Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it all.

Now that Erin has learned the truth about the girls who tortured her, and about the boy she loves, she finds her time before graduation dwindling at an alarming and exciting pace. What used to be summer break was now a countdown to her final days in Blackwell. Her parents, Sam and Julianne struggle with the fear that just when they’ve found Erin, they must let her go, and the tension is higher than it’s been since Erin discovered who she really was.

Finally with the girl he’s loved since childhood, Weston grows more desperate as the summer days pass. He and Erin will go to separate colleges. His biggest fear is that this means they’ll go their separate ways. Plagued with making the best of the time he has left with Erin, and finding a way to make it last, Weston finds himself in a different state of mind hourly. He is just beginning to realize that hope is like quicksand. The harder Weston struggles, the faster Erin sinks.

Erin Easter was now Erin Alderman, because Erin Alderman was dead.

In the second installment of this USA Today bestselling series, follow protagonist Erin, a high school senior in tiny Blackwell, Oklahoma. After a terrible accident leaves two classmates dead, Erin learns that she was switched at birth. Shortly after, she moves into the home of her true parents, Sam and Julianne Alderman, transforming Erin over night from pariah of Blackwell High School, to the only child of one of the most affluent couples in town.

Also being pursued by her childhood crush, Weston Gates, the dream she once had is now reality. But when Erin stumbles upon secrets that gives her the answers she’s been searching for, she also finds a truth she never wanted to know.

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Title: Black Number Four

Author: Kandi Steiner

Release Date: April 4, 2015

Find on Goodreads

Known as one of the youngest and most ambitious poker players in the country, Skyler Thorne has a reputation to uphold in Vegas this year. Her sole focus for spring semester is to perfect her game and get tournament ready – and have some fun with her sorority sisters, of course. Meeting a care-free pledge with incredible arms adds a whole new element of fun to her semester, but when a shocking discovery about his past surfaces, Skyler finds herself stuck in a game she wasn’t prepared to play.

Kip Jackson is on a mission from his father. His plan was to get in, have a little fun, and then get out – on to bigger and better things. A feisty girl with bright blue eyes wasn’t on his list of things to do, but she quickly moves her way up to the very top. When he realizes completing his dad’s mission means crushing her in the process, he must decide if his dreams are worth the risk – or if he even has the same dreams, at all.

Two secrets. Two hearts. Two hands being played in one twisted game of deceit.

When the cards are on the table, will anyone be left standing?

The perfect poker face can only hide them for so long.

Amazon

There are three things you should know about me.

One, I can read a bluff like a neon street sign. Everyone gives themselves away in some form of a twitch or another, and after a few rounds at the table with me, I can guarantee I’ll know yours. So, throw your best fake smile or confident wink at me, but just know I can see right through you – and we both know there’s no sense in betting all your chips with nothing but a Jack high in your hands.

Two, I have the best poker face in the game. I’ll make you think you’re reading me, show a little sign of being nervous maybe or bite my lip in anticipation of the river, but it’s all part of the plan. I’m building you up to expect the wind to blow one way just so I can pull out an industrial size fan and send your shit flying just the opposite. And if by chance you do get to me, you won’t know – because I don’t let it show, not even a little. If anything, I’ll make you think you actually played right into my hand – making you the nervous one, in turn. The key to a killer poker face is to strip your soul of all emotion and show only what you purposefully want the other person to see. And trust me – I’m the lead singer in the band of No Emotion.

Number three and, perhaps, the most important thing to know about me is this: I know when to fold. I know when to hang in tough, when to push my luck, when to bluff my ass out of a tight situation and when to throw the cards down and run as fast as I can in the other direction. In poker and in life, it’s all about knowing the game you’re playing and how you stand up to the competition. And pace – you have to know when to push and when to sit back and let it ride. Now don’t get me wrong – I hate throwing in the towel as much as any other competitive, adrenaline chasing poker junkie, but I’ve learned even in my short time in the game that there are some hands you just don’t mess with… some cards that forever trump others.

