Book Highlight: Into the Darkness by K.F. Breene

Title: Into the Darkness
Author: K.F. Breene
Genre: New Adult Fantasy/Paranormal Romance
Publication: January 23, 2014

I’d always been different. I saw objects in the night where others saw emptiness. Large, human shaped shadows, fierce yet beautiful, melting into the darkness. I collected secrets like other women collected bells; afraid to fully trust lest my oddities be exposed.

Until I saw him. He’d been gliding down the street, unshakable confidence in every step. It wasn’t just that he was breathtakingly handsome with perfect features. Something about him drew me. Sucked my focus to him and then tugged at my body. As his eyes met mine, I was entrapped.

No one had noticed him. He’d been right there, just beyond the light, but only I had perceived.

I had to know if he was real. Or maybe I really was crazy. And even when my secret box was blasted wide open, dangers hurled at me like throwing knives, I couldn’t stop until I unraveled his true identity.

I just had to know.

“She was fated to live.”
“Then why must you save her?”
“Often Fate is struck down by dumb luck.”

Amazon | B&N

Into the Darkness is currently FREE on Amazon, along with these other books by K.F. Breene!

 

Lost and Found (Growing Pains #1)

Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)

       As I met his black eyes, his puzzled expression deepened. “You’re human…”

      “We established that, yes. What I want to know is, if I am human, what does that make you? And why do I notice you when others usually don’t?”

      His head cocked to the side. His easy balance, his lethal edge; he was like a blade resting on billowing silk. “Very few humans are able to withstand our pheromones. Fewer still to break a Kolma once it has been placed. You’ve not been trained, that’s obvious; so how is this possible when you’re definitely human? Do you possess the blood of another species?”

       I could barely think past the pounding ache of my body, begging to touch him. I needed to get a grip! He was revealing some very interesting factoids I needed to jot down in my mental notebook.

      His nostrils flared. “Charles was right; your arousal is a unique scent. Like a spicy, warm drink on a mid-winter’s night. It rises above other smells, entrancing the mind.”

      “Umm,” charged with questions, determination, anger, and demands, I thrust forward, “Listen, what did you mean about withstanding the…pher-thing? Or breaking the other thing? How can you trap someone’s head with pleasure? Because I’m pretty sure—not positive, but pretty sure—that Jared is straight. And also, I really think we should circle back to what the hell you are, and why nobody knows that you exist? Because this whole people scattering thing is not normal, and I think an explanation is probably in order.”

      He stepped closer, not hearing me, or not caring that I spoke. His eyes looked at me like I was a life-sized riddle. They delved, searching. He took another step, forcing me to retreat two steps to keep distance between our bodies. Another step back had my back to the wall. 

      A small smile curved his lips. “I exude pleasure, you run. I exude fear, you come calling. You want me, I can smell it. I can feel it, almost like a palpable thing. Give in to it. Yield to me.”

      Oh God I wanted to. His body was mere inches from mine, his intense eyes looking down into my soul from a face out of a Renaissance painting. The power of him, the sheer strength, had strange, primal fantasies running amok through my head. My core tingled, my chest surged, and my nipples were so hard they could cut this stone wall. 

      Why had I come here, again?

A wine country native, K.F. Breene moved to San Francisco for college just shy of a decade ago to pursue a lifelong interest in film. As she settled into the vibrant city, it quickly became apparent that, while she thought making and editing films was great fun, she lacked cinematic genius. For that reason, her career path quickly changed direction. Her next goal was a strange childhood interest, conjured at the dining room table while filling out a form. For some reason, her young self wanted to be an accountant. Thinking on it now, she often wonders how she had any friends. Regardless, it was the direction she finally took.

While she could wrangle numbers with the best of 'em, and even though she wore the crown as the most outspoken, belligerent accountant in the world, her mind got as stuffy as her daily routine. It was here that she dusted off her creative hat and began writing. Now she makes movies in her head, not worried about lighting, shutter speed or editing equipment. Turns out, a computer is much easier to manage than a crowd of actors. She should know, she was an actor at one time.

