KNOT by M. Mabie

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Amazon CA bit.ly/knotca

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Blurb

Check out our 4.5 smooches review HERE.

M. MABIE would love to hear from you! You can find her at the following places online:

www.MMabie.com There you’ll find everything you need to know, including how to subscribe to her exclusive newsletters, online store, playlists and fan made teasers.

Facebook.com/AuthorMMabie

Twitter @AuthorMMabie

Instagram @m_mabie

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Prolouge

REGGIE—Friday, June 11, 2010

Our fucked up history was Hell dressed up in heels and pearls, suits and cuff links, pretending to be Heaven. Had either of us known it really was Nirvana—and not the mirage we’d thought—maybe we could’ve stayed.

Our relationship was a dream I’d never wake up from. Sometimes it felt like a fantasy. Sometimes a nightmare. A mind fuck that had me ticking down numbers.

Fuck starting from ten.

Fuck ten a long time ago.

With her, I should have started at infinity. At least then I’d have more time. More minutes of torture. More seconds of bliss. At infinity, I would have had the time to prove her wrong. If I’d only known she was.

Nine times I let her go. Maybe more. Maybe less.

She never wanted what she said at all, and every time I fell under her spell, I proved her right. Every fucking time. Every mistake. Every misstep. Every time I held back from my instincts.

Still, with us, fault was universal.

We’d both failed each time. All eight or so times I’d denied myself by not telling her the truth, I hadn’t realized I’d denied her a thousand times more.

I only ever wanted her. Fuck money. Fuck power. Fuck my pride. Fuck all seven days of the week without her. Fuck other women and fuck the whole country of Switzerland.

Fuck knowing damn well in my gut the whole fucking time.

But while she was there in my arms, under my body, I’d settle for fucking her. She knew it was how we could’ve been.

Fuck her stubbornness. Fuck her fucking ability to stay away for six or the half-dozen months at a time while she chased her tail. I stood by and watched, all but cheering her on.

Fuck the sound of her voice when she laughs. Not any old laugh—fuck those, too—but specifically the special one. Her Reagan laugh. I wish I could mute my memories of her, but that laugh will haunt me forever.

That laugh belonged to only me, along with a handful of other fragments of her that I never took the time to piece together. If I had, she might have been whole. She might have been mine if I’d added them all up.

Ironically, I didn’t look for the sum of the real her. How many math classes did I need to learn this one damn woman? Certainly ones I hadn’t taken. Certainly ones I would have failed.

If I could go back to the beginning, I’d add more up than just how many times I could get any of my five fingers, my tongue, and cock into her. I’d add her only-for-Reagan parts. They’d been there all along.

They were enough.

Starting with the four or so seconds, where she didn’t even know her name—let alone mine—before she cried out in ecstasy. That wonder in her eye. The pull of the tendons in her gorgeous neck. The tightening of her brow. The slack of her jaw.

Plus.

The way she looked handing me coffee, naked in the kitchen. Her wet hair matted and untamed. Her skin pink from the hot shower. The print the bathroom tile left fading on her shoulders.

Plus.

The way she stretched her feet when she woke up in my sheets. Spreading them and wiggling the one we knew would always be our toe.

Plus.

The way she could recite every ingredient in her favorite dishes. How she knew about cheese from other countries, even though she’d never visited most of them.

Plus.

The way she kissed my Adam’s apple, then rubbed it with her thumb. Only to kiss it a second time.

Those were things meant only for me.

I’d add every time she called me, and I answered.

I’d subtract the times I didn’t because I was selfish and wanted her to show up instead.

Then I’d multiply that total by the times she told me she more-than-just-loved me. Which was exactly three. I hadn’t even realized what she meant the first time, but the second time, I was sure to make up for it. The third had been tonight.

We’d been two people lost. Wandering around, pretending we’d known everything.

Even though it was most likely the last time I’d ever fuck her, it would also—mercifully—be the last time we’d ever fight.

Sadly, it was the first time I’d seen the power my words had held over her the whole time. I’d watched her heart break. I’d watched as she crumpled to the floor and sobbed. I’d felt like I was doing the same.