All three of these things are true. If you asked any sports reporter, any poker analyst, any pro standing around watching the final table of this tournament right now – they would tell you all three of these things about me and maybe add in a few notes of their own. Which is why I can’t understand why my hands are trembling, why my skin is slick with a film of sweat as I drop any shred of a poker face I have left and push the remainder of my chips forward – toward the one person who managed to get under my skin, to break me down, to change the game, to flip me on my ass and toss every rule I’ve ever had into a massive wood chipper, leaving me with nothing but the shavings.

The last thing I see before I close my eyes and give one final push of the chips toward the center of the table are the burning blue eyes that will forever haunt me, forever remind me that – even when we think we have a game completely mastered – there’s always the possibility that Chance and his brother, Luck, will show up and utterly screw everything.

“All in.”

Kandi Steiner is a Creative Writing and Advertising/Public Relations graduate from the University of Central Florida living in Tampa with her husband. Kandi works full time as a social media specialist, but also works part time as a Zumba fitness instructor and blackjack dealer.

Kandi started writing back in the 4th grade after reading the first Harry Potter installment. In 6th grade, she wrote and edited her own newspaper and distributed to her classmates. Eventually, the principal caught on and the newspaper was quickly halted, though Kandi tried fighting for her “freedom of press.” She took particular interest in writing romance after college, as she has always been a die hard hopeless romantic (like most girls brought up on Disney movies).

When Kandi isn’t working or writing, you can find her reading books of all kinds, talking with her extremely vocal cat, and spending time with her friends and family. She enjoys beach days, movie marathons, live music, craft beer and sweet wine – not necessarily in that order.

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Twenty-four-year-old Summer Johnson knows two things. The first is that due to a quickly worsening medical condition, she faces a risky surgery in three months’ time that may very well end in her death. The second is that she would like to fall in love before then.

As spring sinks into her namesake season on the Florida coastline, Summer plays the odds and downloads a new dating app – and after one intriguing message from a beautiful surfer named Cooper Nichols, it becomes clear that the story of what may be her last few months under the sun is about to be completely revised. All she has to do now is write something worth reading.

Tender, honest, devastating and triumphant, The Summer Remains explores a very human battle being waged in a very digital age: the search for a love that will outlast this temporary borrowing of bones. In an era when many feel compelled to share and re-share anything about everything, prepare to feel a love so special, you will want to hug it close and make it yours forever.

Amazon

Chapter 1

On a sunny Tuesday morning towards the end of March, a white-haired man walked into a cold room and told me I might die soon.

I fidgeted on the hospital bed as Dr. Steinberg entered, the late-spring sunlight mocking me as smiled onto the industrial tile floors. I’d known Steinberg since I was four. He’d handled almost all of my throat problems, and I trusted him. He was like a second father to me, and I knew he would always tell me the truth.

That’s why the look on his face scared the living shit out of me.

I listened for the next ten minutes as he gave me the gist of the story. It was all so surreal that my mind could only catch certain phrases before the sentence would run away from me again:

Your esophagus has ruptured again, for good this time…

Your stomach is leaking more and more…

Toxicity levels are through the roof…

Your body just isn’t getting the nutrients it needs from your feeding tube any longer…

And finally, terminal.

“Terminal?” I heard myself squeak, my throat filling up with that weird, shivery feeling you get when you know your life has just changed. Steinberg suddenly became very interested in a fraying string on the sleeve of his jacket.

“T-terminal,” he stuttered. “Summer, the thing is…I’m afraid this is a…well, nobody has ever…”

He finally cleared his throat and met my gaze, tears pooling in the corners of his cerulean eyes. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry to tell you this, but this mountain may be unclimbable for you.”

My mother let out a small, sharp sob in the corner and then clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Okay, unclimbable,” I swallowed, staring down at the floor as I tried to grasp just what that word now meant to me and my family and this weird little life I had created for myself.  “Okay. Unclimbable. Okay.”

But Steinberg wasn’t done yet.

