Saturday, December 21, 2013

Blogger Give Back Giveaway!

Bloggers Give Back Holiday Giveaway 

For the 3rd Bloggers Give Back Giveaway, this time it is a Holiday Giveaway. To all of the followers and authors Thank you and Happy Holidays! 

* Amber's Reading Room → 1 winner, Amazon $5.00 gift card.
* Crystal's Many Reviewers → 5 winners get SWAG. (INTERNATIONAL) 
* Reality Bites! Let's Get Lost! → 1 winner, Amazon $5.00 gift card.
The Blushing Reader → 1 winner, Ebook of their choice. 
* Verna Loves Books → 1 winner, signed paperback of Ruin by Rachel Van Dyken (US ONLY)
Liezel's Book Blog → 1 winner, Ebook of All the Pretty Lies by M. Leighton 
Mary Elizabeth's Crazy Book Obsession → 1 winner, Ebook of Christmas Catch by Chelsea M. Cameron. 
Bookaholics Blog → 1 winner, Amazon $10.00 gift card. 
Author Groupies → 1 winner, signed paperback of Shattered Promises by Jessica Sorenson. (US ONLY)
* Love Between the Sheets → 1 winner, pick 2 Ebooks of the 12's NA's of Christmas. 
* Bare Naked Words → 1 winner, Ebook of Unsettled by SC Ellington. 
* Chicks controlled by books → 1 winner, Amazon $5.00 gift card. 
* Book Friends Forever → 1 winner, Ebook of their choice up to $1.99. 
* No BS Book Reviews → 1 winner, Ebook of True Bliss by BJ Harvey. 
* Food, Books, and More → 1 winner, Ebook of winner choice up to $3.99. 
* For Your Literary Pleasure → 1 winner, Amazon Ebook of Soul Stripper by Katana Collins. 
* As the Pages Turn → 1 winner, Amazon or B&N $25.00 gift card. 

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Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Release Blit and Giveaway: Vendetta by Autumn Karr and Sienna Lane

Vendetta Blitz
Vendetta Cover
Title: Vendetta
Authors: Sienna Lane and Autumn Karr
Genre: Contemporary Romance / Suspense
Release Date: December 17, 2013

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I am not a good man.
I have lied and cheated and stolen. I've decided between life or death, like it was my due. None of it matters, not anymore. These are not my sins.
I see her raise her hands, the dark metal she's clutching reflecting the moonlight. Her finger trembles as she cocks the gun pointed at me. Her eyes are cold, determined, but I know.
I know her.
My name is Devon Andre and I confess my sin. I am not a good man because this is the woman I love.
She pulls the trigger.
* Standalone contemporary romance. * Mature reader advised due to sexual content and strong language.

Vendetta Teaser 3

“Fuck,” he curses, taking in the weapon. I squeeze it in my hand and try to swing again, letting him know I won’t give it up. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” He pries the shard out of my clenching fingers, and then puts his hand around my neck, squeezing. Warning. “You move, and I’ll fucking kill you,” he growls, strengthening his grip. I let my body go limp. He looks at his hand around my throat, and then his eyes find mine. I try to swallow, but he's practically suffocating me. He snatches his hand away and I gasp for air. “I didn’t even think of the fucking mirror,” he mutters to himself, sounding shocked, and maybe even a little impressed. He pulls out some rope from his back pocket. His fucking pocket. The man is psychotic.

About the Authors
Sienna Lane and Autumn Karr are two friends with a joint love of reading, writing, candy, and Disney heroes (and Disney songs, of course.) When they aren’t scheming against fictional characters, or talking about their favourite books, you can find them ogling tattooed models and trying to figure out how to get them to do a cover shoot for their next book. Together they wrote VENDETTA, releasing this December, and hopefully many more books to come.They love to hear from readers, so don't hesitate to contact them through their Facebook page (
Connect with Sienna and Autumn
Our facebook page: Sienna’s Goodreads: Sienna’s Facebook: Autumn’s Goodreads: Autumn’s Facebook: Our blog:
(4) $10 Amazon Gift Cards
(5) eBook copies of Vendetta
(1) Signed paperback of Vendetta with Swag

