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Sunday, February 18, 2018

Heiresses in Love Trilogy by Marie Lavender💕 Spotlight & EXCLUSIVE Giveaway 💕(Historical Romance)



An unforgettable, sweeping saga of romance, passion and history rooted in tales of maritime suspense…

Three heiresses…three novels like no other.


An unforgettable, sweeping saga of romance, passion and history rooted in tales of maritime suspense…

Three heiresses…three novels like no other.

UPON YOUR RETURN

Fara risks her heart every time she’s with him, but she cannot deny him.

UPON YOUR HONOR

Chloe never imagined that the man she deceived would be the one man she can’t stop loving.

UPON YOUR LOVE

Adrienne must decide whether to succumb to desire or fight for love.

…Will these remarkable women at last find what they’ve always wanted, or lose more than they can bear?



 

Fara Bellamont has been back in society for a year after leaving Cluny Abbey, where her uncle sent her long ago. When he chooses a suitor for her for marriage, she fears that she will be forced to marry a stranger and live a miserable life.

But, Fara finds herself thrust into an adventure of a lifetime when unforeseen circumstances cause her to place her trust in a strange man for protection. His intervention not only saves her, but puts her in an even more compromising position.

Grant Hill, a trading captain, is enchanted by the young heiress not only because of her beauty, but because she is hardly conventional. Underneath her ladylike exterior lies a tigress. Grant cannot help but offer his protection as she is in need and he is far from immune from her charms.

Fara just never bargained on the passion that she feels for Grant Hill. As events unfold, she must decide whether her desires and the dictates of her heart should trump the rules of society in this exciting tale.

 

Deception is a dangerous path…

New York City, August, 1891 – Orphaned after the death of her father, Chloe Waverly stows away on La Voyageur to escape the clutches of her cruel fiancé, Lamonte Beckett. Gabriel Hill, a strange and compelling gentleman, comes upon Chloe and promises to protect her without knowing the true circumstances of why she is running away. During their journey, Gabriel doesn’t bargain on being distracted by her fair beauty or succumbing to her many charms. As their attraction to each other grows, so does the danger and Gabriel suspects things are not as they should be.

Both are determined to get to New Orleans, where she can start a new life. But, once they reach their destination, events spin out of their control and Chloe is captured by the fiancé she escaped. Gabriel is left wondering if he can overlook her betrayal. Soon he finds himself in a race against time, to reach her before Beckett can exact revenge.

 

The Hill family saga concludes as loyalties are questioned, faiths will be tested and undying love may come at a terrible cost…

Fara Hill, mother and faithful wife, is torn between her family at home and her urge to be at sea. Soon, she learns some disturbing truths. Was the past a fairy tale instead of reality?

Chloe Hill, loving wife and young mother, questions her faith when her husband sets an ultimatum she cannot meet. Will she be able to keep her marriage from falling apart?

Adrienne Bellamont Hill, born of a valiant captain and a fiery redhead, is untamed to her core and will bow to no man. Then Christian du Plessis enters her life with an offer she can’t refuse. Discovering the man behind the polished gentleman, she is drawn to him in many ways. Holding out for love is a family tradition, but can she resist the temptation of passion?

Christian finds this young woman to be a fascinating challenge, and is torn between keeping his distance from her and succumbing to her charms. A fierce battle of wills ensues as he sees she is much more than he ever imagined.

But danger lurks, threatening to destroy everything…

Can these two strong-willed individuals unite in the cause before time runs out?

 



Just Say (Hell) No by Rosalind James 💕 Book Blitz & Gift Card Giveaway 💕(Contemporary Romance)



Even a hard man needs a soft side.

Marko Sendoa isn’t a beach man. He’s not an Auckland man. He’s a hard man. Born Basque, raised in the heart of New Zealand’s Southern Alps, and bred on hard work, discipline, and getting the job done. It’s not easy for a rugby flanker to make it to age 32 at the top of his game, but he’s done it. Next year is the Rugby World Cup, and he’ll do whatever it takes to be on the field in the black jersey when the anthems are sung.

He doesn’t need a kitten.
He doesn’t need a pregnant cousin.
He definitely doesn’t need a too-short, distractingly curvy, totally unimpressed Maori barista and part-time pet portraitist who fills his house and his life with too much color, too much chaos, and too many secrets.

He’s getting them anyway.



