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For the first time ever From the Wreckage by Melissa Collins is only 99 cents!

First, he saved me.
I lived because he was a hero.
And then he was gone.
Uprooted by the fire that destroyed our home, my family moved away and I never saw David Andrews again.
Then, he found me.
Eighteen years later, he rescued me again – in much simpler terms, of course. By loving me, by giving me the fairy tale I’d always hoped for, he provided me with the perfect life.
Now, he needs to be saved.
It’s my turn to be strong, to be brave, to be valiant.
When flames threaten to turn us to ashes, it’s up to me to pull us From the Wreckage.

“Oh, this book. Since you are unable to see my flails and tearstained, puffy-eyed face, I’ll have to find the words. This book is a breathtaking, fun, swoony romance about a girl and a boy whose lives have been inextricably woven together since childhood.” -Give Me Books

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Also – like always – Before the Wreckage (the short prequel) is FREE!

Before the Wreckage

It’s been eighteen years since David Andrews has seen Grace McCann. One night she’s in his dream and the next she’s in his reality.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Melissa Collins has always been a book worm. Studying Literature in college ensured that her nose was always stuck in a book. She followed her passion for reading to the most logical career choice: English teacher. Her hope was to share her passion for reading and the escapism of books to her students. Having spent more than a decade in front of a classroom, she can easily say that it’s been a dream.
Her passion for writing didn’t start until more recently. When she was home on maternity leave in early 2012, she read her first romance novel and her head filled with the passion, angst and laughter of the characters who she read about it. It wasn’t long before characters of her own took shape in her mind. Their lives took over Melissa’s brain and The Love Series was born.

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ftwteaser

Title: Enzo
Series: Jinx Tattoos Book 1
Author: Shyla Colt
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Neglected, abandoned by a heroin-addicted mother, and placed in foster care at ten, Enzo Jordan has learned one thing…love hurts. At thirty-five, he has a successful tattoo shop and his choice of women. The one-night stands are getting old, and the love he holds for his best friend, Aibhlinn is impossible to hide. When the attraction between them reaches a boiling point, he’s forced to choose between facing his fears and walking away. 
Aibhlinn Leahy has been in love with her best friend for years. The Irish-born comic book artist has poured time, energy, and love into the wounded man. His choice to walk away breaks her heart but frees her to explore a new future.
Life is a cruel and amazing thing. An abandoned baby brings the two back together, and they’re forced to examine the love that has long existed between them. This is a story of pain, scars, and fear. We all have demons to battle. The real decision is who’s in control…us or them?
*** Enzo is Book One in the Jinx Tattoos Series but is a STAND ALONE novel***

Enzo Chapter One

Enzo


The alarm mocked him as he woke to limbs tangled with his own. The blonde from the night before snuggled into his side. He ran a hand through his hair and rested his head on the pillow. Overnights weren’t his norm, but waking up alone on today of all days wasn’t an option. He had a love-hate connection with the day of his birth, and thirty-four was too old to deal with shit with liquor. So…he fucked in excess and kept his liquor consumption to a minimum instead. Normally, he would be ready to go for round three, but all he wanted was silence…some peace. He moved away from the blonde and rolled from the bed, ready to wash away the night before.


“Time to go home, sweetheart,” he said.


She stretched her arms above her head, letting her blanket fall to her lap. Her perky breasts were perfection and obviously fake.


Still, Enzo took a moment to appreciate her investments.


“You sure I can’t tempt you into breakfast?” she purred.


“Positive, got somewhere to be.”


She pouted her plump red lips.


What kind of makeup shit lasts overnight? The thought of the chemicals involved made him shudder. “As amazing as you were last night, I’ll have to pass.”


She huffed and tossed the blankets aside, swinging her shapely legs over the side of the bed as she stood. She was petite, tanned, toned, and plastic. It made her easy to look at, have a good time with, and say good-bye to.


Not that he ever felt bad. She knew what she was getting into, they all did. He made it clear he didn’t do seconds and wasn’t looking for more than a mutual exchange of pleasure. Still, some of them seemed to think they would win some magical lottery, and things would change in the morning. He’d seen Tracee around the tattoo shop a million times. She was an ink chaser.


She wanted a tattoo artist for an old man in the worst way. He made it clear she was barking up the wrong tree, but she kept coming around. He wasn’t looking to have a significant other, and her desperation to land someone who would take care of her made his skin crawl. This would kill two birds with one stone.


“You’re a real ass, Enzo, you know that?” Tracee asked as she poured her body back into her skin-tight black dress.


“You already knew that, though, Trace. We knew this wasn’t more than a night of fun.”


She cocked her hip and narrowed her eyes. “You sure about that, sweetheart? We had a lot of fun. Imagine that in your bed every night.”


“Not looking for that, Trace,” he said with a shrug.


“Would you say the same thing if I had my head stuck in a book and my body covered from head to toe?” Tracee scoffed.


“What the fuck did you say?” Enzo asked, stepping forward.


The color drained from her face. She snatched up her sky-high heels and fled. “Nothing, see you around,” she muttered, skittering out the door before he could respond.


People wondered about him and his best friend, Aibhlinn. They didn’t think a man and a woman could be friends without jumping in the bed together. His theory was the exact opposite. Sex ruined things. It broke up lifelong relationships, made people paranoid, and upset the natural order you first had before romance entered the picture. No, his spitfire Irish lass with the piercing blue-green eyes and flowing chestnut mane would remain off limits forever.


The very thought of her made him smile. Even on his darkest day, she never failed to bring him a little happiness. He walked to the front door of his house and locked the door behind Tracee. A quick glance at the clock told him he had about thirty minutes to get his ass into gear. He walked back over the maple hardwood floor and into the bathroom. The white on white tiles and glass shower enclosure made the room appear more open and easy to get into and out of, which made the space tolerable.


