Cover Reveal: Never Gonna Tell by Sarah M. Ross

Spilling her secrets could prove to be a fatal mistake...but this cover sure isn't! We are so excited to bring you the Cover Reveal for Sarah M. Ross' NEVER GONNA TELL! NEVER GONNA TELL is a Young Adult Romantic Suspense scheduled for release March 17th!!

    My name is Reagan Wilcox: high school senior by day, kick-ass investigative journalist by night. I’ve always loved observing people—especially when they think no one is paying attention. I thought I was ready to cover any story. Work any angle. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened that night. I wasn’t ready for what I saw. And I certainly wasn’t ready for him. I always knew I’d write the headlines. Now, I just might become one.

Prologue:

NOTHING BUT BLACKNESS surrounds me. I can’t move. Why can’t I move? A shiver runs through me, both from fear and the cold of the ground below me. The air is stale and smells like the earth as I try to take a deep breath. I instantly know I’m inside of something, or maybe under something. “Hello?” I call, my voice shaking and barely above a whisper. No one answers. I try again, a little louder, as I fight back tears. The only sound I hear is my heart pounding in my tightened chest, the noise filling my head. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, but still I can’t see a thing. Pain radiates through my arm and head, but fear pulses stronger. The air around me grows thick and heavy. Sweat trickles down my face. My clammy hand trembles like a leaf in the wind as I stretch forward, feeling for something—anything. “Calm down,” I command my nerves. “It’s going to be okay.” But even I don’t believe my lies. I move, just an inch, to test my arm. The pain is still throbbing, but it’s manageable enough to try to get out from … wherever I am. Taking another stale breath, my right hand reaches out and connects with something hard and scratchy. Wood? It’s all around me, maybe a foot or so away. I push against it as hard as I can with one hand, but it doesn’t budge. I’m trapped. I can’t move and I want to scream. It’s bubbling up inside, but I quash it back down. Screaming will only let them know I’m awake. That I’m alive. Panic begs to take over, to take control, but I need to get out of here before that happens. I want to take a deep breath, but can’t. There isn’t any to fill my lungs. But there has to be air coming from somewhere or I’d be dead by now, I remind myself. And that’s all I need. I focus on keeping my breathing even, counting each breath. After reaching thirty, I reach up again, trailing the tips of my fingers along the wood, hoping to find a handle or knob, but there is only a large, flat, solid piece of wood. This is it. My worst fear is coming to life. Everything I worked for, everything I sacrificed, was for naught. My mom and dad’s faces pop into my mind as tears well in my eyes. I was so stupid. So foolish to think that I was doing the right thing. Now look where that’s gotten me. I’m going to die tonight. I’m sure of that now. All because I vowed that I was never gonna tell.

Sarah started her obsession with reading at an early age, often sneaking BabySitter Club and Nancy Drew books into math class. She would read any book she could get her hands on. Her love of reading quickly evolved into a love of writing and stories began to pour out of her. 

She grew up in Pittsburgh, graduated from The University of Pittsburgh with a degree in English, and taught 8th graders to love reading as much as she does for several years. Sarah will always be a proud member of the Steelers' Nation, but couldn't take the cold and moved her frozen tush to Florida where she now lives with her family and two cats. You will find her now with her trusty Kindle in hand and toes in the sand!

Sarah's debut novel, AWAKEN, released in January, 2012. Other novels include AVENGE, ATONE, ECHO OF AN EARTH ANGEL, and INHALE EXHALE.   

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Cover Reveal: Under The Influence by L.B. Simmons

Dalton,

I loved you once. A love I thought irrevocable. A love I mistakenly believed could transcend both time and circumstance. Under the influence of my dimwitted, naïve, traitorous heart, I became intoxicated with what I now know was simply a figment of my self-indulgent imagination. So drunk on the feeling, I couldn’t see what was right in front of my face. So foolishly enamored, I blindly followed my heart into the depths of an emotion that would ravage me. 

Years later, I know now what I wish I knew then. I am stronger. 

Smarter. Tougher. I will not allow myself to be broken again. 

I loved you.