Website | Twitter | Facebook

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Cover Reveal: Discovering Lucy by Laura Dunaway

Title: Discovering Lucy

Author: Laura Dunaway

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Expected Release Date: February 2014

Hosted By: Love Between the Sheets

Add to Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18756985-discovering-lucy

Goodreads Giveaway

https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/71496-discovering-lucy

Synopsis

After three long years of living in a hell she never could have imagined, Lucy Jane Simmons courageously escapes to New York City for a fresh start. A new beginning...

When Lucy meets Knox Taylor, the intoxicating man in the business suit, everything she thought she knew about relationships changes. He is strong, seductive and makes her feel safe. But can she open up enough to let him in?

Will Lucy Jane escape the scars of her past? Can Knox give her the future she ultimately deserves? A story of rediscovery...

About the Author

Laura Dunaway has been married to her prince for 17 years and together they are raising three amazing kids. While she's always had a passion for reading and writing, it wasn't until this past year that she finally realized she should pursue her dream of writing a book. After many many attempts at starting one, Distorted was finally the one that flowed and before she knew it, she'd written The End. When she's not busy shuttling her kids to lessons and practices and making dinner, she's busy behind her computer writing her next book, Discovering Lucy, which will be out winter of 2014.

Connect with Laura

Facebook | Goodreads

Other Books by Laura Dunaway

Distorted

Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Giveaway

(1) $10 Amazon Gift Card

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Cover Reveal: Shelter You by Alice Montalvo Tribue

Title: Shelter You

Author: Alice Montalvo-Tribue

Expected Release: January 2014

Cover Designer: Distorted Edge Design

Hosted by: Love Between the Sheets Promotions

Synopsis

She's mine.

That was my first thought when I held my baby in my arms at seventeen. I didn't care that I'd already promised to give her to a wealthy family.  

She is mine.

I ran away from that hospital, from that family, from the very life I knew. My plan was to start my life over with what little money I (have/had?), determined to make something of myself despite the odds.  

Then Logan Tate entered my life.

Gorgeous and controlling, he claimed he was trying to help me, and that he didn't care that I was another teenage pregnancy story. But I don't trust him. I don't trust anyone. And if Logan knew the real secrets and lies I was keeping inside, he wouldn't dare try to shelter me.

Excerpt

I look up at her with tears in my eyes. If not for this kind woman, I’d be handing Lily over to her adoptive parents in a matter of hours. It may seem cruel of me to have promised to give my baby away to a couple who desperately wants one and then to just pick up and run away, but none of this was my choice. Four months before my high school graduation I found out that I was pregnant, as you could probably imagine for a seventeen year old to hear that she’s going to become a mother is shocking and scary. So I did what I thought would be the right thing, I went to my parents and asked for there help. Their solution? Hide my pregnancy until after graduation and then keep me a virtual prisoner in my own home until I gave birth. When I expressed to them my desire to keep my child they gave me an ultimatum, give the baby up for adoption, or keep the baby but leave their house with absolutely no financial help from them. What else could I have done? I had no choice but to agree to their demands and I thought I could do it. I thought I could go through with it until I held her, my Lily, and I knew that giving her away would literally kill me—would make it difficult to go on with the knowledge that she was out there in the world somewhere, living a life apart from mine. Because of this, I made her a promise and I’ll die before I break that promise.

About the Author

Alice Montalvo-Tribue lives with her husband and daughter in New Jersey. She has a bachelors degree in communications and is currently working on her masters degree. She spends most of her free time reading, writing, and when the weather permits lounging out on a beach.

Connect with Alice

Facebook | Goodreads | Twitter

 

Book Blitz: The Art of Letting Go by Anna Bloom

The Art of Letting Go 

by Anna Bloom

New Adult Contemporary Romance
393 pages; Published September 25th, 2013

One year. One woman. One Diary. One question: can you ever stop history from repeating itself and if you could what would you do to stop it?

When Lilah McCannon realises at the age of twenty-five that history is going to repeat itself and she is going to become her mother—bored, drunk and wearing a twinset—there is only one thing to do: take drastic action.

Turning her back on her old life, Lilah’s plan is to enrol at university, get a degree and prove she is a grown-up.

As plans go, it is a good one. There are rules to follow: no alcohol, no cigarettes, no boys and no going home. But when Lilah meets the lead singer of a local band and finds herself unexpectedly falling in love, she realises her rules are not going to be the only things hard to keep.