Turning on the hot water, he sank onto the bench at the far end of the massive stall and let the gathering steam clear his pores and his muddled head. Lack of sleep and beer had him feeling sluggish. After a few minutes, he rose to his feet, stepped under the spray, quickly soaped down, and rinsed off.


He was pulling on his plaid button up when the doorbell rang. A few moments later, the lock turned.


“You decent, birthday boy?” Aibhlinn called with that slight lilt he’d grown to love.


“Yeah, I’m coming out now,” Enzo called back. He appeared in the doorway and smiled.


Dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans that hugged her thick thighs, and large ass, she was mouthwatering.


Off limits didn’t mean he couldn’t admire her assets. An off the shoulder Pink Floyd sweater displayed tantalizing porcelain flesh. She had her hair pulled up into a messy bun that showed off her long, slender neck.


“You ready to go?” she asked.


“What? No breakfast?” he shot back.


She rolled her eyes. “Smart ass. We’ll be back for that later. If you don’t hurry, we’ll miss the sunrise.”


He nodded his head and walked toward her, wrapping an arm around her waist as they hugged. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks for coming, Ave.”


“Where else would I be?” she whispered.


Anywhere, with someone worthy of your time and affection. It was his deepest fear. That she would enter a romantic relationship and their friendship would go by the wayside. It was selfish wanting her to remain his number one girl…she deserved more. It worked for them now. They were both artists obsessed by the act of creating.


The years were passing swiftly, and she’d gone from unknown to sought after in her career field. First come loves, and then comes marriage. He snarled, pushing the thought of the day she, too, left him far in the background of his brain.


“Come on, I’ll drive,” she said, pulling him to the door.


He allowed her to manipulate him.


At five-foot-eleven, she still lacked the strength to move him if he resisted. Along with fucking, he liked to workout. It kept his head from getting overcrowded and allowed him a healthy way to work out his frustrations. Locking the door behind them, he followed her to the black SUV.


She hit the fob and unlocked the door.


Enzo was at the driver’s side, opening her door before she could protest. He knew how to treat a woman. He wasn’t so fucked up that he felt a sick need to use and abuse them. His mother, the angel who adopted him and straightened his ass out, would skin him alive if he ever went that route.


“Thanks, Enz,” she said, climbing into her seat.

He made his way to the passenger side then leaned his head back against the headrest, and zoned out as she pulled out of his driveway and headed for their destination.


Fog hung in the air, creating a thin layer of white. The haze turned the massive structure that was their destination into something mystical, or creepy, depending on how one looked at it. Bundled against the fall chill, they made their way from the car and into Ault Park, in the direction of the pavilion.


After the climb, his eyes drank in the frosted landscape. He shoved his hands in his pockets.


This park held good and bad memories. His birth mother brought him here many times. Originally, he thought it was because she was a good mother who loved the outdoors and knew he loved to be among the beauty the park offered. As he grew, he understood it was a public place to get her fix. No one thought twice of a man, a woman, and a child walking through the woods.


He would never forget the first time his brain registered the cash she gave Uncle Ian was for drugs. The tiny brown squares were heroin. They’d found her body here on his sixteenth birthday, needle still in her arm, eyes vacant, and body cold. She’d turned a day he already loathed into something even worse.


He inhaled, embracing the chilly air that crept down his throat and into his chest.


The ache meant he was alive. That he’d survived against the odds. Thinking of the days scrounging for food in garbage cans, stealing from the stores, and running drugs for dope boys to feed his starving gut…he shuddered. She’d always saved the most fucked up shit for his birthday, like an anti-birthday gift. That last day she’d left and never returned was his twelfth birthday.


He bowed his head in solemn remembrance. All the bullshit made it hard for a guy to feel joy on the day he came into the world and landed in a pile of festering shit. But that’s not where I am now. He glanced over at the woman standing beside him as the sky yielded from an inky blue to a purple, and a dusky orange. The sun’s rays turned everything golden, and for that moment in time, things were clean and new. The world was a hopeful place. The darkness was banished.


“Nature’s first green is gold, her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; but only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay,” he whispered, quoting Robert Frost’s “Nothing Gold Can Stay”. There was a man who understood how to live in the moments before dawn ended. He hadn’t gotten there yet.


Ava tangled her fingers with his, and he let her. She was a blazing white light in the murkiness. His Irish angel on his shoulder, constantly encouraging him to do better, insisting he reach for his dreams, and repeatedly telling him he was worthy. She was the best present he’d ever received, on the same day his mother left this Earth. Perhaps that’s why he liked having her with him on his birthday.



Past


He sat in the back of the room, sketching in the expensive pad Mrs. Jordan had purchased for him as a birthday gift. As far as foster parents went, Karen and her husband Bill were one of the rare ones. Not only were they decent, they seemed to enjoy having him and the other boys there. The children who moved in and out were more than a paycheck; they were a chance to change lives. He thought it was an act at first. Now, he understood they were the genuine article. He’d been here six months, and other than bumping heads on being accountable for his whereabouts, it had been fairly smooth sailing. The high school was the same as any other, but he dug the art teacher, Ms. Leahy. The Irish woman with bright red hair, blue eyes, and a melodic accent encouraged him to hone his skills.


She said he had the potential to be a great artist. It was something he’d never really heard before. Writing and poetry were a means to escape from the shitty surroundings he often found himself trapped in. Artists and writers understood pain in the intimate way a boxing coach knew the mechanics of fighting.


“Hey, that’s good.”


He continued to darken the area of the crow’s wing.


“Hey, did you hear me?”


Peering up, he found himself lost in an ocean of an intense blue-green gaze. He blinked and took in the entire package.


The girl leaning over his shoulder was dressed from head to toe in a black dress with black tights and tall black boots. Her deep red lipstick stood out against her pale face and made her hair look more red than brown.


“You talking to me?” he asked.


“Yeah. I like the way you’re shading that in,” she replied, gesturing toward the paper.


“Uhh, thanks?”