It was too late for our hearts.

I’d surrendered, given up, and shot one precise, verbal bullet through my heart, then watched it pierce hers.

There was nothing left. I’d hit zero for the last time.

As I watched the tears fall from her eyes—after I pushed into her for the very last time, filling her with everything I’d never told her—misery infected my gut.

Then, I felt the knot constrict.

We’d tangled the delicate thread between us too many times.

It tightened to a point of throbbing pain. I knew there’d never be a minute left in my life where I didn’t feel the ache of her. Her absence, the source of blinding tension. The sharp pulse of a love ripped from me before I had a chance to watch it mature.

That was all that was left of me.

Zero and the knot.

My name’s shouted on rooftops.

It’s written on bras, bathroom stalls, hell my name is everywhere. To say my name is to experience an orgasm without ever leaving your house.

My name?

Zane “Saint” Andrews.

I’m sex.

I’m a rock god.

I’m also a virgin.

What they don’t know won’t kill them right? Give the people what they want. And what they want is the idea of me; the pleasure they gain at listening to my song and knowing without a doubt I’m talking about them and only them.

It worked for a while.

Until a nerdy girl with glasses falls at my feet, literally, and suddenly I don’t want to be Saint anymore, what I want? What I really need?

Is to be kept.

By her.

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Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she’s not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.

She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!

You can connect with her on Facebook www.facebook.com/rachelvandyken or join her fan group Rachel’s New Rockin Readers. Her website is www.rachelvandykenauthor.com.

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KNOT by M. Mabie

Links:

iTunes bit.ly/appleknot

Amazon amzn.to/1XUZiCQ

Amazon UK bit.ly/knotuk

Amazon CA bit.ly/knotca

Amazon AU bit.ly/knotau

Nook bit.ly/nookknot

Kobo bit.ly/koboknot

Blurb

M. MABIE would love to hear from you! You can find her at the following places online:

www.MMabie.com There you’ll find everything you need to know, including how to subscribe to her exclusive newsletters, online store, playlists and fan made teasers.

Facebook.com/AuthorMMabie

Twitter @AuthorMMabie

Instagram @m_mabie

Take the Bait The Most Fun Reader’s Group on Earth

Prolouge

REGGIE—Friday, June 11, 2010

Our fucked up history was Hell dressed up in heels and pearls, suits and cuff links, pretending to be Heaven. Had either of us known it really was Nirvana—and not the mirage we’d thought—maybe we could’ve stayed.

Our relationship was a dream I’d never wake up from. Sometimes it felt like a fantasy. Sometimes a nightmare. A mind fuck that had me ticking down numbers.

Fuck starting from ten.

Fuck ten a long time ago.

With her, I should have started at infinity. At least then I’d have more time. More minutes of torture. More seconds of bliss. At infinity, I would have had the time to prove her wrong. If I’d only known she was.

Nine times I let her go. Maybe more. Maybe less.

She never wanted what she said at all, and every time I fell under her spell, I proved her right. Every fucking time. Every mistake. Every misstep. Every time I held back from my instincts.

Still, with us, fault was universal.

We’d both failed each time. All eight or so times I’d denied myself by not telling her the truth, I hadn’t realized I’d denied her a thousand times more.

I only ever wanted her. Fuck money. Fuck power. Fuck my pride. Fuck all seven days of the week without her. Fuck other women and fuck the whole country of Switzerland.

Fuck knowing damn well in my gut the whole fucking time.

But while she was there in my arms, under my body, I’d settle for fucking her. She knew it was how we could’ve been.

Fuck her stubbornness. Fuck her fucking ability to stay away for six or the half-dozen months at a time while she chased her tail. I stood by and watched, all but cheering her on.

Fuck the sound of her voice when she laughs. Not any old laugh—fuck those, too—but specifically the special one. Her Reagan laugh. I wish I could mute my memories of her, but that laugh will haunt me forever.

That laugh belonged to only me, along with a handful of other fragments of her that I never took the time to piece together. If I had, she might have been whole. She might have been mine if I’d added them all up.