I raged for you.

I wept for you.

And now, I’m letting you go.

Author’s Note:  Under the Influence is the journey of two childhood friends that spans the course of five pivotal years in their lives. It is a story about their discovery of true friendship as it blossoms into first love, their experience of crucial sacrifice and ultimate betrayal, and their endurance of agonizing heartbreak on the way to finding lasting redemption.

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Under the Influence and a first look at Chapter 1.

L.B. Simmons is a graduate of Texas A&M University and holds a degree in Biomedical Science.  She has been a practicing Chemist for the last 11 years.  She lives with her husband and three daughters in Texas and writes every chance she gets.

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New Release: Take by Noshoda Rose

MAX

Feelings are a luxury I can’t afford. Hidden behind a shield of quiet placidity, I keep my secret safe from those who’d use it against me. Until him—the tatted up, self-centered Scar assassin hired to protect me.


He takes pleasure in tormenting me, chipping away at my defenses as if I’m a toy to be played with. I hate that he continuously reminds me that I’m nothing more than a job. I hate that my body responds to his touch. I hate him.

JASPER

I’m not a good guy and I don’t pretend to be. Condemn me if you want, I don’t give a fuck. You’re nothing to me. No one is … except her—Max. She’s my target. And I was hired to do a hell of a lot more than protect her … I was hired to kill her.

It should’ve been simple, but it was complicated as hell.

*erotic paranormal romance. Standalone full-length novel. Come meet the Scars.

Scars: Immortal warriors with capabilities derived from the senses: Trackers, Sounders, Healers, Tasters, Visionaries, and the rare Reflectors. They each have what is known as an Ink, a tattoo that can be called life.

Jasper stopped, turned toward me, dragged his eyes down my front then yanked off his black t-shirt and tossed it to me.

I stared at his naked chest that was a hard slab of muscle with tats drawn across his left shoulder to link with the ones on his arm.

“Put it on. You stick out like a fuckin’ cotton candy with those stupid horse sparkles.”

I quickly put it on over top and it hung down to my mid-thigh. The scent of him drew into my lungs and I inhaled deeply with my chin down until I heard his distinct chuckle. Then I wanted to shoot myself in the foot.

Jasper’s hand came around the back of my neck and he jerked me toward him. He cupped my chin with his blade still in his hand so the handle was cold against my jaw. Then he leaned in and before I could take my next breath, his mouth was on mine.

Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.

When she isn't writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.

Killian by Brenda Rothert Release Day Blitz

Happy Release Day to Brenda Rothert and her new book KILLIAN! Read a sneak peek into the book below and make sure to enter the giveaway! Good luck!

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Killian Bosch knows he’s his own worst enemy – he just doesn’t give a damn. The star forward of a minor league hockey team, he’s unstoppable on the ice. His reckless behavior, devil-may-care attitude and complete disregard for consequences have made him a major source of headaches for the Fenway Flyers’ brass. But the new Flyers owner is more steel than brass. Sidney Stahl is a disciplined woman who parlayed earnings from a college job into a real estate empire. She’s determined to transform the Flyers from marketing nightmare to hockey powerhouse. Once she gets Killian in line, she knows the rest of the team will follow his lead.

The seduction of his sexy new team owner is a challenge too forbidden for Killian to resist. Sidney plays into his attraction as a means of controlling him, but soon finds that she’s the one surrendering. It’s all on the line as Killian and Sidney are forced to choose - business or pleasure?