She laughed. “That’s about the usual response to me.” She held out her hand. “Aibhlinn Leahy, I’m Ms. Leahy’s daughter. I just transferred to this high school.”


So, she didn’t know to stay away from the degenerate foster boy yet. “Enzo,” he said, quickly shaking her hand.


“Ahh, it’s nice to meet someone else around here with a unique name.”


He snorted. Heads turned to glance back at them. He scowled, and they faced forward. “Look, you’re new here, so you don’t know any better. But…I should warn you. Being seen with me will get you labeled as an outcast.”


“And now, you’ve intrigued me,” she said with a smile that showed the tiny dimple in her right cheek.


He shook his head, not willing to be the bad boy to some good girl gone wrong. “I should also mention, I don’t like people.”


“Oh, you’ll like me, I promise.” She sank onto the seat beside him and set down her pad. “You like comics?”


He blinked, trying to keep up with her crazy topic jumps. “Yeah.”


She opened her page. “Me too.


The impressive comic strip of Wolverine made him whistle. “You did this?”


“Yeah, need to work on my shading in certain areas. Which is why your work caught my eye.”


So, it’d been a self-serving thing. That he could understand. “Your detail is on point. I could use some pointers.”


“Then I’ll help you and you can help me,” she offered.


“Deal.”


He had no way of knowing it was the start of a lifelong relationship that would in many ways define him as a man.



Present


Aibhlinn


After they returned from Ault Park, Aibhlinn studied Enzo from beneath her lashes. He seemed more sullen this year than he had previously. “What’s wrong?” she asked, setting his bowl of steel cut oats and toast in front of him.


“You know I hate my birthday,” Enzo replied, and pushed the oats around with his spoon like a petulant child.


His pouty expression was adorable. She tried not to smile at the picture he presented. It was all too easy to imagine what little Enzo looked like once upon a time. “No, this feels like more than that,” she said, frowning.


He glanced up at her and sighed. “We’re getting old.”


She snorted. “Speak for yourself, grandpa. We’ve barely hit our thirties.”


“Yeah, but you know how fast time flies. We’ll blink, and it’ll be our forties.”


“So?” she asked, shaking her head.


He shrugged. “Makes a person wonder what their contribution to the world is, or why they were brought here in the first place.”


“What about Jinx Tattoos? You guys are taking names and kicking ass. You just did an interview with the local paper. That’s not something a mediocre shop does,” she said.


“Yeah, I mean, business wise I’m doing okay, just…”


“Ahh, so we’re talking about an ailment of a spiritual nature, then?”


“Ave.”


“What? If it’s not logical, it’s of the heart. Why do you always get antsy when I mention this?”


“Because I don’t know if I believe in this shit. I mean, what kind of God lets all this crap happen to innocent people”


“One who believes in free will. He allows us to do what we choose, even when it’s soul killing and bat shit crazy acts.”


“Why?”


“Because, if He didn’t, we’d be nothing more than puppets. This forces us to be accountable for our actions.”


“You believe that? After everything?” he asked.


She sighed. “After what happened to my father you mean? Yes. He made bad decisions, and it cost him his life. Catalyst being, my mother got out of there and made a better life for us.” Her heart turned to lead as she thought about her father and his obsession with purifying Ireland. They’d lost him to a bomb. He lived by the gun, and he died by it. Her mother had distanced herself from his associates and casually applied for a working visa. The rest was history.


“I’m sorry.” He set his spoon down and placed his hand over hers. “That was shitty of me.”


She shook her head. “No, it’s okay. You asked an honest question. I try not to think about that too much, Enzo. It’s no use rehashing a past none of us can change. If anything, I used it as a model for what not to do. We can’t control the things that happen to us. But we can decide what to do with the rest of our life afterward.”


“You make it sound so damn easy, Ave.”


“Ack, I never said that. I’m a bag full of crazy on a good day and fully aware I’m a thirty-four-year-old comic book author who has a sorely lacking social life, a D.O.A. love life, and very few friends.”


“You’re brilliant, and you know it,” Enzo countered.


She laughed. “To you maybe.”


“More than me. I’ve watched you work your ass off to get where you are. I remember when you were pounding the pavement submitting your resume everywhere, doing any sort of pro bono work you could to get your name out there. You worked a bevy of craptastic jobs to support yourself while you went after your dream. Now, you’re well on your way to achieving them. Own that shit.”


Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she glanced away. She would never possess his swagger. Some days her plentiful contracts felt like a streak of good luck, though she had the work history to prove it to be anything but that.


“One day some man is going to swoop in and whisk you away from me. Then who’ll be here to call me on my shit?”


“Your mother, and come on, you know that’s never going to happen. I’ll always have time for you.” It could be you if you’d let yourself try with me.


“Even after you get hitched and pop out a few babies?” He met her gaze, pinning her to the spot with his thoughtful expression.


Something she couldn’t name crossed his face.


“Well, thank you for marrying me off and knocking me up.”


“What? We both know you’re dying to have kids.”


“With the right man…someday, yes. At this point, I’ve never had a relationship make it to the one year mark. I’m a lot to handle, and it’s going to take one hell of a man to get me even half as well as you do.” She willed him to finally see what was in front of him. They were a key and lock, made to fit and always working in tandem. It was a rarity.


“We’re not getting any younger, Ave. That day is coming around the corner.”


Unless you step up to the plate. She glanced out the window, afraid he would see the longing in her eyes. Maybe he’s trying to tell me we are never going to happen and I need to move on without him. And my ass is too stupid to realize it. “I don’t feel the crush of age the way you do. I think it’ll happen organically. Life has a way of putting you on the right path eventually. For now, I’m in love with my life. I love my vintage two-bedroom apartment in the charming historic building. The freedom of being a freelancer, and the point I’ve reached in my career. Why borrow trouble worrying about what may or may not happen?”


“Just like that?” Enzo snapped.