Nyree knew it was two kilometers to Achilles Point. She didn’t look at her watch to see how long it was taking. The point was, she made it. She puffed her way up the final incline, which felt more like a mountain, tried to tell herself, Gorgeous sea view, and failed. Maybe it was the black spots that were swimming in her vision. She bent over from the waist to haul in a few precious breaths and focused on not being sick.
When she stood up again, she saw him. He’d just run the stairs from the beach. She didn’t even want to walk the stairs from the beach. And he wasn’t breathing hard.

Bastard.

He dropped to the boardwalk, began doing press-ups in a leisurely manner, and said, “I’ll take your apology now.”

“P-p-pardon?” It came out wrong. She still couldn’t breathe.
“I didn’t blame you at the start,” he went on, sounding as if twenty press-ups were nothing but a warmup. Which they probably were. He started them over again, then said, “I ran up behind you. Startled you. Fair enough. But afterwards? Did you thank me for my generous offer? Did you give me a dignified way out? You did not. You ran away and left me with a bona fide footy expert. I’m not even going to comment on the fact that if you’d let me turn off your headlights, you’d have been up here ten minutes faster.” He eyed her more closely. “Maybe fifteen.”

The sun was too hot, and her face was still dripping with sweat and probably flushed to beetroot state. Still, she felt a bit better. “Your new mate had something to say about your performance last night, did he? Could be you just lost to a better side.”

He hovered for a long moment at the top of a press-up, then leaped to his feet in one smooth movement. “Now, I call that cruel. And if you knew who I was, why did I get all that talk about Macing me? I was sweating.”

“You were not sweating. It takes more than that to make you sweat.”

He grinned at her, lifted the collar of his singlet, and wiped his face, exposing a flash of taut, ridged midriff in a quite possibly delicious shade of golden brown. And a thin line of dark hair leading south from his navel, straight into the top of those black shorts. “Could be you’re making me do it,” he said. “But I’m happy you’ve noticed.”

She tore her gaze away and back up to his face fast, but not before he’d caught her looking.

At fourteen, she’d thought he was her knight on a white horse. At seventeen, she’d learned better. Ten more years had done him some favors in the body department, but she wasn’t sure they’d improved his character.

She smiled back at him, saw the answering smile get cockier, and said, as sweetly as she could manage, “I’m so impressed by that, I’ve come over a bit faint. Time for me to go.”

“If you’re faint,” he said, “I reckon I’d better buy you lunch.” So confident, like he had only to offer himself up, and the world and all its women would be his. She wasn’t fourteen anymore, though, and she didn’t have any illusions about the romantic intentions of rugby players. Even All Blacks weren’t necessarily all they were cracked up to be.
“Cheers,” she said, “but no. I need to go. Thanks for telling me about my headlights. Goodbye.”
Sometimes, if you were very lucky, you got a second chance. You might still be able to fit your fist into your mouth, but at least the braces were gone, you hadn’t dropped any food, and you definitely didn’t feel like slinking away and dying.

Not anymore.


The Wrong Kind of Compatible by Kadie Scott 💕 Book Blitz & Gift Card Giveaway 💕 (Contemporary Romance)



He’s in deep…

Data analyst Cassie Howard may be brilliant (and, okay, a little awkward), but she’s worked hard to get where she is. She definitely doesn’t need some sexy new analyst coming in and taking credit for her work. Or the inappropriate thoughts that keep popping out of her mouth she’d rather he not hear.

For undercover FBI agent Drew Kerrigan, computers have always made more sense than people, but he’d better develop some slick social skills in a hurry if he’s going to win over the too-tantalizing-for-his-sanity Cassie. Hacking their systems was easy. Now he’s just got to hack the one person in the company most likely to see through his ruse…


