a long way back even accused me of being jaded. What he could not understand was that when your life has been a trial by fire, you see things differently from most. The world and all the people in it are just opportunities for you to get what you need. You can’t depend on anyone but yourself. When you have lived in a cushioned bubble like the professor, you just don’t get that. Needless to say I barely passed that class.
The elevator finally arrived, and the herd of new-money cows stampeded past me to get in. I turned back, and Lilly was waiting for me to usher her out like I was the doorman. Sure enough she was decked out in black from head to toe—leggings, turtleneck, and those clacking ankle boots. She had a leather bag brimming with Voss water and vitamin blister packs. She appeared to be in her early twenties, so I was perplexed as to why she needed so many pills.
Still, I must admit that I was taken aback by how beautiful she was. Her hair, pushed back and glossed into a tight bun, reminded me of dark honey, and her graceful, lithe body looked like that of a ballet dancer. And those eyes—they were extraordinarily large orbs of malachite rimmed in chestnut. However, no matter how pouty her dewy lips were, Lilly still acted like an entitled elitist, so pampered that she probably considered Park Slope to be the ghetto.
I watched her standing there looking at me. This woman was used to people fawning all over her, and I was not one to do that. I did not grovel or bow down to anybody. But no matter what I felt about her at the moment, I decided to do the gentlemanly thing.
“Ladies first,” I said.
Lilly sashayed past me and joined her tacky and deeply moneyed crew. As she crossed the threshold of the elevator, she gave me a “thanks” that was nowhere near sincere. I spent the elevator ride to the third floor listening to her companions’ boisterous gossip about other women at the club. Yet I did not hear Lilly utter any comment. I just felt her eyes laser beaming my back. Apparently she was still shocked and pissed that I didn’t think she was the shit.

* * *

“Lilly, you forgot your water,” Jean-Paul yelled out to me. He had been my Pilates instructor for the past six years—my entire time in New York. After I finished my thirty-minute workout with him, I got some fresh acrylics in the spa. I was preparing for an interview with Paramour Life, fashion’s most prominent magazine, later that afternoon. Though I was modeling, the interview was not about me. It was really about my boyfriend of two years, Sig Krok. Sig had come from Sweden twenty years ago and started his own fashion house, Klå. Klå. It quickly became one of the best-selling clothing lines in the world.
This article would be a tribute to Sig. The magazine just wanted my perspective of him and a little insider knowledge of our highly visible yet terribly private relationship.  
With discreet sleight of hand, Jean-Paul handed me my property, and it was not really water. It was my bottle of Klonopin.
“I know how important water is,” he said then quickly dismissed himself to his next scheduled client. I watched him for a moment. I was in awe and bewilderment over how he mastered the art of prancing and swaying like a seasoned burlesque dancer. He really had to teach me that sometime.
Realizing I was running out of time before the interview and still had to get my makeup done, I abruptly turned around to leave. And I turned right into Mr. Scowl—the guy at the elevator this morning. Aw, just great, I thought.
“Excuse me,” I said as I started walking away. By then he had put on some more weather-appropriate clothing—jeans and a cable-knit sweater with a white T-shirt underneath. And the creep did not even respond to me, smirking his arrogant mouth instead. Even though he was pompous, he was kind of cute. Though it was the middle of winter, his skin looked sun kissed. He was a giant of a man, well over six feet tall. His luminous, copper eyes seemed like they were always narrowed, like he was annoyed with people because they were merely human and could not withstand his survey.
I headed toward the elevator, and he did the same. When we got there, I started pushing buttons in hopes it would make the elevator come faster. The bell dinged, and he let me on first. I could tell he didn’t want to but was trying to be The Man.
We stood in opposite corners. By then most men would have engaged me in conversation. He hadn’t. Was he gay? No, I had a fairly accurate gaydar. What was wrong with him then? I was becoming increasingly irritated by this man’s presence. I glanced over at him. He was wiping his sweaty brow, and his hand pushed up his cap a bit, exposing his inky hair cut with perfect precision around the edges. The cap was thready and had a large A on the front. He probably had gotten it from some college a while back. I also noticed that on the underside of the cap’s bill, he had written his name in permanent marker: Cam.  
Even though he grated on me, I could not help but be distracted by his body. He had Adonis-like shoulders, broad and protective. His thick thighs were agape, his wide stance taking up a good deal of space. This square-jawed man was definitely broody, but even without a smile, I could make out the dimple in his cheek. And I did not even want to get started on the size of his hands and feet. They were enormous.
The air vent was blowing a light, steady stream of air across Cam. I inhaled the heady scent of his newly sweaty body intermingled with a woodsy deodorant. I leaned in his direction. One of my eyes went on autopilot and fluttered—that thing that happens when something is real good. I took another breath and leaned in some more.  
Wait! What…the fuck…am I doing? I caught myself right before my nose landed on Cam’s arm. And there he was with the same “what the fuck?” look. He was staring at me going for his pit with my crazy eye. He obviously thought I was about to rape him.
Quick, deflect. I pointed at my ear. “I thought you said something.” I regained my composure and returned my gaze forward.
But he sure did smell good. And boy, was I horny.
WhateverI wasn’t going to say anything else to Cam. He was still nothing but an aloof, smug asshole to me. And I had to endure what seemed like a forever ride to the first floor with him. I turned my face back to the elevator doors with just the sound of the motors and cables to break the silence.
I was so relieved to get out of the elevator, I practically sprinted into the parking garage. I slung my faux fur over my shoulders as I rushed to Sig’s Infiniti QX80. Cam was trailing me, sliding into his leather jacket. And I just knew he was about to ask me for my number despite that fiasco in the elevator. Maybe I hadn’t lost my touch. I was prepared to shoot him down, of course. But he sure was taking his time. I was already at Sig’s SUV.
However, not only did Cam not ask me for my number, he was only walking behind me because he had parked his powerful, black Harley 1200 Custom next to me. He spread his thick legs and straddled it then put on his Aviator sunglasses and revved up his baby. I had to say, that motorcycle…the way it just hung between his legs…looked more like a big, hard dick than anything else.
Cam turned the twist grip like it was his cock and throttled up. The rumble from the motorcycle bounced off the concrete walls of the garage. It was almost deafening. He didn’t care. In fact, if I hadn’t known any better, I would have sworn he’d done it on purpose. I was totally conflicted. Never had I so detested a man and still wanted to fuck the skin off his dick at the same time.
Alas, Cam drove off without even looking in my direction. I let out an audible gasp. No straight male ever looked at me and just turned away.
Hmm…maybe my gaydar was in need of a tune-up.  