“No, it’s a conscious choice I make daily. You know I live in my head. I’ve been in the dark before…really deep. I’m trying not to return there. I didn’t like it much the first time.”


Enzo nodded and shoveled a spoonful of oats into his mouth. He was a brooding thinker, her creative best friend. Most only saw the successful tattoo artist with a hot bod, and what they took for a short fuse. While he might have some anger issues about certain events, he never flew off the handle or did anything impulsive. He was a brooder. A deep thinking individual who camouflaged his sensitivity with humor, crassness, and walls.

She’d scaled them one by one over the years, but an unbreakable obstacle remained. She forced herself to eat her breakfast. Times like this, it was best to let the silence remain between them. His birthdate was always rough. She never really understood why he wanted her with him. He never went into detail, simply saying it made him feel better.


She was a sucker that way, not wanting to bring up painful memories of his past. Maybe I should practice tough love? How could she when the majority of his formative years had been hell? The things that happened to you in the first five years shaped your life forever, she knew that more than most.


They finished their meal, and she took the plates away, washing them by hand to give herself time to figure out how to best approach him.


“So what movie are we starting with?” she asked, wiping the kitchen island down. The horror movie marathon had grown legendary. People would show up with birthday offerings, popcorn, candy, and snacks. He celebrated the traditional way with family the day after his birthday. This day was just for them.


“The bloodier, the better,” he answered.


“Hmmm, classic or modern?”


He leaned in closer. “That depends on what you have in mind.”


“Dead Alive or Saw, the first film.”


“Hmmm. Dead Alive. I could use a bit of laughter with my gore.”


“Excellent choice. Morning margaritas?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow up.


He laughed. “Yeah right.”


She laughed with him and retrieved a bottle of scotch and two glass tumblers. Setting the personalized glasses onto the counter that she’d brought back from Ireland on a visit, she moved to the fridge for the ice. “You get the movie cued up, and I’ll be in a minute,” she said.


“On it.”


Aibhlinn then pulled out the plastic black ice tray and cracked the round ball of ice out of its mold. Setting one gently into a glass, she repeated the process, proud of the habits Enzo picked up from her. Her love of fine whiskey was another trait she’d inherited from her father. Back home, people took their drinks quite seriously. While her mother could drink with the best of them, she wasn’t as particular on her pick of poison.


She poured them both a healthy dollop and placed them—along with the bottle—onto a chocolate wood breakfast tray she’d bought. It was amazing how many of her touches she could see throughout his house. If she’d left it up to him, the place would still be a barren bachelor’s pad. The man could be his own worst enemy. It was like he didn’t believe he deserved happiness. She entered the room, set the tray on the black table in front of the couch, and sank onto the soft grey cushion.


“You ready?” he asked.


“Let the horrorathon begin,” she replied solemnly with a nod.


He snickered and pressed play.


As the movie began, she tucked her legs under her and leaned into his side. It was the only time she could get this close casually. His body exuded heat, and the scent of something dark and delicious seeped from his pores. She knew the brand of body wash he used, but it was something about his chemistry that turned the scent into an indescribable buffet for the senses. Content, she let herself get lost in the movie.


“The nineties gave us such great one liners,” Enzo noted as the priest showed off his ninja assassin skills while claiming to kick ass for the Lord.


She laughed. “Well, yeah, but so did Peter Jackson. He’s a special kind of sick and twisted, though he hides it well these days. I mean, Meet the Feebles?”


“Truth. I’d like to see him do another horror movie.”


“It’ll never happen. He knows where his bread and butter lies,” she said.


“That’s the double edge sword of fame I suppose. When you’re just making a name, you’re not expected to do anything in particular. The world is your playground, and the only limitation is your imagination. Then you get recognition, get labeled, and wind up stuck in a box. He’s still making Lord of the Ring films how many years later?”


“I don’t know, he has a cult film following, too, though. That’s something to be proud of. Plus, there was District 9. That was a step back toward those movies where he really flexed his creative muscles and stepped ‘outside of the box’,” she said using air quotes.


“Yeah, that’s true. I forgot about that one. I actually liked it a lot.”


“I know. I did, too.” She smiled up at him.


“Well, you do tend to have pretty good taste.”


“Shut up, I’m awesome,” she retorted.


“Yeah, you are. Thanks for hanging with me.”


“Hey, traditions are meant to be kept,” she replied, careful to keep things light.


They returned their attention to the movie, and she allowed herself to enjoy his closeness.


A knock sounded on the door halfway through the movie.


Enzo pressed pause. “Got to be Rhys. No one else gets up this early.”


“I’ll get it,” Aibhlinn said, eager to put some distance between the two of them. It was a little too easy to pretend things between them could be romantic behavior. She peered out the window above the door and grinned at the sight of the blond male with green eyes. The baby of the brothers, he had a lightheartedness about him. She opened the door. “Rhys.”


“Aibhlinn,” Rhys cried, sweeping her up into his arms.


“I told you about treating her like a doll,” Enzo barked from the couch.


Aibhlinn giggled.


“Should we royally piss him off, then?” Rhys asked.


She nodded her head.


“When are you going to let me make an honest woman out of you?” Rhys asked, loud enough for Enzo to hear.


“I don’t know. What do you have to offer?” Aibhlinn asked in a sultry voice.


“Okay, seriously?” Enzo grumbled.


She and Rhys laughed.


“What? I only came here to see Aibhlinn,” Rhys defended.


“No way, man, it’s my day. Get your own girl,” Enzo growled.


Rhys’ eyes widened.


Aibhlinn quickly looked away, ignoring the blood that rushed to her face.


“I am,” Rhys said.


“Pain in my ass,” Enzo stated as his voice drew near. He entered the living room and scowled at his brother who held out a bag.


“Don’t shoot the messenger. It’s from Mom.”


“And she told you to bring it to me at the ass crack of dawn?” Enzo asked.