It took Cassie all of five steps away from him for Drew to move.
He was crossing a dangerous line, or on a slippery slope, or whatever other cliché you wanted to throw at the situation. He could’ve held on. After a week of ignoring every instinct he had that screamed at him to spend time with Cassie, get to know her better, and—hell, yes—kiss her a lot more, he’d thought he could make it through the investigation. After everything was over, then he could approach her.
But no way could he watch her walk away after every spark of hope in her stunning eyes had died. Stealing candy from a baby while kicking puppies and burning a hole in the ozone layer couldn’t even feel this horrible.
“Cassie.” Her name tumbled off his lips even before he’d made a final decision, or maybe his heart made it for him. No brain required.
She glanced over her shoulder, her hand on the doorknob, and raised her eyebrows.
Words failed sometimes.
Instead, Drew stalked across the room, enjoying how her eyes widened with every purposeful step he took. She turned to face him fully just as he invaded her space. Drew stepped close enough to feel her heat, relishing the faint gasp that parted her lips. He leaned into her, hand on the door behind her to ensure it stayed closed.
He gazed down into bright blue-green eyes, where a wary spark of hope had ignited, and scoured his brain for a smooth, suck-the-breath-out-of-her-lungs, thing to say. Inspiration struck and he smiled even as he spoke the words. “I’d like to unzip your files.”
She froze and blinked up at him so long Drew started to worry she didn’t get it. They hadn’t had any word play all week. Well, she’d tried, and he’d ignored. But this one was out of context, right out of the blue. Maybe…
Cassie burst out laughing, deep belly laughs that he couldn’t resist chuckling along with, even though he wasn’t quite sure yet if she was laughing at him or with him.
“That has to be the nerdiest pickup line in history.”
Drew grinned back like a moron, and relief whooshed through him as two things became evident. First, she got it. Second, she seemed receptive given the big smile and sparkly eyes, along with the fact that she wasn’t running away screaming.
“Did it work?”
They both sobered. Longing swept away any urge to laugh, and Drew swam through those eyes of hers. His body tightened in anticipation. Their breath mingled as he dipped his head, unable to wait a second longer to taste her lips again.
“Drew, are you still in here?”
Kevin’s attempt to open the door stopped short


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✭✭✭✭✭ “Kadie Scott has delivered a wonderfully witty romantic comedy that just sparkles with charm, fun and hard won love. Her writing is masterful, flowing seamlessly from one point of view to the next with dialogue that is both fresh, funny and entertaining from the very first page until The End.” ~Emerald Book Reviews

✭✭✭✭✭ “I knew this was a good read from page one. It was whip smart funny and adorable, filled with lovable characters that aren’t afraid to be quirky.” ~RemarkablyLisa

✭✭✭✭✭ “LOVED this book! This is fun, funny, and smart – all wrapped around a great story…This is a must read for fans of the genre. Snag this one on release day – you’ll be glad you did.” ~Linda Quick, Goodreads Reviewer

✭✭✭✭✭ “Funny, smart, and sexy. And OMG the sexy nerd jokes. Loved it! If this author is not on your read list, then I highly suggest you check her out. Definitely pick this book up. It is a wonderful read.” ~Moonshine’s Corner

✭✭✭✭✭ “Oh, holy mother of geeky heroes!…You guys, this book is so delightful. It’s light-hearted and completely charming; an easy, fast read that’s jam-packed with likable characters and a fun plot that engages from the get-go. I have not read Kadie Scott before, but if this is what I can expect in the future, you can bet I will be back.” ~Panda & Boodle

✭✭✭✭✭ “THE WRONG KIND OF COMPATIBLE is amazingly hot, funny and intense with unforgettable, geeky characters. Two thumbs up!!…Just go pick up this book and read it! You won’t go wrong. Highly recommended! This is definitely going on my keeper shelf. I had never had so much fun as with this book. And really, a hot, geeky hero? I dare you to resist.” ~The Romance Reviews (Top Pick)

Saturday, February 17, 2018

One Night in Havana by Kathleen Rowland 💕 Book Tour & Gift Card Giveaway 💕 (Erotic Romantic Suspense)



A desperate competition and sizzling attraction leads to dangerous desire.

New York Marine biologist Veronica “Roni” Keane is attending the Havana Bay Conference in Cuba. Tomorrow only one grant will be awarded which will provide the winner with professional recognition, resources for a project, and living expenses for two years. She hopes to continue her deceased father’s work, but smooth operator, Carlos Montoya, has won many grants in the past.

Carlos, a freelancer for the Havana Port Authority, works to help protect Havana’s reputation as a bastion of safety. As international travelers flock to the island, attracted by its 1950’s time-warp and colonial architecture, the drug business is running rampant, particularly on Roni’s cruise ship. Something’s not right, and when her scuba tanks are tampered with, Carlos brings in the military police to investigate. For her safety, he keeps her close, but he craves her body.

Their attraction leads to a fun night with a bit of kink. But Roni finds herself in more trouble than she bargained for when the criminals blame her for alerting the military police and come looking for her. Can Roni trust Carlos to protect her? Will she stay in Havana if Carlos wins the coveted grant, or kiss her lover goodbye?