With the academic year slipping by too quickly, Lilah faces a barrage of new challenges: will she ever make it up the Library stairs without having a heart attack? Can she handle a day on campus without drinking vodka? Will she ever manage to read a history book without falling asleep? And most importantly, can she become the grown-up that she desperately wants to be.

With her head and her heart pulling her in different directions can Lilah learn the hardest lesson that her first year of university has to teach her: The Art of Letting Go?

Amazon

16th September

  

6.00 a.m.

  

Holy shit! My head.

There are no words.

Just pain. Pounding. Pounding, pain.

Why? Oh why? Oh why?

Oh yes, that’s right. Champagne, Tequila, Beer, Wine.

That would do it.

Oh, God, the pain!

Water would be very good right now, but water means keeping my eyes open and using my legs, and I know that is going to hurt even more. Too much too cope with.

My mouth feels like the Sahara with no oasis in sight. I would do anything for an Oasis right now, or an Evian. Who am I kidding? I would do anything for tap water right now.

I wonder if I can crawl myself to the bathroom and just lay in the bath with my mouth positioned under the tap for an hour.

I wonder if the other girls got home okay?

I cannot for the life of me remember anything. I have just woken up in my bed. I am just thankful that it is my bed.

Wait a minute. How did I even get home?

I have no recollection of the walk across campus or the however many flights of stairs it is to the dorm, and I most certainly do not remember entering my room and getting into bed.

Shit.

I am definitely in my room, so that is good. My unpacked boxes are still scattered around and I can see remnants of last night’s whirlwind dress-up scattered where I left them.

Wish I had not bothered.

I have just peeked under the duvet. I am also dressed, which I am pleased about, considering.

As slowly as I can manage without causing my brain to bleed or eyeballs to fall out, I sit up. I need to get out of the tangle of silk dress and cotton sheets, which are cutting off the blood supply to my legs.

Honest to god, I think my brain may be about to explode. There is a searing pain above my right eye, and a steady banging located in the back of my skull. It may be my brain attempting an escape.

Okay. That’s strange. There are three bottles of water lined up in a row next to my neatly placed shoes. Where the hell did they come from? Meredith, perhaps?

Nope. It's no good. I need to lie down again. I sat up way too soon.

  

The Fresher’s Ball

  

7.00 a.m.

OH, FUCK! Oh no, no, no, no, no.

I can’t believe it! I have woken up and can now remember the Fresher’s Ball, in all its high-definition 3D glory.

This is all I can remember of how I broke every single one of my Uni rules. I am going to write it down and then I am going to forget about it until the day I die, which may very well be later today.

The Fresher’s Ball completely rocks, but this may be because I break the ‘No Drinking’ rule by consuming:

   

Half a bottle of champagne

Three tequila shots

Three bottles of beer

Three glasses of water (to keep a balance)

Two glasses of wine

  

Note to self: This amount of alcohol causes significant pain and memory misplacement.

   

Halfway through the evening, the room is spinning in an alarming fashion and I am using the wall as a support. I would like to move away from it and dance with my roommates, but I am scared that: A. My legs will fall off, or B. I will be sick. So instead I just stand and lean, sipping some more water.

The live band is great, though unfortunately I have to look at them through one eye. If I open both eyes, everything gets a bit blurry.

The lead singer is damn hot: tall and slim with a shock of dark hair and flashing blue eyes that I can see all the way over from my safety spot against the wall.

Ha ha! If I open both eyes there are two of him!

One eye, one singer. Two eyes, two singers. One eye, one singer. Two eyes, two singers.

I think he may be glancing in my direction, but cannot be sure. Maybe he is just working out if he needs to get someone to call an ambulance for me.

Oh no! I probably look like I am winking at him. I am such an idiot!

I decide to head back to the bar and get another bottle of water. Without a backwards glance at the stage—let’s be honest I am in no condition to be glancing anywhere—I make my way to the bar. Froebel college is an old mansion house made up of a rabbit warren of rooms that I stumble my way through until I find where they have hidden the bar. Once there, I attempt to communicate with the barman for a bottle of overpriced water.