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Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Promo Tour and Giveaway: The Ever Trilogy by Jasinda Wilder

 Forever & Always  and After Forever
(The Ever Trilogy)
Jasinda Wilder
Expected Release: Dec. 20th, 2013
Hosted by: The Book Avenue
Join the Release Party Here


These letters are often all that get me through week to week. Even if it's just random stuff, nothing important, they're important to me. Gramps is great, and I love working on the ranch. But…I'm lonely. I feel disconnected, like I'm no one, like I don't belong anywhere. Like I'm just here until something else happens. I don't even know what I want with my future. But your letters, they make me feel connected to something, to someone. I had a crush on you, when we first met. I thought you were beautiful. So beautiful. It was hard to think of anything else. Then camp ended and we never got together, and now all I have of you is these letters. S**t. I just told you I have a crush on you. HAD. Had a crush. Not sure what is anymore. A letter-crush? A literary love? That's stupid. Sorry. I just have this rule with myself that I never throw away what I write and I always send it, so hopefully this doesn't weird you out too much. I had a dream about you too. Same kind of thing. Us, in the darkness, together. Just us. And it was like you said, a memory turned into a dream, but a memory of something that's never happened, but in the dream it felt so real, and it was more, I don't even know, more RIGHT than anything I've ever felt, in life or in dreams. I wonder what it means that we both had the same dream about each other. Maybe nothing, maybe everything. You tell me.

~ ~ ~ ~


We're pen pals. Maybe that's all we'll ever be. I don't know. If we met IRL (in real life, in case you're not familiar with the term) what would happen? And just FYI, the term you used, a literary love? It was beautiful. So beautiful. That term means something, between us now. We are literary loves. Lovers? I do love you, in some strange way. Knowing about you, in these letters, knowing your hurt and your joys, it means something so important to me, that I just can't describe. I need your art, and your letters, and your literary love. If we never have anything else between us, I need this. I do. Maybe this letter will only complicate things, but like you I have a rule that I never erase or throw away what I've written and I always send it, no matter what I write in the letter. 

Your literary love,





It's always the hands that mess me up. I can never get the fingers right, somehow. It's something about the proportions between the knuckles, and the way the fingers are supposed to curve when at rest. I had an entire sketchbook full of failed attempts. 

Even at that moment, in the passenger seat of Dad's F-350, I was sketching out another attempt. My tenth so far, and we weren't even to Grayling yet. This one was the best yet, but the middle knuckles of the last two fingers looked awkward, like they'd been broken. 

Which gave me idea. I glanced over at Dad, who was driving with his left hand, the right resting on his thigh, fingers tapping to Montgomery Gentry on the radio. 

"Dad?" A sideways glance and a raised eyebrow were the only acknowledgement I got. "You ever broke your fingers?"

"Yeah, broke most of my left hand, matter of fact." Dad took the wheel with his right and showed me his left hand. The knuckles were bulbous, the fingers crooked. "Didn't get 'em set right, so they've always been kinda fucked up."

"How'd you break 'em?"

The fingers in question scratched at a shaved scalp, the stubble of a receding hairline whisking under his nails. "Me and your Uncle Gerry were out in the back forty, riding the fence line, checking for breaks. My horse got spooked by a snake. He threw me, 'cept my hand was tangled in the reins. Dislocated most of my fingers. Then, when I hit the ground, his hoof landed on the same hand, broke the middle two pretty good. Your Gramps is a hardass, and I knew he'd wallop me good if I came back without the job done. So I set the broke fingers best I could. There was a busted fence post, see, way out at the far corner, and Dad's prize Thoroughbred kept getting out. Gerry and I fixed the break and went home. I never told Dad about my fingers, just had my mom wrap 'em for me. Never really healed right, and even now when the weather's shitty my hand aches." 

I'd heard the stories of my father's childhood growing up on the Wyoming horse ranch that had been in the Monroe family for several generations. Every summer of my entire life had been spent on that ranch, riding and roping and tagging and birthing and breaking. Gramps didn't accept excuses and didn't tolerate weakness or mistakes, and I could only begin to imagine what it had been like growing up with Connor Monroe as a father. 