My mind was jerked back to the present when I became aware the coach had moved on from his teaching lesson. “The new owner’s upstairs watching practice,” Orion announced, giving us the evil eye. We all looked up in the direction of the owner’s box, but I couldn’t see anyone standing inside. Orion turned to Bruce, the Flyers assistant coach, and spoke in a voice loud enough that no one could miss what he was saying, “Bruce, did we not have a meeting with the new owner before practice this morning?” Bruce nodded his agreement. “Tell me if I remember this right, Bruce.” Orion continued. “Did she tell us this team will be undergoing some major changes? That we’ll be making cuts and bringing in new talent?” “That’s right, Coach,” Bruce said in an even tone. Sighs and shuffling from around me indicated nervousness. I had nothing to worry about. I was the captain of the team and probably the best player here, though Bennett was a very close second. But the idea of cutting the dead weight got my attention. I was as disgusted as Orion with the record of our team. It was fucking embarrassing. He’d been brought in by the new ownership to turn things around and it sounded like that was about to happen. “I’ve been here two weeks,” he said. “I’ve given all of you a chance to show me you want to be on this team. Starting today, there’ll be one on one meetings between some of you and the new owner. Later on, Bruce and I will talk to each of you individually to let you know who’s staying and who’s going. Now back to the fucking play, boys.” As we turned to get back in line, Orion called Liam’s name. “You’re up first with the owner,” he said. “You know where her office is?” My head swiveled to look at Orion. Her? The new owner was a woman? Fucking hell. A woman wouldn’t be able to make the tough decisions this team needed to recover from its place at the bottom of the league. And what about Liam? He was a quiet, solid player on the first line. What the hell did the new ownership want with him? I wanted to go with him to that meeting, but that was never going to happen. Liam skated over to the bench and I glanced back up at the owner’s box, glowering. Anybody who fucked with Liam was also fucking with me. I had nothing to lose, and a man with nothing to lose was never someone you wanted to fuck with. Especially not by some woman who thought she could overhaul this team and turn things around. Others had tried and failed. She would be no different.

Brenda Rothert lives in Central Illinois with her husband and three sons. She was a daily print journalist for nine years, during which time she enjoyed writing a wide range of stories.

These days Brenda writes New Adult Romance in the Contemporary and Dystopian genres. She loves to hear from readers by email at bjrothert@sbcglobal.net.

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Sneak Peak: Very Twisted Things by Ilsa Madden- Mills

 

Sneak Peek: Prologue + Chapter 1

Very Twisted Things

A Standalone Briarcrest Academy Novel #3

by New York Times best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills

Release Date: March 1, 2015

This is a standalone New Adult novel with graphic sex and language.

Introductory price of $2.99 on release day for 24 hours only!

Blurb

  A sassy violinist who lives next door. An obsessed rock star who watches her through binoculars. And one night when she bares it all. Life will never be the same in Tinseltown. 

Vital Rejects front guy Sebastian Tate never imagined his YouTube music video would go viral, sky-rocketing him to acting success in Hollywood. Okay, maybe he did. After all, he’s a cocky dude who knows he’s hot-as-hell, and it was only a matter of time before his stars aligned.  

But life in Tinseltown is never what it seems.   

After being cheated on, his only rule to falling in love is simple: Keep Calm and Don’t Do It. Spying on his mysterious new neighbor with binoculars seems innocent enough, but quickly escalates into an erotic game between two very unlikely people.   

Twenty-year-old Violet St. Lyons is a world-renowned violinist who's lost her mojo on stage. She hides away in a Hollywood mansion, trying to find her way through her twisted past in order to make her future.   

He’s the life of the party with girls chasing him down for his autograph. She’s the introvert with a potty mouth who doesn’t even know who he is.   

When they meet, stars collide, sparks fly, and clothes come off. Yet, giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.   

 Welcome to Briarcrest Academy—Hollywood style—where sometimes the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.

 

Violet

 “Fairy dust is not real. This I know.” —from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

Boom!

I, Violet St. Lyons, who once believed herself the luckiest girl in the world, was born on the same day that the Violette–Sells comet was discovered. My parents, two avid stargazers, said it was a sign of how special I was and promptly named me Violet. They claimed my life had been blessed with fairy dust.

At the very least, comet residue.

I’d foolishly believed it for eighteen years, until the moment of my death.

Which was now.

Boom! Another explosion rocked the plane and metal ripped away as a section of the aircraft to my right vanished. Luggage flew through the air. People disappeared. The mom with the baby who’d sat in the aisle across from us—gone. The redheaded flight attendant who’d been collecting trash—gone. Disembodied screams echoed from the surrounding passengers as my own scream took up most of the space in my head. Air sucked at us viciously from the outside as a tornado of people banged around the space and one by one got pulled out into the swirling abyss.