“She said first thing, and then proceeded to call me to make sure.”


“What is it?” Enzo asked.


“No clue, bro. She gave it to me last night when I was over there for dinner. Happy womb liberation day.”


“Thanks,” Enzo grumbled.


“Well, I’ll let you two do whatever it is you do when you’re together,” Rhys said.


Enzo rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to think you have a crush on my girl for real,” Enzo accused, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.


“All I’m saying is, Netflix and Chill has led to many babies, so please be safe,” Rhys teased.


Enzo stepped forward.


Rhys moved back, laughing. “I’m headed to the gym now. I got an early appointment that’ll take a good chunk of my day up.”


“Where do they want it?” Enzo asked.


“A back piece. Luckily, it’s not their first. I always cringe when first times come in and try to do a back piece in one sitting.” Rhys shook his head.


Enzo snorted. “Call me if you need anything.”


“We won’t, and if we do, I’m calling Noah. It’s your day.” Rhys and Enzo fist bumped. “See you soon, pretty girl,” Rhys said, giving her a hug before he disappeared out the door.


She spun around. “Open the bag.”


He laughed and removed the red tissue paper. “Oh, man, she did good.” He pulled out a bulky box set. “We are watching Kill Bill next.”


She leaned in and read the description. It was a gift set featuring Quentin Tarantino’s best and bloodiest. “I love your mom. She’s so cool.”


“Trust me, the feeling is mutual with your mom. Come on, let’s finish our movie before we’re interrupted again.” Enzo led her back into the living room.


Once again, she was lost to her thoughts of what if. Enzo was the sun. She had no choice but to keep circling him.


We fight it down, and we live it down, or we bear it bravely well,

But the best men die of a broken heart for the things they cannot tell.

“Things We Dare Not Tell” ~Henry Lawson

Translations:

A leanbuh (uh LAN-uv): My child

Shyla Colt grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio, but has lived a variety of different places thanks to her wanderlust, interesting careers, and marriage to a United States Marine. She’s always loved books and wrote her very first novel at the age of fifteen. She keeps a copy of her first submission letter on her desk for inspiration. After a lifetime of traveling, she settled down and knew her time had come to write. Diving into her new career like she does everything else, with enthusiasm, research and a lot of prayers, she had her first book published in June of 2011. As a full-time writer, stay at home mother, and wife, there’s never a dull moment in her household.She weaves her tales in spare moments and the evenings with a cup of coffee or tea at her side and the characters in her head for company. A self-professed rebel with a pen. Her goal is to diversify romance as she continues to genre hop, and offer up strong female characters.

HOSTED BY:

Title: Loving London
Series: The Flawed Heart Series #3
Author: Ellie Wade
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: September 26, 2016

FLAWED
I left.
I followed my dream,
To write, to feel, to live.
But my life has no meaning without Loïc.
I’m fading.
I’m not whole, not me,
Without him.
Loving Loïc is how I breathe.
FLAWED
She’s gone,
I’m a hollow waste of space.
I can’t feel, can’t breathe, can’t fight,
Without London.
She’s who I am,
What I am supposed to be,
What I am supposed to do.
Loving London
Is how I live.

Ellie Wade resides in southwest Michigan with her husband, three young children, and two dogs. She has a Master’s degree in education from Eastern Michigan University and is a huge University of Michigan sports fan. She loves the beauty of her home state, especially the lakes and the gorgeous autumn weather. When she is not writing, you will find her reading, snuggled up with her kids, or spending time with family and friends. She loves traveling and exploring new places with her family.
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Wed by Wednesday

What happens when a naive city girl answers a personal ad to marry a bachelor farmer from the hills of Tennessee? Destiny! Read how Orla and Jethro’s story started back in the 1960s…and find out exactly how deliciously naughty these two can be! This insta-love 50,000-word novel is filled with humor, romance, and just enough erotica to keep you coming back for more. Wed by Wednesday is the prequel to Sarah O’Rourke’s Paradise series, and like all of her books, it can be read as a standalone.

“Listen, chaste kisses are fine for what they are. Quick exchanges of affection. An innocent way to tell somebody they mean something. When you wanna show a woman that she’s what’s lighting the fire in your gut, though… quick and innocent pecks just don’t do the trick. Nah, a man goes dark and dirty for that kind of lesson. He wants his woman wet and hot. And he wants her that way everywhere. Her mouth. Her core. Everywhere.”

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“Thirty- one?” Orla echoed faintly. “He’s thirty-one?” The longer Nellie talked, the less this man sounded like the one she’d been corresponding with for weeks. Why, her Jethro, was sweet and soft-spoken, and certainly not as old as thirty-one. No. Her Jethro was nothing like the animal the older woman was describing.

“Yes, ma’am. He surely is. I changed that rascal’s diapers myself,” Nellie announced with a decisive nod, her eyes widening as she apparently noticed the surprise on young Orla’s face. “What?” You mean to say that you didn’t know how old your beau was?”

“Well, not his exact age. I mean, his letters indicated he was older than me. I just assumed there were only a few years between us,” Orla confided in a strangled whisper. Hells bells! Her future husband had over a whole decade’s experience on her. What in the world about her would attract a worldly, well-off man like him? “Why hasn’t he wed before now then?” she asked without realizing she’d spoken out loud.

Nellie was quick with an answer to her question, however. “Oh, many a girl around these parts have tried to lasso Jethro’s heart, but that surly demeanor of his runs all decent women right off his scent once they get a whiff of how crabby he is for two thirds the day.”

“What’s he doin’ for the other third?” Orla asked shakily.

“Oh, he’s sleepin’. Collectin’ his strength so he can keep his title as the world’s most boorish bachelor and all such manner of things. Truly, ‘bout the only time I’ve heard him stay civil for more than fifteen minutes is the hour long sermon we all sit through once a week at the church. And maybe once or twice a year when he’s paying his respects at his dear departed momma and daddy’s grave or something such. Otherwise, he’s blunt as a hammer and speaks with a tongue sharper than any knife you’ll ever come across.”