Ironically, I didn’t look for the sum of the real her. How many math classes did I need to learn this one damn woman? Certainly ones I hadn’t taken. Certainly ones I would have failed.

If I could go back to the beginning, I’d add more up than just how many times I could get any of my five fingers, my tongue, and cock into her. I’d add her only-for-Reagan parts. They’d been there all along.

They were enough.

Starting with the four or so seconds, where she didn’t even know her name—let alone mine—before she cried out in ecstasy. That wonder in her eye. The pull of the tendons in her gorgeous neck. The tightening of her brow. The slack of her jaw.

Plus.

The way she looked handing me coffee, naked in the kitchen. Her wet hair matted and untamed. Her skin pink from the hot shower. The print the bathroom tile left fading on her shoulders.

Plus.

The way she stretched her feet when she woke up in my sheets. Spreading them and wiggling the one we knew would always be our toe.

Plus.

The way she could recite every ingredient in her favorite dishes. How she knew about cheese from other countries, even though she’d never visited most of them.

Plus.

The way she kissed my Adam’s apple, then rubbed it with her thumb. Only to kiss it a second time.

Those were things meant only for me.

I’d add every time she called me, and I answered.

I’d subtract the times I didn’t because I was selfish and wanted her to show up instead.

Then I’d multiply that total by the times she told me she more-than-just-loved me. Which was exactly three. I hadn’t even realized what she meant the first time, but the second time, I was sure to make up for it. The third had been tonight.

We’d been two people lost. Wandering around, pretending we’d known everything.

Even though it was most likely the last time I’d ever fuck her, it would also—mercifully—be the last time we’d ever fight.

Sadly, it was the first time I’d seen the power my words had held over her the whole time. I’d watched her heart break. I’d watched as she crumpled to the floor and sobbed. I’d felt like I was doing the same.

It was too late for our hearts.

I’d surrendered, given up, and shot one precise, verbal bullet through my heart, then watched it pierce hers.

There was nothing left. I’d hit zero for the last time.

As I watched the tears fall from her eyes—after I pushed into her for the very last time, filling her with everything I’d never told her—misery infected my gut.

Then, I felt the knot constrict.

We’d tangled the delicate thread between us too many times.

It tightened to a point of throbbing pain. I knew there’d never be a minute left in my life where I didn’t feel the ache of her. Her absence, the source of blinding tension. The sharp pulse of a love ripped from me before I had a chance to watch it mature.

That was all that was left of me.

Zero and the knot.

The conclusion to the Duplicity Duet is now available for the special pre-order price of $2.99! If you’re#YearningForBURN and can’t wait to find out what happens after the stunning conclusion of HOOK, pre-order your copy at the discounted price and have it delivered to your e-reader on July 26th.

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/29rd22r

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/29rdiOP

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Nook: http://bit.ly/29GcRmG

Kobo: http://bit.ly/29z5hLe

Burn by Elisabeth Grace from Book Obsession Production on Vimeo.

Share link:  https://vimeo.com/bookobsessionproduction/burn-elisabethgrace

One word.

Two letters.

But those two letters changed everything.

It was impossible to predict the impact I would have on the life of the only woman I’d ever truly loved. No way to know that I would result in her ruin.

I’d suffer for eternity with the knowledge that it was me who brought devastation to her doorstep.

Though I deserved the anguish I felt, to see her suffer was unacceptable.

I would fix this.

Somehow I would prove to her that I wasn’t the monster she thought I was.

Even if it meant becoming a monster in order to make that happen.

Haven’t met Marco Valenti yet, Now is your chance!

Hook (Book One)

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/24dsDKh

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/23SGrgl

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling author, Elisabeth Grace, has a soft spot for romance novels with happily ever afters and a hot spot for alpha males! She currently lives outside Toronto, Canada with her hubby and two small children. Life is busy, but never to busy for a good story and to share her love of reading and writing with others.