Sipping my drink, I turn from the bar, but someone is blocking my path back to the exit. I look up and see a pair of blue eyes twinkling down at me.

Ah, pretty, blue sparkly eyes like the sky at midday. I appear to be completely at a loss for words. Again.

A dark head lowers to examine me closer.

“Ben,” he introduces, holding his hand out to me, his blue eyes crinkling.

On closer inspection, I see they are surrounded by the cutest freckles I have ever seen.

“Lilah,” I respond, taking his hand. I don’t shake it, I just hold it.

That is so not cool.

I hope I am not still looking through just one eye. “You’re the singer guy, right?” At least my tongue still works.

He flashes me a wicked smirk. “Singer guy, I am,” he replies, his hand still holding mine.

I have no urge to move away.

“You’re the girl in the knock out white dress,” he adds.

I have nothing to say to this, but he laughs all the same.

“Would you like to go outside for some fresh air?” he asks, leaning forward slightly and talking right into my ear. His warm breath sends shivers down my arm and various other places.

“I should find my friends,” I say. I don’t want to. I want to follow the blues outside, but there is a teeny tiny part of my inebriated brain that knows this may be a bad idea.

“Come on, Lilah.” He tugs at my hand, and my willpower crumbles like a sandcastle in the tide and I follow him without a second thought.

  

I Will Not Talk to Boys . . . Much

  

Hold on a minute. It gets worse.

Outside, he takes a crumpled packet of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket. I cannot help but focus on his hand sliding into the tight space of his dark blue jeans.

I am a dirty pervert.

He offers me one, and I automatically accept.

Well, that is a pile of Crap!

I have broken all four of my cardinal rules within twenty-four hours of starting Uni.

Well done, Delilah! I offer myself an imaginary clap on the back.

“I wasn’t winking at you, by the way.” I assure him.

“What?”

“Um, nothing.”

“So you here as a guest or a student?” he asks, leaning in and lighting my ciggie for me.

“Student,” I reply, attempting not to slur.

He lifts an eyebrow at this.

“Yes, I know I am old!” I retort. I should just walk away but my legs are not responding to any command my brain makes. Apart from the one that instructs me to stand there like a dick.

“Hardly.” The blues hold mine.

“Twenty-five is pretty old compared to all the spring chickens in there.” I motion my head to the hall behind me full of dancing teenagers.

Motioning of head is not such a great idea. My vision is about 5 seconds behind.

“I’m twenty-five,” blue-eyed Ben informs me.

“Oh.”

“So what are you studying?”

He is standing really close, very close indeed. I seem to be staring at his lips as he speaks, they are all I can focus on. Everything else is blurred or doubled.

I take a long drag of my cigarette.

“History,” I tell him, waiting for the laugh. None comes. “So, have you been with the band long?”

“Ten years.”

“Wow! That’s a long time.” It really is.

“Yeah, I guess.” He throws his cigarette away and I follow suit. He still does not move away from me. This guy obviously does not follow the rules of etiquette regarding personal space.

 “You don’t recognise me, do you?”

Of all the questions I am expecting, this one is not it. “No. Should I?”

“I played at a Christmas party last year. You were there.”

I stare at the blues as he speaks; they are a little mesmerising. Let’s just hope I have my mouth closed.

I remember the band now, and I vaguely remember him. Well, not him exactly, but something about the colour blue. John had been a complete arsehole that evening, not leaving me alone for a minute. It had been suffocating and in the end we had left early. The evening was so bad I have forced myself to never think about it again.

“Sorry,” I offer. I kind of am.

“I think I prefer the white dress to the red.”

What?! He can remember the dress I was wearing nine months ago! I am about to say something . . . anything . . .

Then he is kissing me: his mouth warm and firm on mine.

WHAT ON EARTH AM I DOING?

It should be strange, but it is not as strange as you’d think. I automatically lean in and slide my hands into his black hair, pulling him down closer. His hand grazes down my back and over my left butt cheek. I am not complaining though. Nope, no complaints here. None at all.

Just like that my knees start to go. His arms slide around me holding me up and I think he may be chuckling, but I am not sure. It is hard to hear anything above the roaring in my ears.