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Who is Sarah? Sarah O’Rourke is actually two besties who live three states apart and write at all hours of the day and night! Born and raised in the Southern United States, they are overly attached to their one-click accounts, can’t make it through the day without copious doses of caffeine, and spend way too much time on the phone with each other. Between them, they have four children and twenty years of marriage…one to a super soldier and the other to egomaniac engineer. They hate empty chocolate wrappers and writer’s block, love to talk to readers…and oh, by the way, they write about strong, kick-ass women and hot alpha heroes!

WANNA STALK THESE TWO….

Facebook | Amazon | Website | Twitter | Goodreads
Email: sarahorourkebooks@gmail.com

 



Title : Four : A Menage Erotic Romance
Author : S. C. Daiko 
Genre : Erotic Romance 





It’s
been a year since Max and I overcame our commitment fears and chased
away our demons, a year in a blissful poly relationship with Steve.
And now we’re all set to become four.
It
should be the best time of my life, of our lives; trying for a baby
with the two hot men who keep me warm at night.

But
when Steve’s friend James arrives from London, an
over-the-top-theatrical scene player with his own agenda, and a whole
lotta history just waiting to reignite, Steve suddenly doesn’t seem
like the guy we fell in love with.

He’s
changing, morphing into a different man before our eyes.

***
Lauren
Price is happy living with the two men she loves and life couldn’t
be any sweeter. What started as just a little fun a year ago
a girl, two guys, and a whole lot of sex –
has
become a deep three-way love she hopes will last forever.
They
want to be a four – Max, Lauren, Steve and their unborn baby.
That’s what they said, that’s what they planned.
But
life in love doesn’t follow the rules, and soon four
doesn’t look quite like the three-plus-one Lauren intended it to
be.
***
Although
a sequel to THREE, S. C. Daiko’s first Erotic Menage Romance, FOUR
is a standalone story and, like its predecessor, contains vivid
erotica. 18+ only. If you’re looking for a sexy, emotional read
then FOUR is definitely your number.








There’s
a sudden shift in the atmosphere as Max and Steve move their
attention toward something behind me. Not something. Someone. I turn
and stare, my mouth opening and my chin in danger of hitting the
floor. The man approaching has long dark-brown hair that falls in
waves, reaching to the top of his shoulders. Symmetrical features: an
oval-shaped face, topaz-colored eyes (accentuated with eyeliner), and
perfectly proportioned bow-shaped lips. He’s wearing shorts that
barely cover his pert ass, and his shapely legs are shaved and
tanned. James isn’t much taller than me, I guess, and I’m only
five foot four. My gaze lingers over the tattoos on his bare arms,
the same tats as Steve’s.
Shit!
Good
evening,” James’ voice is surprisingly deep for such a compact
man, and he speaks with a plummy English accent. “I apologize for
keeping you waiting.” It’s like he’s some kind of celebrity
making an entrance.

Steve
envelops James in a bear-hug. “Let me introduce you to Max and
Lauren.”
Haven’t
we met before?” James says to Max. “At Club Complicit, wasn’t
it?”
Max
laughs. “I’m surprised you remember.”
James’
eyes rove up and down Max’s divine body. “I would never forget a
hottie like you.” And he winks,
the
nerve of the guy!
I
clear my throat, and James decides to notice me. “So this is little
Miss America, is it? Delightful.”
A
blush blooms up my neck. “Pleased to meet you, James,” I lie.
“Welcome to Tivoli. I hope you’ll love it here as much as I do.”
I’m
sure I will, darling.”
Dahling
indeed!
James
sure is over-the-top theatrical, and I bet there isn’t a sincere
bone in his body.
So,
what can I offer you? Prosecco, perhaps?” Max lifts the bottle from
the wine cooler. “This is Cartizze from Valdobbiadene.” He pours
James a glass. “It’s a match for any champagne you’ll come
across. Try it and tell me what you think.”
We
have champers too,” Steve interjects, “but
this
fizz
is fantastic.”
James
lifts the flute to his lips and takes a sip. “Mmm. You’re
absolutely right. By
far
the
best prosecco I’ve tasted.” And he smiles, a smile that lifts the
corners of his mouth but doesn’t engage his eyes; it’s like he’s
had a Botox injection.
So,
my dear,” James gives my dress a disapproving look. “I was hoping
you’d know the best shops for Italian fashion.”











(please remove if not reviewing ) 


S.
C. Daiko, aka Siobhan Daiko, lives with her husband and two cats in
northern Italy, in a converted artist’s studio with gorgeous views
across the Venetian plain. Originally from the UK, where she was a
languages teacher, Siobhan occasionally leaves her writing cave when
she has visitors, and likes nothing better than plying them with
prosecco
and introducing them to the dolce
vita.

An avid reader of all genres of romance, she loves writing about
strong heroines who know what they want and aren’t afraid to go for
it, and hot alpha males with loving hearts.



She loves to be stalked, and you can find her on Facebook
and Goodreads 

Follow her blog and sign up for her newsletter. She won’t spam you and there are giveaways from time to time.


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Title: Win Some Lose Some

Author: Shay SAvage

Genre: New Adult

Release: October 18, 2016

Cover Designer: Jada D’Lee Designs

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winebookFor Matthew Rohan, every day is a struggle. Each task others complete without thinking is a challenge for him. Recently orphaned, he has to finish the last few months of high school and take care of his disabled sister on his own.

When Mayra comes into his life, his comfortable routines implode. Matthew can’t handle change, but Mayra is unrelenting in her quest to understand him, to show him acceptance and maybe even love. When she breaks through his shell, Matthew’s world will never be the same again.

An awkward boy with Asperger’s Syndrome, a persistent girl who pulls him out of his isolated existence, and a lottery ticket that will change their lives forever.