Gramps was a tall, silver-haired, iron-hard man. He'd served in both Korea and Vietnam before returning to work the ranch. Even as his grandson, I was expected to pull my weight or go home. That meant up before dawn, to bed past sunset, the entire day spent out in the field or in the stables, rarely even sitting for lunch. At fourteen, I was tanned, muscled, and, I knew, hardened to the point of looking older than I really was. 

Dad had been the first Monroe son to pursue a career away from the ranch, which had caused a decades-long rift between him and Gramps, leaving Uncle Gerry to take over running the ranch as Gramps got older. Dad left Wyoming after high school, moving to Detroit on his own to become an engineer. He'd started on the floor of a Ford plant, assembling truck frames and attending night school until he'd completed his degree, and eventually he'd been promoted to the engineering department, where he'd worked for the last twenty years. Despite his decades as an engineer, Dad had never really lost the wild-edged intensity of his upbringing.

"Why the questions about my fingers?" he asked. 

I shrugged, tilted the drawing into his line of sight. "I can't get these damn fingers to look right. The last two look messed up, and I can't fix it. So I thought I'd make 'em look broken, on purpose."

Dad glanced at the drawing and then nodded. "Good plan. The relationship between your angles and curves is off, is your problem. I'm more of a draftsman than an artist, but that's my two cents."

I made a surreptitious study of Dad's broken fingers again, adjusted the knuckles on the pencil-rendered hand, making them look misshapen and lumpy, then worked on the tips of the last two fingers, curving them slightly to the left, zigzagging the fourth finger to resemble Dad's. When I was done, I held up the drawing to show him.

Dad cut his eyes to the drawing and back to road several times, examining critically. "Good. Best one yet. The index finger still looks a little goofy, but otherwise good." He punched a button on the truck's radio, bypassing the commercial that was airing in favor of a classic rock station. He turned it up when Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" came on. "I think this summer art camp will be good for you. Interlochen is one of the best art schools in the country."

I shrugged, bobbing my head to the beat, mumbling along with the lyrics. "It's weird to not be going to the ranch."

"Gramps'll miss your help this summer, that's for sure."

"Will he be mad at me for not going?"

Dad shrugged. "He's Gramps. He's always mad about something or at somebody. Somethin' to stew on gives him reason to get up in the morning, I think. He'll get over it."

"He didn't get over you moving to Detroit," I said, spinning my pencil between his fingers.

"True. But that's different. Every Monroe boy since before the Civil War has lived and died on the ranch. I broke a family tradition going back a hundred and fifty years."

Conversation faded after that, and I watched the road and the corn fields and the blue sky spotted by puffs of white, listening to Jimi Hendrix singing "Purple Haze" and twist the guitar strings into shrieking banshees. I-75 eventually was replaced by M-72, and I felt myself nodding off. A while later, I blinked awake and Grand Traverse Bay sparkled off to the left, a dozen sails flashing white in the distance.

"Thought we were going to Interlochen?" I asked, rubbing my eyes. The bay was farther north.

"No rush. Thought we'd grab some lunch before I drop you off. Ain't gonna see you for a while, you know."

We ate at Don's Drive-In, a retro burgers-fries-and-milkshakes kind of place, small and cramped, red plastic-leather booths, chrome table edges, and black-and-white checkered tiles on the walls. We didn't talk much, but then we rarely did. Dad was a reserved man, and I'm a lot like him. I was content to eat my burger and sip my shake, worrying internally about spending an entire summer around a bunch of artsy kids I didn't know. I'd grown up around silent, hard-bitten cowboys, men who chewed tobacco and swore and could-and often did-go days without much more than a grunt or two. I knew I was a talented artist, as capable with pens and pencils as with paint. What I wasn't good with was people. 

"Don't be nervous, son," Dad said, apparently reading my mind. "Folks are folks, and they'll either cotton to you or they won't. That was my mom's advice to me when I left for Detroit. Just be you. Don't try to impress anyone. Let your work stand for itself."