I watched, helplessly transfixed, as I sat between my parents, gripping each of their hands as the plane we’d boarded six hours earlier for Dublin spiraled toward the Atlantic Ocean. I was going to die. My mother was already dead, a twisted piece of shrapnel sticking grotesquely from her chest as her head lolled around her neck. Blood had already soaked her shirt, yet I refused to let go of her hand. She’d be okay. We were always okay. We were the St. Lyons family of Manhattan, an icon of old money wealth with deep political ties. Page six of the New York Times featured pictures of us on a monthly basis. We couldn’t die on a plane.

Reality dawned as we plummeted. The yellow breathing apparatus dropped and dangled in my face, taunting me with its pointlessness. Fire and black smoke boiled in front of us where the cockpit had been, and my mind recognized that the pilots had to be dead. Just a few minutes ago, they’d come over the intercom and announced that the plane was making its descent into Dublin Airport exactly on schedule.

Then the first explosion had gone off.

Bits of debris flew around, narrowly missing me. My elderly father grabbed my hand and squeezed, his face drawn back in a horrible grimace. Fear and then horror flickered across his face as he saw Mother, but there was no time to comfort him.

Paralyzed in my seat, we spun like a drunken top, and a part of my brain noticed the sun was rising, its pink tinge lending a soft glow, catching the reflection of clouds and making them silver-lined. The rocky coast of Ireland glittered in the distance. Mocking me. We’d been headed there to celebrate my eighteenth birthday.

Just then my violin case flew past my head from the overhead compartment and crashed against the wall of the plane. Shards flew. I shuddered and wanted to vomit. God, help us. We were here because of me. Our deaths were my fault. I spared a glance at the diamond promise ring Geoff had given me before we’d left. Would the Mayor of New York’s son go on without me?

The air was turbulent yet thin, and my chest tightened as dizziness pulled at me. I resisted. Had to stay awake. Had to be with my dad. I was younger, stronger, faster. My eyes went to the gaping hole in the plane. Had to think ahead. Plan. Water would fill up the plane on impact, ensuring we’d sink rapidly.

My fear escalated as the ocean rushed at us, its surface choppy and ominous. I took in a giant breath and braced myself. We hit at an angle, the plane a torpedo as it sliced into the sea. Daddy disappeared, ejected by the impact, and I yanked on my seat belt, unclicking it to go after him. Heart thundering, I sent a final look at my mother. I wanted to take her with me, but she was gone.

Water everywhere, bubbling and gurgling as it filled up the plane. Salt water stung my eyes. People floated by, some alive as they floundered for the opening. I kept my gaze off the dead ones. Focus. Get out. Only seconds left.

I swam from my seat and fought my way out of the large hole in the plane, lungs exploding. Burning. I’d been under too long.

Daddy! I caught a glimpse of his red shirt above me and kicked harder.

Up, up, up. Must get up. My arms moved. My legs kicked. Excruciating pain. Ignore it. Almost there. So close that I could see the daylight breaking through the water.

The hottest fire I’ve ever known lit in my chest. Scorching. Air. Just want to breathe. Just get to the top. Please.

My body rebelled and I inhaled and swallowed water, the burn racing down my throat making it spasm as I tried to cough it out. I struggled but took in more and more, the cold liquid filling my lungs.

Dark spots filled my eyes. This was drowning.

Exhausted.

Done.

My body twitched. I grew disoriented.

I let go of the fight. My hands floated in front of me.

Oblivion.

Darkness.

No bright lights, no tunnel.

No heaven, no mother, no father.

No comets.

No fairy dust.

Chapter 1  

Sebastian

Two years later

“She was music with skin.” —Sebastian Tate

I tapped my foot.

What was taking her so long?

From my backyard patio in the Hollywood Hills, I watched the odd girl next door with a pair of high-powered binoculars. She flicked on her porch lights, and a low whistle came out of me at the sexy red-as-sin robe she wore, its silky material flashing around her long legs as she moved around her patio. Her hair was down, too.