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The Author will be hosting a giveaway on her page, click here to go enter!

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Shay Savage is an independent author from Cincinnati, Ohio, where she lives with her family and a variety of household pets. She is an accomplished public speaker and holds the rank of Distinguished Toastmaster from Toastmasters International. Her hobbies include off-roading in her big, yellow Jeep, science fiction in all forms, and soccer. Savage holds a degree in psychology, and she brings a lot of that knowledge into the characters within her stories.

From the author: “It’s my job to make you FEEL. That doesn’t always mean you’ll feel good, but I want my readers to be connected enough to my characters to care.”

Savage’s books many books span a wide variety of topics and sub-genres with deeply flawed characters. From cavemen to addicts to hitmen, you’ll find yourself falling for these seemingly irredeemable characters!

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Title: Challenge
Author: Amy Daws
Release Date: Sept 23, 2016
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He’s her patient. She’s his doctor. They shouldn’t. But God, do they want to. 

Camden Harris, the famously hot, hulk of a footballer is laid up in a London hospital. But his busted knee doesn’t stop him from running his well-practiced game on Indie Porter—his redheaded spitfire of a doctor. She’s not his type, not even close. But she could be the perfect distraction from the soul-crushing damage this injury could cost him. 

Indie’s tired of her naivety putting a target on her back. As a gifted child, she’s let her education take the front seat her whole life. But a fling with a footballer like Camden might be just what she needs to grab life by the balls. 

And he could be the perfect guy for the plan she’s been sitting on for over two years. 

But when feelings make a final play, there’s no amount of medicine that can heal the damage to their hearts. 

 
 
 
 
 
We arrive at my building and take the lift up to my fourth floor flat. As I’m unlocking the front door, she asks, “Are you a good dancer, Camden?”
 
This question is odd, even for her. “Why do you ask?”
 
She sighs and leans against the wall just as I open the door. “I envisioned you were tonight when I was dancing with some bloke.”
 
My jaw clenches. “I don’t need to hear about you dancing with other guys.”
 
She smirks. “But I was thinking about you so it shouldn’t count.”
 
“It counts.”
 
“I think I like this jealous side of you. I might have to use it to my—”
 
Her snarky comment is cut off by a satisfying yelp as I wrap my arms around her waist and throw her over my shoulder.
 
“What are you doing?” she squeals as I savour the feel of her bare legs in my hands.
 
I turn and walk her inside, kicking the door closed with my foot. “Do you think you’re smart, talking to me like that?” I ask, completely unable to hide the smile on my face.
 
Her hair tickles my back as she giggles. “I am quite smart, actually. I skipped three whole grades in primary school. Did you know that?”
 
“I didn’t know that. Tell me then, what did they do to punish clever girls with smart mouths in boarding school?”
 
“Oh, naughty, naughty things.” She giggles again and I have a momentary desire to put her down just so I can see her face when she does it.
 
“I might need a demonstration.” I walk down the hallway and straight to my room, forgoing the polite flat tour, the offering of drinks, and the inane small talk. Our arrangement is for sex and sex alone.
 
“I might be inclined to oblige.” Her voice is breathy when we reach the quiet darkness of my room. 
 
 
 
 
Amy Daws lives in South Dakota with her husband, and miracle daughter, Lorelei. The long-awaited birth of Lorelei is what inspired Amy's first book, Chasing Hope, and her passion for writing. Amy is a lover of all things British and her award-nominated contemporary romance series, The London Lovers Series, is centered around Americans in London. It's emotional and self-deprecating with lots of humor sprinkled in. 
On most nights, you can find Amy and her family dancing to Strawberry Shortcake's theme song or stuffing themselves inside children's-sized playhouses because there is nothing they wouldn't do for their little miracle. 
 
   

IT’S LIVE!

Official Blurb:
I’ve silently watched her for a year, staying hidden in the shadows, biding my time.
She may know me as two different men, but she doesn’t have a clue what I’ve done.
She unknowingly became mine the minute my eyes touched her beauty.
But I’ve done things. Things she may not be able to forgive.
I know all her secrets, her habits, her preferred coffee, what she does in her spare time, her favorite lingerie brand, even that she sleeps naked.
At night, I watch her from her window. During the day, I watch her from my computer. She innocently bares her heart and body to me, and I soak up every single fucking second.
I’ve stayed away, but I’m tired of watching from afar. It’s time Poppy finds out just who I am and what I’m willing to do to take what’s mine. She may hate me when she finds out my what I’ve done, but she has no choice but to accept it.

She will be my wife.
She will mother my children.
I will claim every part of her heart, body, and soul.
Anything else is unacceptable.

Poppy Lexington has become my endless obsession. I will become her uncontrollable addiction.
Unknown: Have you enjoyed the flowers I’ve sent you?
I freeze, except for my eyes, which pop open wide in shock. My breath gets caught in my throat when I realize this must be my mystery flower guy.
Holy hell! It’s him!

Why in the world is he texting me? After all this time, why contact me now? And what in the hell do I say to him? It’s become a routine. I’ve gotten used to getting the roses and not knowing who they are from. Question after question runs through my mind. Who is he? Why send me flowers? Why not introduce himself? Where did he first see me? How did he find out where I worked? And how in the hell did he get my number?
That’s my number one question, so I ask him.
Me: How did you get my number?
It only takes seconds for me to receive a reply, and I’m not sure how to take it.
Unknown: I have my ways. You didn’t answer my question.
He has his ways? What is that supposed to mean? My chest tightens with fear at his answer. I push back the fear and ask another question I’m dying to know.
Me: They’re beautiful, thank you. Who are you?
Unknown: You’ll find out soon enough.

Umm… say what? Another question avoided. My eyes narrow in suspicion.
Me: I’m not sure I like that answer. I have no idea who you are. What if I don’t want to know you once I find out?