This is the point I realise I am going to be sick all over a complete stranger I have just snogged.

“I think I should help you home,” he says into my ear.

“What? No way! If you think I am going to let you take me home so I will have sex with you, you’re sorely mistaken! I am not some gir—” My words are cut off by his lips. I try to protest but soon give up. It is not the most convincing protest I have ever made. I have protested more over cold toast.

“I am not taking you home so I can take advantage of you,” he says after finally pulling away so I can gasp a breath.

“You are really rather drunk and I think you should let me help you home,” he continues, a smile playing on his lips. He is probably right.

I can barely stand up, though I am not sure if that is through lack of oxygen whilst kissing or from too much booze.

“Besides,” he says with a twinkle of blues, “when I do have sex with you, I would rather you were a little more sober.”

I start to protest again but his arms lift me up and throw me over his shoulder in a very unflattering fireman lift.

“Where do you live, Lilah?” he asks.

He is never going to know, so I tell him, just so he has to admit he does not have a clue.

To my immense surprise he just starts striding off across campus.

I try to think of ways to get down, but in the end just give up and stare at his rather tidy arse as my eyesight starts to go black.

  

This is all I remember.

So kill me now.

I can’t believe that I got drunk enough to snog a stranger, even a hot one. What a complete bloody idiot. I may never, ever leave this room again. Ever.

I am going back to sleep. Hopefully when I wake up I will realise that this has all been a hideous nightmare.

Anna Bloom is a contemporary romance writer who writes about life as it happens. Combining a busy schedule of looking after two small children whilst working in a local school and completing The Uni Files series she also spends a lot of time imagining kissing hot guys – all in the name of her art.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by Good Choice Reading Blog Tours

Release Event: Crushing Summer by C.M. Stunich

Title: Crushing Summer

Author: C.M. Stunich

Release Date: November 7, 2013

Genre: New Adult Romance

Hosted by: Love Between the Sheets

Synopsis

I'm a girl. I met a boy. Why can't it stay that simple? Here, in this town, summer doesn't just mean tiny bikinis and sunglasses, white toothed grins and lounging at the beach. It means pain. And loss. And false promises. It means liars pretending to be saints, friends pretending to be enemies, rivals pretending to be lovers. For me, it means being crushed. The Crush, actually. The one they all want simply because they were told to. It means being surrounded by beautiful faces and gorgeous bodies, sweet words and sizzling kisses. It means being wanted and despised. My name is Chloe Summer, and I'm afraid that if I'm not careful, this summer could be my last.