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Book Trailer


Monday, 24 March 2014

Marissa Carmel: Strip Me Bare

Title: Strip Me Bare
Author: Marissa Carmel           
Release Day: October 10, 2013
Genre: New Adult
Cover Design by: Cover Me, Darling
Reveal Host: Lady Amber's Tours

Blurb:

“I may have had more lovers than you, and I may take my clothes off for countless women, but you are the only one who can strip me bare.”

Do you ever stop loving someone just because they’re gone?
Five years ago Ryan Pierce disappeared from Alana Remington’s life without leaving so much as a post-it note behind. He was the one she gave her heart to, her soul to and her virginity to. So imagine her surprise when she finds him dancing at one of NYC’s hottest male reviews as Jack the Stripper.
Ryan never stopped loving Alana, and now that she serendipitously dropped back into his life, he’s vowed never to lose her again. But being together has its costs, and challenges Alana isn’t sure she can handle. She finally has Ryan back; but how in the world is she supposed to share the love of her life with half of the women in New York City?

Excerpt:

We stop in front of some hanging crystals. They clink as Ryan pushes them aside, “after you.”  I walk under an orange spotlight, into a small space with a white leather couch deep enough to lie on and walls a warm golden yellow.   
Ryan steps in behind me and presses his body flush against mine. My mind races.  
Is he really going to do this?  
Am I really going to let him?
Can I even handle this? Five minutes ago he was with another woman. Quite possibly in this same room doing God only knows what.  
“Why do you do this Ryan?” I expel. I know he explained it in words, but I need to experience it to truly understand.  
He ambles around me so close; the only thing separating us is a whisper of air.  
“I told you, the money,” he says as he unbuttons his shirt.  
“You said women too,” I watch him cautiously, my gaze jumping between his eyes and his chest.
“That was before you walked back into my life. You’re the only woman I want to touch now. The others, like you saw before, it’s just an act. A business transaction. It’s what I have to do to get what I want.”
“Doesn’t it make them feel used?” I flick my eyes up at him.
“It mustn’t. They always come back.”   
“You like it. I saw your face. That wasn’t an act.”  
Ryan stands right in front of me, his shirt unbuttoned and dangling open. “I won’t lie to you Alana, I’ll never lie to you,” his tone is hard, but seductive. “I do like the attention. But it’s not real. It’s my job to sell attractiveness and fantasy, and I do it well. But that’s all it is, fantasy and I know it. When I’m with you, that’s my real.”
My breath catches when he says the word real. I can’t help but find the irony in his words; I’m exactly to him what he is to me. Two people one and the same, both living a double life to get what they want; a future and each other.  
And that is what I want. A future, with Ryan.   
I go to put my hands on his chest, but he steps away shaking his head no. “In this room, it’s all about you,” he walks around, stopping right behind me. “You have to tell me what you want Alana,” he whispers in my ear and I almost go limp, the sound of his voice is erotic as hell.  
I swallow hard, but can’t utter a single word, because truth be told, I have no freakin’ idea what I want. At least, not in this scenario.  
Ryan starts to rub my shoulders. I think he can feel my hesitation.  
“Why are you so tense? This is supposed to be fun.”
Fun? The word rattles around in my head. Fun - a time or feeling of enjoyment or amusement.
Okay, let’s have some fun.  
I turn around to face him and our eyes lock. “Show me.”  
“Show you what?” his tone dripping with sensuality.  
“Show me Jack the Stripper.”
Holy fuck!   

Buy Links:
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Marissa Carmel's links:
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Friday, 21 March 2014

Falling for an Angel by Laura Prior is out!

Falling for an Angel by Laura Prior is out!
Genre: Paranormal Romance 16+

Synopsis:
When a mysterious stranger enters Jasmine's life with tales of Angels and Demons she refuses to listen to his warnings. Having been raised with dishonesty and treachery, she is under no illusion of the realities of human existence. Abandoned by her family and betrayed by her friends, she find this recent twist in her life too much to handle and spirals out of control.

Zach is ancient warrior Angel. To his disgust he has been sent to guard Jasmine from the beasts that hunt her. Perplexed by her volatile human nature he struggles to control her and make her recognize the signs of the mythical world around her.

Is it possible for two such dissimilar individuals to unite against the evil stalking them? Or will the tension between them explode - leaving catastrophic repercussions?

The Falling series itself, follows Jasmine's story; a woman everyone can relate to. She has weaknesses and flaws and her journey is really a discovery to see if someone is really so flawed, can they overcome them enough to be accepted? Is it really about changing yourself or is it about changing other people's perceptions of you, letting them see that whatever fate has in store, those perceived weaknesses are actually important aspects of who you are?

About the Author
Laura Prior grew up in the north-east of England and has travelled the world while working as a nurse. She is currently living and working in Melbourne, Australia, with her partner. She enjoys snowboarding, long walks, shoe shopping, and cocktails. She loves reading passionate novels with strong female characters.

Links:
Falling for an Angel Amazon.co.uk
Falling for an Angel Amazon.com 
Falling for an Angel Facebook
Web: http://laurapriorbooks.com/

This post is part of the Lady Amber's Tours blitz

Tuesday, 11 March 2014

A Need So Insatiable Release Day

A Need So Insatiable by Cecilia Robert is out today.

Blurb: “You've owned me from the moment I walked into that music room. You've wrapped yourself in my heart and mind. I can’t get you out. I don’t want to.” ~ Rafael Van Rees

Sophie Fisher’s life is on fire. If she’s not ducking around corners or slipping out of windows to escape the debt collectors her father's death has left knocking on her door, she’s dealing with her rebellious, fifteen-year-old sister, Lilli. And, as if that’s not enough, Rafael Van Rees crashes into her life—literally—bringing with him a past the public has no idea of. Can she unravel his mysteries before he unravels her, or will his presence finally force her to face the demons she's trying to outrun? 

Rafael Van Rees, maestro extraordinaire, prides himself on being in control of his destiny, music and women. As far as he is concerned, his past is a black cloud in the distance--until he meets Sophie, that is, and his world spins out of control in more ways than one. He knows the darkest sins and secrets eventually reveal themselves, but when it comes to Sophie, he'll stop at nothing to protect her from his past. Even if it kills him.

Author Links: Facebook:  Goodreads:  Twitter:  Blog:  Discussion group on Facebook:
Buy Link: Amazon

Tuesday, 4 March 2014

Renee Novelle: Writing for New Adults


For all of you who're interested in New Adult versus plain old Romance, please welcome today's guest blogger: Renee Novelle, author of The Boyfriend List who answers the question, "What is the New Adult about and why do you love to write for this genre?"

The New Adult genre of romance tends to focus more on those experiences and individuals who are in college or immediately after college. Usually between the ages of 18-25. The issues/drama/concerns that are presented in these books are usually more relevant to that age group, where as romance in general can focus on any age group and the experiences therein. This is a key point in many peoples lives, where individuals begin to blossom into the adult that they'll become. It's often a period of personal awakening, goal setting and life choices that will shape the path of the rest of their lives. So it's been great that a separate genre has finally been created to focus on this transitional period from youth to full adulthood.

 I think writing New Adult is just fun. It's a great genre with so many opportunities to explore. I remember feeling so free and alive at that age, with so many possibilities at my fingertips and it's been great to kind of explore that again through my writing. There's a part of it that's very nostalgic for me, and I like to live vicariously through my characters, exploring different choices and seeing what the outcome will be. And there's also a part of it that's very liberating. With New Adult, I don't feel confined to certain unspoken rules that seem to be more present in other genres.

The Boyfriend List is out on Amazon USA, Amazon UK and Smashwords.

Interview with Lee Savino, author of Rescued by the Berserker

Lee Savino is an author and a mom and a chocoholic. She's written a bunch of books, all smexy romance. Smexy = smart + sexy. Rescued...