“Hold on. I said it may be unclimbable, not that it definitely will be. I want to prepare you, and I don’t want to give you any false hope, but there may be something we can do, Summer. It’s a small chance, but still, it’s a chance. A Hail Mary, if you will.”

I reached up to rub my temples. “Okay, well, survival sounds good. Better than death, I suppose. What is this Hail Mary?”

Steinberg crossed his arms, studied me for a moment, and then took out a chart and launched into a spiel about something called the Porter-Collins Procedure, an extremely major surgery that would perhaps be saving my life in three months’ time.

“Nobody has ever survived this particular operation,” he concluded a few minutes later, skipping all the medical jargon to keep from boring you to death, pardon my pun. “Nobody. It’s been attempted three times, but none of those were ultimately successful. One person survived for three months in intensive care, but she was fifty-one, and in frail health in general. We think you’re a much more viable candidate, but then again, there is no way to be sure. We can do it in two, maybe three months, after I assemble the specialists and create a game plan – considering your health doesn’t take another nosedive before then, that is. If we’re going to try this, we need you in tip-top shape – or as close to that as we can get you, anyway.”

“Okay,” I said again, sitting a little taller. “And what are the chances that this Hail Mary will even work, and that I won’t just die a few days later, anyway?”

He peered down at me from over his glasses. “I’m afraid to say that it would be stretching things to even tell you eighty/twenty.”

I steeled myself and took a breath. “Okay, well, that’s better than a hundred to zero. Let’s go out with a bang, then, Steinberg. Let’s do this.”

He threw up a fist, triumphant, but I could see the fear in his eyes. “It’s settled, then. Hail Mary it is.”

My mom rushed over to sit beside me and kind of hang onto my shoulder as some counselor woman came in who helped families handle these types of situations – “transitions,” she called them, and just hearing that word threatened to pull me under. Dr. Steinberg watched, an apology on his face, as she said things like “preparations” and “options” and “arrangements.” I tried to be polite and pay attention, but truthfully I didn’t give a damn about what she was saying. It was go time, and things were looking grim. I already knew that. The wet, metallic panic erupting in my stomach was due to an entirely different subject.

“And finally,” the counselor, Angie, said in a hushed, clipped, polite voice that spoke of years of having impossible conversations with worried families huddled in chilly waiting rooms, “I work very closely with Last Great Hope, a wonderful organization that specializes in situations like this, and if there is anything you want before the surgery, Summer – a trip to Tahiti, a cabin in the mountains, whatever – we can do it. Or if-”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I said, making her stop short.

“Wh – excuse me?”

“Save the Disney trips for the twelve-year-olds,” I told her. “Spend all that money on a cancer kid or something; I know the truth about those fairy tales now. Make someone else happy – I’ve got everything I need. Or almost everything.” I paused as everyone leaned in. “I do have one request, actually. First of all, all of you are forgetting something vital.”

“Oh no, did we forget your milk?” my mom asked as she reached for her purse. “I thought I put some-”

“No, Shelly, we did not forget the baby milk I pump into my stomach tube every day to keep myself alive because my throat doesn’t work, but that does have something to do with it.”

As she pouted in my general direction I realized what a complete bitch I was being, and then I realized just as quickly that I probably wouldn’t be able to stop myself anyway.

“What is it, then?” my mom asked, stung, and I took a breath and then pushed it back out.

“Frankly, I need all of you to chill the fuck out.”

My mom dropped her purse onto her lap. Dr. Steinberg looked at me like I’d just tried to jump out of the third story window. Angie held her pen in midair and stared at me, the sun turning her brownish eyes ocher.

“Excuse me, young lady?” my mother asked. “We need to what?”

“Chill the eff out,” I said, editing my language the second time around. “Sorry, but all this emotion and drama and doom and gloom crap is already making me freak out. You’re all forgetting I’ve had a broken throat and a tube in my abdomen since I was in diapers, and that I can handle this. I’ve dealt with health scares before, and I will do it again, no matter how much scarier this Scare is than all the other Scares. Like, I know you’re trying to help and stuff, and I love you, but having meltdowns in front of me is not going to help me deal with all this, so please, I beg you, everyone take a deep breath, close your eyes, and get your panties out of a bunch.”