"This isn't like school," I said, dragging a fry through ketchup. "I know where I fit there: alone in the corner, with my notebook. I know where I belong on Gramps's ranch. I know where I belong at home. I don't know where I belong at an arts camp."

"Wherever you are is where you belong. You're a Monroe, Caden. That may not mean shit to anyone else, but it should mean something to you."

"It does."

"Well, there you go." Dad wiped his fingers with a napkin and sat back. "Look, I get it. I grew up surrounded by thousands of acres of open land, all hills and horses, rarely seeing anyone but Mom and Dad, Gerry, and the other hands. Even school was the same kids from kindergarten to graduation. I knew everybody in my world, and they knew me. When I moved to Detroit it was scary as hell. Suddenly I was surrounded by all these buildings and thousands of people who didn't know me or give a shit about whether I made it or not."

"People confuse me." 

"That's cause most people don't make a damn lick of sense, if you ask me. Women especially. Trick with women is to not try and figure them out. You won't. Just accept 'em as they are, and try to go with the flow. Good advice for life in general, really."

"Do you understand Mom?"

Dad let out a rare laugh, but I didn't miss the way the corners of his eyes tightened. Things had been strange and tense around the house lately, but neither Mom nor Dad was the type to talk about what was bugging them. "I've known your mother for twenty-five years," he said, "and been married to her for twenty-two. And no, I still don't understand her. I know her, I get her, but I don't always understand the way her mind works, how she comes up with ideas or arrives at her conclusions or why she changes her mind so goddamn much. Makes my head spin, but that's how women are and that's how she is and I love her for it." 

All too soon, Dad was paying the bill and the truck doors were slamming and we were hauling down US-31 toward Interlochen. The ride was quick, and then Dad was parking and unstrapping my duffel bag from the bed of the truck and handing it to me. We stood toe to toe, neither of us speaking or moving.

Dad pointed to the rows of tiny wooden cabins. "That's the cabins. You know which one you're in? "

"Yeah, number twenty."

"Alright then. Well, guess I'll be going. Gonna be a long drive without you snoring in the passenger seat." 

"You're just turning right back around and driving home?" I asked, then immediately hated how childish and whiny that had sounded.

Dad lifted an eyebrow in reproach. "You're here for three weeks, Cade. You expect me to sit on the beach and twiddle my thumbs for a month? Your mom needs me home, and I've got projects to finish at work."

I felt the question bubbling up, coming out, and couldn't stop it from emerging. "Is-is everything okay? With you and mom?"

Dad closed his eyes briefly, breathed in slowly and let it out, then met my eyes. "We'll talk when you get home. Nothing for you to worry about right now."

That sounded oddly like an evasion, which was entirely out of character for my gruff, straight-talking father. "I just feel like things are-"

"It's fine, Caden. Just focus on having fun, meeting new people, and learning. Keep in mind that this is three weeks out of your entire life, and you don't ever have to see these people again." Dad stuck his left hand into his hip pocket and wrapped his right arm awkwardly around my shoulders. "I love you, son. Have a good time. Don't forget to call at least once, or your mom'll have a hairy conniption."

I returned the embrace with one arm. "Love you too. Drive safe."

Dad nodded and turned back toward his truck, then stopped and dug into his back pocket. He pulled out a folded square of $20 bills and handed them to me. "Just in case."

"I've been saving my allowance," I said. Dad always expected me to earn money, never gave it for free.

"It's…just take it." 

I stuffed the money into my hip pocket and shifted my weight. "Thanks."


"Bye." I waved once, and watched Dad drive away. 

I'd spent months at a time away from my parents, lived on Gramps's ranch for months at a time. Goodbye was nothing new. So why did this one feel so unsettling?

Follow the Promo Tour tomorrow to read Ever's POV 

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. When she's not writing, she's probably shopping, baking, or reading. 

Some of her favorite authors include Nora Roberts, JR Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Liliana Hart and Bella Andre. 

She loves to travel and some of her favorite vacations spots are Las Vegas, New York City and Toledo, Ohio. 

You can often find Jasinda drinking sweet red wine with frozen berries and eating a cupcake. 

Jasinda is represented by Kristin Nelson of the Nelson Literary Agency.