I notice the time on my phone and pull the second thigh-high up my leg, keeping my eyes on the screen the entire time. This is really weird, him having my number. I’m sure it’s not too hard to get the information, but it’s the point that he went through the trouble to get it. I hate being left in the dark like this.

My phone dings again, and I quickly grab it.

Unknown: You’ll want to know me. Trust me.
Trust him? That’s laughable. How can he think I’ll trust him when I have no idea who he is?

Me: It’s hard to trust someone I don’t know.

I slip my feet in my heels as I wait for him to reply. It’s doesn’t take long.

Unknown: You’ll learn.
Unsure of how to respond to that, I walk back to the kitchen to get a travel mug of coffee ready. He seems so confident, and cocky. Maybe a little too much, since it’s coming from a total stranger. How can he be so sure?

I type out my original question again.
Me: Who are you?
Unknown: Soon…
I grip my phone in frustration. Now that he’s contacted me, the need to know who sends me roses every week is overwhelming. It’s no longer a curiosity—I need to know. I should be more afraid, but I’m not, and that gives me pause. Why am I not more fearful? He’s obviously hiding something, right? But what?
He sends another text before I get a chance to reply.
Unknown: Have a good day at work, Beautiful.
What? That’s it? He has flowers delivered to me every week for eight months, messages me out of the blue with cryptic messages, then wishes me a good day at work? Pissed off vibes has my gut clenching. How dare he contact me and leave me hanging.
Me: That’s it? That’s all I get out of you?
I flip the off switch on the coffee pot, grab my now full travel mug, my purse, and with phone still in hand, I leave my house, locking it up behind me.

I’m buckling my seatbelt when he replies.

Unknown: For now, yes.
Oh no, that doesn’t work for me. He needs to give me something. He can’t just expect me to accept his non-answers.

Me: How do you know me? How do you know where I work?
Unknown: I know a lot of things about you, Poppy.
Me: You’re not helping your case of me wanting to know you. It’s freaking me out that you know stuff about me, personal stuff, when I don’t even know your name. That’s not normal. It’s pretty stalkerish, don’t you think?
I notice the time on my phone again and see I have a few minutes before I need to
leave, so I decide to wait for his reply.
Unknown: Just call me Mr. A for now. Have a safe trip to work.



Alex Grayson is originally from the south, but has recently moved to Northern Ohio. Although she misses the warmth of Florida and often times detest the cold of Ohio, she absolutely loves living in the north. Her and her husband bought a house on two acres of land and live there with their daughter, son, one dogs, two cats, eight ducks, and three chickens. She hopes to eventually get a couple of goats to add to their country way of living. Besides her family and home, her next best passion is reading. She is often found with her nose obsessively stuck in a book, much to the frustration of her husband and daughter. On more than one occasion Alex found herself wanting a book to go a certain way, but it didn’t. With these thoughts in mind, she decided to start writing stories according to her own visions. Although this is a new endeavor for her, she hopes that readers find her concepts on romance intriguing and captivating. Alex welcomes and encourages feedback, of any kind. She can be contacted at alexgraysonauthor@gmail.com.

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Title: The Final Chase
Series: Final Love #2
Author: Jessica Florence
Release Date: June 21, 2016
 
 
 
I never thought a wallaby, Henley shirts, and a horse’s rectal exam would have anything in common.
Turns out they did.
Jake Wild. Owner of Wild rescue for exotic animals.
He’s everything I’m not, my polar opposite.
I’m heels and my salon,
He’s dirt and his creatures.
But much like the animals he cares for, he’s got that carnal edge
He’s the type of man you crawl on your hands and knees for with your ass up in the air. 
He bites, he's on the hunt, and now I’m his prey
A chance meeting and a bet started the undeniable attraction between us. 
But I’m not giving my heart and soul away that easy, he’s going to have to catch me first.
It's the ultimate game of cat and mouse,
But will it be the Final Chase?
 
 
  
 
 
 
“I feel like we should explore this,” he announced. I stared at him like he sprouted two more heads.  Speaking of heads, I was feeling something pressed against my tummy. Something hard and delicious.
 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tried, going for plausible denial.
 
“I’m an animal, remember? I like the chase and I will catch my prey.” He walked us back so I was against the wall with his arms caging me in. Why was this so hot? He was a stranger! Well, sort of.
 
“I’m not prey. And I don’t like to be chased,” I countered, even though I’m pretty sure it was a lie.
 
“Of course you do. Ask me how I know.” His head leaned in, close enough that I felt his breath caress my lips. Oh Lord.
 
“Tell me, oh wise one.” My voice was breathy and hoarse.
 
“You’re an alpha, a leader. You need a man who will pursue you for your affections, and who will prove he is the better man overall. A man who will take care of your every need. Hard. Slow. Soft. Fast. A man who gives you the world, while giving you stability. You need an equal. An alpha,” he purred and I think I just orgasmed. God, now I know what Rayne felt like when Arson was all “I’m your fucks and flowers.” I wanted to jump up on this man’s cock and go to town.
 
“That’s where you’re wrong, kitten. We are completely different. We wouldn’t even know what to do with each other, let alone try for stability. It would never work. But lovely words.” It was better for me in the long run. He was hot and wild. He was an animal.
 
“So the chase begins. Remember my words, sweetheart. The longer you run, the sweeter it will be when I catch you. And I will catch you.” Orgasm number two? Maybe? For a moment, we just stared at each other. A sort of challenge, if you will. I was determined to fight this. He was determined to chase. This was going to be interesting, one way or the other. Either we would collide and fuck like animals, or it would end in nothing. 
 
 
 
Jessica Florence, Kaleidoscope of Romance
 
Author ❤ PotterHead ❤ Movie Geek Extraordinaire.
 
Writer of Surviving Valentine, The Heart trilogy, Evergreen, Lights of Scotland Series, and The Final Love series.
 
When she's not writing her next invigorating story. You can find her running her own business, and spending time with her husband and daughter in southwest Florida.
 
   

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