“We’re sorry,” my mom said after an impossibly long and awkward moment. “It’s just that we need to prepare you for…for what will happen, and-”

“Prepare me to die?” I asked. “Guess what, Shelly, I’m going to die one day, be it in three months or sixty years, and wasting all my time crying over it isn’t going to help. Here’s what I want, my one last wish – or my maybe-not-last wish, or whatever the hell this is.” A tear appeared in my mom’s eye, and I softened my voice as I reached up to wipe her cheek. “Okay. Before the surgery, I want to have a normal summer by the beach,” I began as I cleared her eye and shook the water from my finger. “I want to go to the sea and go to work and read my books and go about my business like usual without everyone breathing down my neck and treating me like A Broken Person, because if I am treated like A Broken Person for one more month of my life I will break some faces, no offense. Shelly, if you so much as make one special meal – I mean, not that I can eat or anything, because I can’t – anyway, I’m burning down the house. There will literally be a pile of smoldering ashes where your kitchen used to be, I promise.” Shelly pouted again, but I trudged through. “I’m serious, no special treatment. No Christmases in July, no excessive hugging, not even a midnight run to Target for some trinkets from the dollar section. And most of all…”

I looked around and, seeing sympathy in everyone’s eyes and knowing this request would be completely futile, said – “No sympathy. Please. The sympathy is what breaks me and makes me feel broken. If this is gonna be my last chance to live and have fun and be normal, then I’m going to need to feel as normal as possible, and that means absolutely no pity, because that separates me from everyone else and makes me Different with a capital D. And if I don’t stay in a good headspace I’m gonna spend the next three months in a fetal position in my closet having an endless anxiety attack about the surgery, so please work with me here and keep the pity locked up.”

A sigh and a smile. Shelly put her hand on mine. “I would never pity you, Summer. You’re the strongest person I know, and you always have been. You know that. We all know that. That’s not what this is about.”

I tried to smile back. “Thanks, Shelly.”

“Anytime. And can you please call me Mom, like a normal twenty-four-year-old?”

“Not a chance, Shelly.”

“Okay, fine. So, then…a Jax Beach summer? Is that really all you want?”

I paused as her words hung in the overly sanitized air. It wasn’t all, and I knew it. As I sat there I thought of the one thing I didn’t have, the one thing I’d never had, the one thing that screamed at me from the silence and jumped out at me from the shadows – and now that this upcoming summer had perhaps just become Summer’s Last Stand, my desire was suddenly more urgent than ever. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop the longing from rising to my face, and as I felt the blood burn my cheeks I caught Steinberg’s eyes again, which just embarrassed me even more.

“Well, I mean, since you’re asking, there is one thing…”

“Anything!” Shelly and Dr. Steinberg said at exactly the same time, and I stared out of the window as my eyes got all weird and watery.

“Okay, well, I know something so sentimental is going to sound crazy coming from someone so…well, you know how I am…”

“Honest?” Steinberg offered, trying to be polite.

“Opinionated?” Shelly said.

“Brash?” Angie asked, even though she’d just met me ten minutes ago and it was literally beyond embarrassing that she already held that opinion of me.

“Headstrong and stubborn and annoying,” I finally said, shoving it out of the way, and they all nodded. “Anyway, here goes. Since you’re asking, the thing is…well, I’d like to fall in love.”

I looked down at the ground again as everyone in the room broke my most important rule already: I could feel their pity descending on me, smothering me just like it had my entire life, snuffing out any chance I had at being treated like a normal, living, breathing human, who deserved to love and be loved just like anyone else, as they say in the Hallmark cards.

“Oh, honey…” Steinberg sighed.

“It just wouldn’t be fair to someone…” my mother chimed in, just as Angie the counselor lady threw in her two cents, too.