Monday, December 16, 2013

Blog tour stop and Giveaway: Wild by Adriane Leigh

Title: Wild
Author: Adriane Leigh
Genre: Erotic Romance
Release Date: December 13, 2013
An independent woman, a controlling man, and one wild one-night stand… Kat Kennedy moved to the rugged coast of Maine to start a new life, but encountered much more than she bargained for in dark, dangerous, and seductive Lane Wild. Desire and temptation smolder before she succumbs to her darkest fantasies with the captivating stranger. She doesn't expect to see him again after an explosive one-night stand leaves her breathless and craving more, but just like lightning in the darkness, he shows up in her life at the most unpredictable moments. A sensual game of cat and mouse ensues before the attraction between them reaches a fever pitch—the magnetism combustible, the sexual tension nearly unbearable—and Kat finally abandons inhibition and explores the cunning, selfish, and sexual side of a world she's never known. They have the perfect non-relationship—passion-fueled nights with no strings attached—until life gets real and the past and present collide in a dangerous storm of lust and obsession.
His thumb dragged across the seam of my lip. My eyes fluttered closed as he swiped across the flesh. My body lit up with lust and a dull throb settled between my thighs.
My heart stuttered a beat before I whipped my eyes open and pulled away. “Hands to yourself, Casanova.” I backed away and beelined for the front desk. The guilt was already nagging at me for involving him in my life anymore than I should have. “Can I help you with something or did you just come in to torment me?” I slipped behind the counter, thankful for the space that now separated us.
“Saw your car out front. Had to see those sweet lips again.” His eyes bounced down to the lips he’d just touched.
“Really? That’s your line?” I cocked an eyebrow at him, trying to steel myself against his rugged good looks. His dark hair lay carelessly across his forehead, his thick sculpted eyebrows arched, and his lips pulled into a devilish grin that emphasized his high cheekbones and stunning light blues eyes, which flashed with dangerous amusement.  
He broke out into another laugh, his arms crossing his chest. “You're sexy when you’re sassy, Sugar.”
I am not. And cut it with the ‘sugar.’ I’m no one’s sugar, especially not yours.”
“Hmm, is that so?” His eyes scanned my body, landing for a moment on my chest.
“Eyes up, Casanova.”
His eyes flashed to mine, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Can I take you out?” His large body felt imposing in the small space. His energy was engulfing everything around him, sucking the air out of the room and causing oxygen to rush from my lungs.
“Not a chance.”
“Okay, let’s say we skip the date. I just want you back in my bed.”
My mouth dropped open. “Another original line.” I cocked my head to one side.
“Is it working?” He stepped closer and leaned across the counter, invading my space and sweeping the breath from my lungs.
“Shame. Those lips wrapped around my co—”
“Don’t even go there. I don’t even—that night was a mistake. I hardly remember it and it’s not happening again.” My irritation flared. I'd never met someone so blatantly vulgar.
“Ah, don’t say you don’t remember, Sugar
What I thought about the book?

  I really liked this book.  Kat Kennedy is running away from her past.  She thinks she finds a home in a small town in Maine and she can finally put down roots.  When she first arrives into town, she meets Lane Wild and she submits to her lust to him.  Thinking that it was only going to be a one night stand but it turns out to be more. Once she thinks she is free and clear of her past it catches up with her?  For me, this was a quick and easy read that I started and finished while my daughter was napping.  There are some hot sex steams which is really nice.  Overall, I give this book 4 stars and would check out the next one in the series.  Let me know how you all enjoyed it!
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99¢ Reader Appreciation SALE for ONE WEEK ONLY!!
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A week-long party to celebrate the release of WILD with giveaways, teasers, book discussion, and more!
Friday at 9:00am until December 22 at 11:45pm
About the Author
Adriane Leigh Adriane Leigh was born and raised in a snowbank in Michigan's Upper Peninsula and now lives amongst the sand dunes of the Lake Michigan lakeshore. She graduated with a Literature degree but never particularly enjoyed reading Shakespeare or Chaucer. Adriane is married to a tall, dark and handsome guy, plays mama to two sweet baby girls, and is a voracious reader and knitter.

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