Buy the Book

Amazon US
Amazon CA

Excerpt

“Hey, what's your last name?” I asked suddenly, remembering the need I felt earlier to have it, like this would seem more real somehow if I got that information. “Alice,” he replied and then dug around in his pocket for a second. I thought he was going for a smoke, but when he pulled out his hand, he had a seashell lying in his palm. It was a small, pink conch, about the size of a dime. I'd never seen one that little before. When I reached out to touch it, Casper folded his fingers around the shell. I glanced up at him. “This is for you,” he told me. “But first, I want to hear your last name.” My pulse began to thunder in my head and my mouth went dry. I couldn't explain the feeling, but there it was again, that magnetic heat that was always between us, warming the cold evening air and lighting up the sky with fireworks. It felt exactly the way people always claimed first love will feel – wild, electric, uncontrollable. Now, I didn't exactly think I was in love, not yet, but there was the possibility of love, and it was as beautiful as the roiling sea. “Summer.” Casper grinned and opened his fingers, waiting with his palm outstretched and his eyes locked onto mine. “It suits you,” he said, and I smiled. My hand came up and the tips of my own fingers slid across his moist flesh, testing, teasing, learning. Each whorl of my fingertips felt like a ridge, crashing against the lines of Casper's hand until my heart was pumping so fast I thought it would burst from my chest. If I wasn't careful, I'd end up dropping dead and getting buried in one of the old graves. I put the shell in my lap and clasped my hands around it. “Casper,” I began, knowing I couldn't put this off any longer. I hated to break the moment, but I could hear the shouting and cheering coming from the drive-in and knew it was only a matter of time before he figured out there was something odd going on. “I know we just met and this might sound a little weird, but there's something you should know about this town.” His raised his thin brows and sat back, draping his arms over the back of the bench. “Do you sacrifice kittens on the full moon? Because if so, I'm totally out. I won't sacrifice kittens. Goats, maybe. But not kittens.” I tried to smile back at the joke, but thinking of The Assignment was akin to strapping weights on either side of my mouth. The corners of my lips pulled down into a frown. “Tonight is Assignment Night.” Casper remained still, listening, not at all nervous about what I was going to say. He didn't think it was going to be bad or that it was going to affect him, but I knew it would. Somehow, I just knew. “Like, for classes or something?” “Like, for the summer. All summer. Tonight, all the students, ages thirteen to eighteen, will be assigned a title. Most of them will stay Students, but a select lucky and unlucky few will be … Something else.” Casper gave me a look that said I was totally and completely nuts. Again, I attempted a smile, but this one fell even flatter than the first. I resorted to keeping my eyes on the sea and letting my fidgety hands spin the conch around in circles. “You know all the stereotypes people think about when they talk about high school? Jocks? Losers? Party boys? Goths?” Casper pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and slipped it between his lips. “Yeah, sure, okay.” “Well … on Assignment Night, tonight, people get nominated by their peers for certain … positions, and then they have to act them out until the Friday before Labor Day. Every day until that day, at midnight, they have to be who everyone wants them to be, for good or bad. And everyone else, the Students, they have to play along.” “Um, you're kidding right? Is this some kind of game?” My faux smiled turned into a grimace. “I wish it were. If it were just a game, it'd be fun, right? But it's not. I mean, I used to think it was, but not anymore. People get hurt playing this game.” I paused, not necessarily for dramatic effect, but there it was. “They get killed. Sometimes. By accident.” “You're serious?” Casper asked, sitting up, looking alarmed. “Why, how?” I nibbled my lower lip for a second, trying to decide how to explain this. “There are certain … roles you don't really want to play. Like Outcast. Or even Crush. Last year's Crush was killed in an accident … She couldn't handle the attention and she ran off in the middle of the night. They say she slipped on the edge of the cliff and … ” I didn't have to finish my sentence. Casper was smart; he'd figure it out. It was so clichéd, but still tragic. When Tatiana's body had washed up onshore, it had been barely recognizable. She had no eyes, no face at all really, and her hands … I shook the memory off. “Can you opt out or whatever?” I glanced over at Casper. His green eyes were wide and his cigarette remained unlit. “I guess. I mean, I am this year. We are. It's not normal, but if we're not there, we can't sign up.” I shrugged and watched as the shaking got worse. Casper's face blanched and his lips got tight. “My sister. Julie. Let's say, she went to the drive-in. I mean, let's just pretend for a second that she was sitting in my car.” I stared at Casper with a baffled expression my face. They wouldn't … would they? No. No, I knew better. They would. They most certainly would. That whole mob mentality thing is true. When everybody got together for The Assignment, they got weird. “If she were there,” I began, feeling afraid for a girl I'd never met. “Then she'd be in big trouble.”

About the Author

C.M. Stunich was raised under a cover of fog in the area known simply as Eureka, CA. A mysterious place, this strange, arboreal land nursed Caitlin's (yes, that's her name!) desire to write strange fiction novels about wicked monsters, magical trains, and Nemean Lions (Google it!). She currently enjoys drag queens, having too many cats, and tribal bellydance. Always a fan of the indie scene and 'sticking it to the man,' Ms. Stunich decided to take the road less traveled and forgo the traditional publishing route. You can be assured though that she received several rejections as to ensure her proper place in the world of writers before taking up a friend's offer to start a publishing company. Sarian Royal was born, and Ms. Stunich's books slowly transformed from mere baking chocolate to full blown tortes with hand sculpted fondant flowers. C.M. is a writer obsessed with delivering the very best and scours her mind on a regular basis to select the most unusual stories for the outside world. Ms. Stunich can be reached via e-mail or by post and loves to hear from her readers. Ms. Stunich also wrote this biography and has no idea why she decided to refer to herself in the third person. Come visit me at www.cmstunich.com and follow me on Facebook !

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway