Saturday, October 8, 2016




Use Somebody is Beck Anderson's

newest Hollywood standalone!



Now Available!










Blurb
Jeremy King, Hollywood über-agent to the stars, knows that sharks gotta swim. He’s one of them, after all. He’s never met a deal he couldn’t strike or an argument he couldn’t win. LA is his kind of town—they both never stop moving.

So when his friend and client, movie star Andrew Pettigrew, invites him on a “man-cation” to the wilds of Idaho for a little fly-fishing, Jeremy’s not so sure. He might not have cell service. There’s no way there’ll be any supermodels to woo. And his idea of the great outdoors is a drive down the Pacific Coast Highway in his Tesla Model S—moose definitely do not factor into the picture.

Fitting then that because of a moose, he meets Macy Shea Summerlin, the best fly-fishing guide on the South Fork. Jeremy’s surprised and tantalized, but Macy isn’t having any of his alpha male posturing. She gives as good as she gets, and she knows how to throw a mean right hook.

As the two of them get tangled up in each other’s lives, both Jeremy and Macy must come to terms with winning and losing and letting love in. And Jeremy has to find the answer to his own question: Is he simply “using” Macy or could he really “use” someone like her? Find out in Use Somebody, book 3 of the Fix You series.


About the Author

Beck Anderson is a two-time Rita© finalist and author of four novels including the Fix You series and The Jeweler. She’s also a wife, a mom, an educator, and a walker of a small, bossy dog-slash-evil genius.

 




THANK YOU!



Title: Falling Slowly (Falling Novella Series #1)
Author: Shirl Rickman
Genre: Contemporary/NA
Release Date: October 6, 2016
Plain. Scattered. Klutzy. Naïve.
These are just a few ways people describe pretty but ordinary Rosie Fisher, and she’s okay with that. With her dull, mundane—sometimes messy—life.
It suits her.
Or so she thought…
Laid-back. Playboy. Charming.
These are just a few ways people describe handsome and charismatic Drew Nallen; he thrives on attention—especially from women—but likes his orderly, controlled life.
It suits him just fine.
Rosie. Drew. One accidental encounter and these two opposites are sharing more than a new friendship. They strike a life-changing deal, and what happens next?
It surprises them both.
A silence lingers between us. He studies me, his eyes never leaving my face. 
“Are you sure? No strings. No commitment,” he states. The tone of his voice is telling me he wants to be firm in the stipulations of this arrangement I’m asking him to enter into with me. 
Nodding, I repeat his words, “No strings. No commitments.” 
Drew gives me a slight nod and abruptly stands, holding his hand out to me. 
As I take it, he jerks me up and into his embrace. I want to look around to see if anyone is watching us, but I can’t take my eyes from his, and for one brief second, his gaze searches mine. Before I know what is happening, his lips are firmly against mine, coaxing my tight mouth to soften, and they do so without much effort. Drew Nallen is kissing me in the middle of the bar, and I’m kissing him back. I can feel his warmth. His control. I can feel my surrender, and it feels better than I could’ve imagined. Although intense, the kiss is short. 
Drew pulls back, and when I open my eyes, he’s staring at me with a surprised haze clouding his regard, then, as usual, his dimple appears on one side, and my insides melt. 
“I’m sorry, but I think the pleasure of this situation is going to be all mine,” I apologize. 
His happy expression leaves his face. Shaking his head, Drew quietly scolds, “Lesson number one: never apologize or criticize yourself. It’s the first rule of being more confident.” Drew lifts one hand from my waist and places it lightly under my chin, shifting my gaze up to his. “Also, I fear your view on your capabilities is utterly skewed. I might be the one who will need to work harder on my pleasure skills.”
Shirl Rickman is a writer, a dreamer, and an optimist. A small town Texas girl currently residing in the San Francisco Bay Area, Shirl adores her husband, daughter, and two crazy dogs. When she's not dreaming up new love stories, Shirl can be found reading, drinking her favorite coffee, Kona Blend with coconut milk. She loves kindness, laughing and meeting her readers.
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“This book is a serious #mustread!" - Biblio Belles Book Blog

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Synopsis:
She wanted to start again. To be someone---anyone---different . . .
Freedom. When Carleigh Stanger thought of college, that was the word that came to mind. Freedom from her unhappy home life. Freedom from high school mistakes. Freedom from the memory of that terrible morning. Only instead of bringing a sweet escape, Carleigh's first campus party traps her in the scornful gaze of the last person she wants to see, Tucker Green. It wasn't long ago that being close to Carleigh was everything Tucker wanted. But that was before he realized she was just another scheming girl who'd do whatever it took to get her way. Even lie to the guy she claimed to love. Unfortunately while Tucker's brain remembers the pain Carleigh caused, his body only remembers the pleasure . . . inruins-promo3

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About the Author:
Danielle Pearl is the Amazon and iBooks best selling author of the Something More series. She lives in New Jersey with her three delicious children and ever-supportive husband, who--luckily--doesn't mind sharing her with an array of fictional men. She did a brief stint at Boston University and worked in marketing before publishing her debut novel, Normal. She writes mature Young Adult and New Adult Contemporary Romance. Danielle enjoys coffee, wine, and cupcakes, and not in moderation.
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DRIFTER

by Janine Infante Bosco Nomad Series #1 Publication Date: November 8, 2016 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic, MC, Romantic Suspense
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COVER CREDITS
Cover Designer: JB's Cover Obsession Design
Model: Matthew Hosea
Photographer: Wander Pedro Aguiar
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Pre-order the biker full of dirty promises today on ITunes, Barnes & Amazon!

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Synopsis: “Stryker”
I’m a drifter. A man born to ride through this world alone. There used to be a time when I thought I was the rescuing type. I enlisted in the Marines and made it my duty—I was going to save lives. I was going to be a true American hero. But God had another plan. Or maybe Satan did. For everything I touch finds mortality. I’m no hero. I’m nothing. I’m a veteran biker, a former nomad who survived war only to live in hell. Now I ride with the Satan’s Knights of Brooklyn and I’m drifting into a different kind of chaos. The kind that revolves around a pretty girl with intoxicating green eyes. A girl who has the power to turn me inside out. A girl who doesn’t need anyone to rescue her because she’s her own savior. Until she’s not. But a man plagued by war and the devil inside him can never be her hero.
Gina Spinelli Strong. Independent. Fierce. They are the three things I strived to be. But sometimes being successful can be lonely. Sometimes a girl just wants to be a girl and have someone take care of her. Maybe even love her. Sometimes the strong become vulnerable. Or worse, the victor becomes the victim. Sometimes we lose control or in my case it’s stripped from you. Defeated. Broken. Haunted. They are the three things I have become. In my darkest hour I admit defeat. In my darkest hour I need one person. I need him. Stryker. ***NOTE: Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, sensitive subjects, offensive language, and mature topics. Recommended for age 18 years and up. *** goodreads-badge-add-38px authors-in-the-city-meet-graphic

Come Meet Author Janine Infante Bosco & Model Matthew Hosea at "Authors In The City" 3.11.17 in Raleigh, NC!

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#THENOMADSERIES

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DRIFTER EXCERPT

Silence. It engulfs me, provides me with a false sense of security the moment I close my eyes and drags my subconscious into the depths of sleep. But, it’s quickly ripped from me by the sound of plagued screams. A woman shouts with a foreign tongue and though I don’t understand the Afghani language I know beyond a shadow of a doubt she’s yelling for her innocent child to run, to seek shelter and for the man with the laser pointed at the child’s head not to shoot. I am the man with the sniper rifle. I am the man perched on a roof, with my finger firmly wrapped around the trigger. And that bitch just sent her fucking child to play in the sand with a bomb strapped to his back. For a moment, I want to believe she’s not playing me—that her kid isn’t a ploy in some sick terrorist plot. I ignore the sounds of my men commanding me to take my shot, insisting that time is of the essence and if I don’t do it, I’m betraying my country. I loosen my finger around the trigger and open both my eyes and watch the boy lift a handful of sand through the scope attached to my rifle. He opens his palm and spreads his fingers wide letting the grains of sand fall through them before he looks back at his mother. She shouts more of that foreign bullshit and I wish I could get my hands on her and slice her tongue from her mouth. It’s the final thought that crosses my mind before I pull the trigger and watch the boy fall back into the sand as my bullet pierces him between his eyes--innocent eyes that were once wide with wonder now are dull and lifeless. Sweat beads along my brow and I can feel the bile rise up my throat as I wait. Everything around me fades as I stare at the boy in the sand. I lose myself and question my purpose, my mission, my platoon—everything. The bomb doesn’t go off and I swallow the lump lodged in my throat. I frantically peer into the scope, moving it to the right in search for the mother. I picture the Virgin Mary cradling her lifeless son that was pulled from the cross and wait for the woman dressed in black garb to do the same but she’s nowhere in sight. Before I can divert my eyes back to the boy the blast erupts robbing me the opportunity to look into his eyes one final time because his head has been blown off his body and the fragments of him are now one with the sand he was playing with. This is war. And this is hell. All that’s left is the sound of my own screams vibrating through my body, deafening as it pounds my eardrums and invades my head. It’s those very screams that pull me from my sleep night after night and why I’ve given up on getting a full night’s rest, using my bed only to fuck and even that didn’t happen too often. Until her. I used to pound my dick into any willing pussy, never bringing them into my bed, believing I didn’t need that false sense of hope that I’m normal when I’ve got a woman wrapped around me, begging to spend the night in my arms after I’ve thoroughly fucked her—only for her to realize I’m fucked in the head when I wake her up screaming like a little bitch. Yeah, I didn’t need that shit. Hell, I didn’t want it. Until her. But I’ve learned my lesson and I’ve learned it the hard way. It’s the reason I’m sitting in a chair in the corner of a fucking filthy motel—waiting for the sun to rise as I stare at the battered and bruised woman in my bed, when all I want to do is climb in next to her and pull her into my arms—take away her pain and forget mine. I clench my fists and keep them pinned against the arms of the chair as I take in the dried up blood on her naturally pouty lips—lips that skimmed every inch of my body and I crave every night since. I tear my eyes from her mouth and zero in on her closed eyes—eyes I know are pale green. Eyes once vibrant with life and mischief are now going to be full of torment and fear—when the swelling goes down and she can fucking open them again. Her long brown hair is splayed across my pillow, matted with blood and knots from being fisted and pulled, leaving her scalp sore and just as bruised as the rest of her. I let my eyes travel the length of her, knowing the body she’s hiding behind her clothes matches her face in color and shame. A knock sounds on my door and I tear my eyes away from the restless beauty, squirming between my sheets—wishing its pleasure that has her twisting and not torment. Torment can’t be erased, it can’t be silenced—that shit sticks with you. It lives inside you and destroys you, fractures your soul and rips your life to shreds. I may have rescued her tonight but the woman in my bed is as good as dead. Her soul has been taken, chewed up and spit out by the men who attacked her—when she wakes up all she’ll know is grief. She’ll mourn the life she had and wish the one she’s left with ends. drifter-3d-cover

#DRIFTINGINTOCHAOS

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ABOUT JANINE INFANTE BOSCO

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Janine Infante Bosco lives in New York City, she has always loved reading and writing. When she was thirteen, she began to write her own stories and her passion for writing took off as the years went on. At eighteen, she even wrote a full screenplay with dreams of one day becoming a member of the Screen Actors Guild. Janine writes emotionally charged novels with an emphasis on family bonds, strong willed female characters, and alpha male men who will do anything for the women they love. She loves to interact with fans and fellow avid romance readers like herself. She is proud of her success as an author and the friendships she’s made in the book community but her greatest accomplishment to date would be her two sons Joseph and Paul.

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