-- Chapter One
“Why, Veronica Keane.” A voice heavy with a Spanish accent drawled from behind her. “A dive bar?” A taunting tsk. “What do we have? A slumming New Yorker?”
She stiffened and closed her eyes. She knew that voice and its owner, Dr. Carlos Montoya, a finalist like her, competing for the same damn grant at the biggest Cephalopoda conference of the decade. Her heart pitter-pattered against her ribs. To turn toward him would intimate distress, or worse yet, weakness. She wouldn’t fail to win this grant, not when she was a final contender. “I like this funky little place.” Sia Macario Café, smack in the center of Havana, allowed her to observe locals and their daily lives.
“You need to eat with all the mojitos you’ve downed.” The big tease wasn’t counting. This was her first drink, but his rumbling, sexy timbre hinted at all kinds of dark, hot promises. She’d rubbed shoulders with the Cuban scientist all week. This splendid specimen of Latin male brought on a physical ache that punched low.
A flare-up stirred fear. For her own good, she needed to resist. “I ordered camarones enchiladas.” By now she knew the menu on the chalkboard by heart. She tipped her head back to whiff grilled shrimp soon to arrive in sofrito sauce with fried sweet plantains.
“The flan is good. Just like my abuela makes.”
“I bet. Your grandmother would be happy to hear that,” she said, knowing he brought out the best in most people. Two days ago he'd invited her and a handful of others scuba diving. The chance to ogle him had been one of the perks. He’d worn nothing but swim trunks, his bare chest on display. Every glistening muscle was finely etched. Not a drop of fat on him. Since he’d not given her the time of day, she’d checked him out without him noticing.
The hard-bodied host had led the way toward habitats of soft-bodied creatures. To find where invertebrates lived was never an easy task. Octopuses squeezed into narrow passages of coral for protection and gave females a place to keep their eggs. She’d discovered the remains of a few meals nearby.Octopuses scattered rocks and shells to help them hide.
This grant meant so much to her and no doubt to him as well. Veronica mindlessly toyed with the gold necklace around her neck, but anxiety crackled through her brain. Unlike this man of action, she lacked the flamboyant personality necessary to talk people into things. Carlos had that ability. He'd made friends with judges on board while she’d conversed with an older woman about a box of scones made with Cuban vanilla cream.
That day the wind had picked up to a gale force, and this woman named Bela with Lucille Ball red hair needed help walking to her home. The half mile down the seaside promenade, The Malecón, had provided her with time to practice her Spanish. Turned out Bela was Carlos’s grandmother. She’d worked as a maid when the Castro government came to power. When private homes were nationalized, titles were handed over to the dwelling occupants. Bela owned a crumbling home in the respected Verdado district and rented out rooms.
What Veronica detested about Carlos was his abnormal level of talent for schmoozing. Not that he wasn't charismatic; he drew her like a powerful magnet with emotions hard to untangle. Why was a self-assured woman who ran her own life thinking about a man who commanded everyone around him?
She inhaled a breath and turned around on the barstool, caught fast by a gut punch of Carlos Montoya in the flesh. She sighed and surrendered to the tendrils of want sliding up between her thighs.
Tall and muscular, his lush dark hair curled to his collar giving him a wild, roguish appearance. His face was lean and chiseled. His mouth full and tempting. His eyes the smoky-gray of a grass fire and fringed with black lashes as dense as paintbrushes. He smiled. A faint hint of mockery curved his mouth, a sensual mouth she imagined to be either inviting or cruel. Or both at the same time when he leaned over a woman with a diamond-hard gleam in his dark eyes while she drowned with pleasure. She fought a fierce desire to run her hand across his broad chest, tip her face upward, and…
His breath tickled her face.
Not going there. She blinked and forced her mind to focus. Carlos Montoya was not the kind of man you lost focus around. But that image of putting her mouth full on his and peeling away his shirt once introduced in her mind was impossible to expunge. Pointless even to try.
He was an intimidating blend of intellect and sexy danger. Both qualities had her leaning back against the bar’s edge. If it weren’t for him, she’d have a chance at winning the grant.
His lips twitched. “You’re staying on one of the cruise ships, am I right?” He rolled up the sleeves of his linen jacket to reveal a dusting of manly hair.
”Yes." Her cabin served as her hotel room while attending the January meetings with perfect high-seventies temperatures. His eyes locked with hers. She willed herself to move and yet she remained seated, clutching heat between her legs, a wetness so intense that her breath stalled in her chest while her heart hammered faster. Soon she’d return to freezing New York City.
“So, Bonita, give.” He slid onto the bar stool next to her. “What brings you down from a lofty ship to grace us lowly Cubans with your presence?”
Bonita. Pretty lady was not an endearment coming from the mouth curved in a taunting smile, but not a slight either. Not with his deep, melodic voice speaking words as if he knew secrets about her. What secrets did he know? Would he pry into her personal life? She doubted this bad-boy college professor acknowledged boundaries.
“Just drinks and dinner.” She scrambled for composure. “Aren’t we attending a world-class conference? I find the local population to be friendly and kind. That’s not slumming.”
The bartender set down a saoco. “Hope you like it, senorita.”
“Gracias,” she said. “Very nice, served in a coconut.”
“Ah, the saoco,” Carlos said. “Rum, lime juice, sugar, and ice. The saoco,” he repeated, disbelief heavy in his words. “Um. Wow. Once used as a tonic for prisoners of the revolution.”
“Medicinal?” She couldn’t help it. She chuckled and sounded as if a rusty spoon had scraped her throat raw, but it was genuine. The warm glow in its wake was welcome and needed. .
He leaned an elbow on the bar, his beer bottle with the green-and-red Cristal label dangling between his fingers. “Be careful with that one.” He dipped his head toward the front door as if he needed to go somewhere soon.
That fast, the glow snuffed out. She cleared her throat and gripped the fuzzy surface of the coconut container.
He placed a five-peso coin with a brass plug on the counter and whirled it. The spinning motion mirrored a dizzying attraction going on in low parts of her belly.
She cleared her wayward mind and nodded toward artwork on the opposite wall. “I plan to buy a painting tonight.”
“Don’t buy anything unless the seller gives you a certificate. You’ll need one to take art from Cuba. Artists deal in euros in case you don’t have pesos.”
She’d come prepared but said, “Thanks for the info.”
His coal-black eyes widened as he gazed from her head down to the tiny straps around her ankles as if she wore high heels and nothing else. “You give off a Barbie doll image,” he replied and stood up.
“Huh?”
“Where’s Ken, anyway? Kenneth Morton. He came with you to the talks in Antarctica. Five years ago.” He grinned, and the mortification in her belly gave way to a longing which she had no business feeling toward her competitor.
“Ken and I broke up.” She hesitated for a moment. “You have a gift for remembering names. Like a salesman.”
“A person’s name is, to that person, the most important and sweetest sound. Back then I introduced myself to Ken in the men’s room.”
“I remember now. Didn’t you give a talk on a specialized pigment in the octopus?”
“Ahh, si.” He splayed his fingers over his chest. “A pigment in their blood is—”
“—called hemocyanin. Turns their blood blue and helps them survive subfreezing temperatures. Were you awarded something?”
“The antifreeze protein grant? No. It went to a deep-diving photographer. He wasn’t chicken about getting lost or trapped under the ice.”
She slid from her stool and strutted around, jutting her chin in and out like a chicken. “Bock, bock, bock, bock, bock, begowwwwk.”
He chuckled. “Cute chicken dance. Very cute in that skimpy black dress.”
Her cheeks heated, and she clutched her necklace. He’d seen plenty of women in body-fitting attire. In Cuba, women wore dresses to meetings. If she'd harnessed sexier mojo, she’d have livened up presentations. Her presentations with an abundance of dull data went south. She slid back against her stool and clutched her purse to her stomach as if the small satin bag could calm the nerves playing deep down kickball. She belonged in her tidy New York office filled with computers, modems, and research manuals. Not in this softly lit café where passion oozed from a man’s pores, and artists displayed their canvases. Here was where Havana’s trendsetters congregated, and Ernest Hemingway wrote about desire.
“Good luck with your purchases, Veronica Keane.”
Okay, so they weren’t going to pretend they were going head to head for the grant.
As if he had more to say, he grinned at her, his perfect white teeth flashing.. “Do you find us different, like apples and oranges?”
“What am I, an apple or an orange?”
“Hmm. You’re an apple.” He was doing that sexy voice thing which made her brain shut down. Heady.
It started with an unexpected spark, an instant attraction, the jolting jab of oh-I’m-feeling-something. Something like a flashfire in her belly, but now they were talking. “Am I the apple of desire? Want to take a bite out of me?” She pulled in a breath. Had she really said that?
“Bonita, do I ever.”

“Tomorrow is the final ceremony.” Would she watch him walk to the podium to accept the grant?