Website: http://elisabeth-grace.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElisabethGraceAuthor/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/1ElisabethGrace

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorelisabethgrace/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7276641.Elisabeth_Grace

A smokin’ hot British player…

A jilted girl…

One night of mistaken identity…

★★ NOW LIVE★★

Amazon: http://amzn.to/29BzcT8

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/29tOO7q

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*

Blurb

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn’t plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

Check out our 5 smooches review HERE.

Excerpt

Without much thought except for comfort, instinctively I pressed myself against him, fitting into his arms as easy as breathing. He leaned against the brick wall of the neighboring building and wrapped me up, sensing my need to be grounded.

I don’t know how long we stood like that—maybe a minute, maybe five—but soon our breaths were in sync; the rise and fall of his chest in perfect accord with mine.

One of his hands traced down my spine and then up. He outlined my shoulder blades with his fingertips. His hands drifted to my hips then caressed back up to my hair, massaging my scalp.

But what had started as an innocent hug changed.

Fire licked my skin everywhere he touched. Of their own accord, my hands slid down to his waist and teased the line where his jeans rested on his hips. I went further, my fingers toying with the V at his hip until I felt him harden against me.

Lips brushed the top of my hair. “Remi . . . look at me,” he said, his voice raspy.

If you look up, you’re going to kiss him . . .

I tilted my head up and his mouth fused with mine in an instant.

Insistent. Wild. Hot. Yes! This is what I needed.

I groaned, and my hands rushed to his shoulders and dug in.

He was wrong—terribly wrong—for me, but it felt so right.

I felt wonderfully alive, revved up, as if I could crush a car with my bare hands, or push Dax against the wall and fuck him senseless. I recognized the feeling for what it was—an I almost-died-and-now-I-want-to-experience-life feeling.

“Wait,” he breathed as I ran my hand under his shirt. “It’s adrenaline. You’ve been through a trauma. You don’t really want this—”

“Shhh.” I lifted his shirt and kissed his chest, my tongue flicking over his nipple. “You taste like every good thing I’ve ever wanted.”

His taut restraint snapped, and he swayed into me. “God, I can’t tell you no.”

Book Trailer

Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills from Bibliophile Productions on Vimeo.

Catch up on Dirty English

A scarred fighter.

A girl with rules.

One night of unbridled passion.

Dirty English (English #1)

NOW ONLY $0.99

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About the Author

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’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

You can stalk her on her website as well as get signed books: http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorilsamaddenmills?pnref=lhc

IG: https://instagram.com/ilsamaddenmills/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ilsamaddenmills

Ilsa Madden-Mills’ other books:

VERY BAD THINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1RH9CJY

iBooks: http://apple.co/1gl5Yaj

BN: http://bit.ly/1bOyH2g

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1D0BVw5

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1K5NvX8

VERY WICKED THINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1NvRIr5

iBooks: http://apple.co/1mVS3Wo

BN: http://bit.ly/1mT1cDB

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1C9EZt3

VERY TWISTED THINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1cvvkkh

iBooks: http://apple.co/1eN7Clh

BN: http://bit.ly/1KK0ljh

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1BHcK4R

GIVEAWAY

Signed Paperback of Dirty & Filthy English

$50 Amazon Gift Card (One Winner)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

UNEXPECTED CIRCUMSTANCES by Shay Savage

Book 4: The Shortcoming

SYNOPSIS:

As the bond between Alexandra and Branford deepens, they each have their hopes for the future. Branford aspires to lead his kingdom with both wisdom and a firm hand while Alexandra fervently wishes to give her husband an heir. As Alexandra learns to embrace her noble role, she finds friendship with the girl she rescued from an abusive owner. It seems as though their lives have finally rewarded them with the happiness they have sought.

But happiness comes at a price, for war is on the horizon.

The neighboring kingdom of Hadebrand has amassed an army, and against insurmountable odds, Branford must lead the fight for his people. Alexandra is terrified but cannot let her fear show for she must serve as an example to their kingdom.

The war must eventually end, but there is only one thing on Branford’s mind—to continue the royal lineage. But how will Alexandra overcome her heartache when she can’t give her husband the one thing he must have?

 Check out our 5 smooches review HERE.

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