This was new. Where were the usual yoga pants? The ponytail?

She looked like she knew someone watched, but that was impossible since our outside lights were off. Even the light from the moon hit our house at such an angle that she shouldn’t be able to see us just by glancing over. She’d need a high-powered lens to know I was here.

Usually she played facing her rose garden, but this time she walked to the right side of her patio, which faced us. Weird. But she didn’t play. She just stood there without moving. Staring toward our house. Uneasiness went over me.

What was she doing?

Could she see me?

As if it were a fragile bird, she positioned the violin under her chin and began playing, arms bent and wrist poised, making the most exquisite sounds. And I don’t mean classical like Beethoven or Mozart; I mean body-thrashing, blood-thumping, hard-as-hell music that had me rooted to the ground, like she’d slapped iron chains on me.

Dark and seductive notes rose up in the air, and I got jacked up, recognizing a Led Zeppelin song, only she’d ripped its guts out and twisted it into something electric. She pushed the bow hard, upping the tempo abruptly, her movements controlled yet wild. My pulse kicked up and my eyes lingered, taking in the slightly parted toned legs and the way her breasts bounced as she jerked her arms to manipulate the strings.

Her body arched forward in a curve, seeming as if she might break into a million pieces before she finished the piece or climaxed first. Then, her robe slipped off her right shoulder, exposing part of her breast. Creamy and full, it quivered, vibrating as she moved her arms. Her rosy nipple teased me, slipping in and out of the folds of the material, erect from the cool mountain air and deliciously bitable. I pictured my mouth there, sucking, my fingers plucking, strumming her like my guitar until she begged me to—

Stop, I told myself just as an appreciative groan came out. Whoever Violin Girl was, she didn’t deserve me lusting after her while she was pouring her heart out with music.

I zoomed in as far as the binoculars would go, watching her surrender to the music as she bent and swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, black lashes like fans on her cheeks. Every molecule in my body focused on her, hanging on to each note she pulled from her instrument.

She finished and kept her head bowed for the longest time, perhaps letting the emotion wash over her like it had me. Then, she bowed to the banana trees and gnomes in her garden, waving her hands in a flourish as she rose.

The entire event was surreal, yet poignant as fucking poetry.

I let out a deep breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

Who the hell plays Stairway to Heaven with a violin? She did.

Bam! She snapped her head up, her eyes lasering in on mine, making every hair on my body stand at attention.

And then …

Standing there in the moonlight, she untied her robe and spread apart the sides ever so slightly, her movements seeming almost hesitant, as if she’d had to work herself up. Unfamiliar jealousy hit me and I panned out and checked the rest of the patio, expecting to see a lover. Whoever it was, I wanted to rip him apart piece by piece.

And didn’t that thought surprise me.

My gaze searched her patio, the backyard, her upstairs balcony. Nothing. No one.

She flicked her dark hair back and stroked the lapels of the robe, her fingers lingering over the lacy material. Suddenly the evening smacked of something more than just music. Her arms moved back and forth across the front, opening the robe halfway and then closing it as if she couldn’t make up her mind.

My eyes went up, trying to read her face. Still as a statue, the only movement was her mouth as it trembled, her full upper lip resting against the pouty lower one. Tears ran down her face, but they seemed more of a defiant act, her jaw tightly set, her shoulders hunched inward as if she’d held it in too long and was giving in, but not without a fight.

Violin Girl was trapped in a cage of darkness.

It still didn’t stop me from holding my breath, silently begging her to bare herself to me. She’d already laid bare her music. Part of me needed the rest of her.

She jerked the robe closed, making me groan in disappointment.

And then she did something completely crazy.

The lonely girl next door flipped me the bird.

© Ilsa Madden-Mills 2015 Very Twisted Things

New York Times and USA Today best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.   She spends her days with two small kids, one neurotic cat, and one husband. She collects magnets and rarely cooks except to bake her own pretzels.   When she's not crafting a story, you can find her drinking too much Diet Coke, jamming out to Pink, or checking on her carefully maintained chocolate stash.   She loves to hear from readers and fellow authors.

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