“Sweetie, you have to understand, your situation is very serious. People get irrational during times like these, and if you get involved with someone and the worst happened, well-”

I crossed my fingers behind my back and shook my head. I’d known they’d react like this – why had I even tried in the first place? Some things, I knew, were just better left unshared.

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay, yeah, you guys are right. I’ll try to…put that off, I guess. For now. God knows I have tons of time to think about it – it’s not like I’m dying or anything.”

Everyone forced quick, fake laughs and then got back to business. Unbeknownst to them, however, my mind was quickly leaving the room, flying past the barren oak branches outside the window and soaring above the clouds to someplace only I knew. My desires could not be contained by the circumstances in this room, or by sickness, or even by reality in general, really. I wanted love more than anything – this was true, as much as it humiliated me to admit it. I’d wanted love ever since I was a cookie-cutter little girl being brainwashed by cookie-cutter Disney movies about cookie-cutter princes and princesses falling into cookie-cutter love and then prancing off to their cookie-cutter castles to live out their cookie-cutter lives. And strangely enough, this desire had only deepened after the fairy tale fantasies faded away and melted into a more grown up, real-world entity known as relationship FOMO, when my condition had rendered me an observer from the social media sidelines as everyone my age paired up and got engaged and married and pregnant and then shouted about it from the Facebook treetops as loud as their keyboards would let them while I sat there single as a nun with the flu. But I didn’t want that cookie cutter love from the Disney movies and my social media feeds. I didn’t want some run of the mill summer romance that would fizzle out as soon as the sunrays slanted in the fall and the Facebook Official status went to shit.

Because I, Summer Johnson, Purveyor of Pragmatism, Lover of Logic, Ultimate Believer in the Rational, and Person Who Was Maybe Going To Die Soon, wanted to drown in someone.

Seth King is a twenty-five-year-old author and artist.

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Meet Blake & Chloe in Where the Road Takes Me

in this new coming of age novel by

Jay McLean

Blurb

Chloe has one plan for the future, and one plan only: the road. She’s made a promise to herself: don’t let anyone in, and don’t let anyone love her. She’s learned the hard way what happens if she breaks her rules. So she’s focused on being invisible and waiting until she can set out on the road—her dream of freedom, at least for a little while.

Blake Hunter is a basketball star who has it all—everything about him looks perfect to those on the other side of his protective walls. He can’t let anyone see the shattered pieces behind the flawless facade or else all his hopes and dreams will disappear.

One dark night throws Chloe and Blake together, changing everything for Blake. For Chloe, nothing changes: she has the road, and she’s focused on it. But when the so-called perfect boy starts to notice the invisible girl, they discover that sometimes with love, no one knows where the road may lead.

Check out our 4.5 Smooches Review HERE!

“Because over the years of building walls and living my life one day at a time, I’d learned to accept my fate and never hope for more than what I had. I’d never questioned the way I thought about my life. But Blake—he made me question it. He made me want to change it. To change my outlook. And to change myself. But I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t. Because one day, sooner rather than later, I’d be gone. And I’d leave them all behind.”

AVAILABLE NOW!

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

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1BYBqPP

Excerpt:

Chapter One

There was that familiar ache that I loved so much—a burn in my chest that spread to the rest of my body. There was just one other feeling I loved more. Well—two, if you included the high of sex.

A constant state of numbness was my euphoria.

You couldn’t tell. No one could.

My feet thudded against the pavement. Sweat dripped from my hairline, down my neck, and onto my bare back. I shut my eyes, urging the numbness to kick in. I wanted to feel it everywhere. Not just in my body but everywhere. Maybe I should quit basketball and take up smoking weed as a hobby. I laughed to myself—Dad would love that. Another reason to kick my ass.

I rounded the corner with my eyes still shut. I knew that path in the park better than I knew my own home. Which is why I was running at two in the morning on a Saturday night. Sunday morning?

I was five steps past the corner—the numbness had just started to seep in—when I bumped into something. My eyes sprang open, and I found myself staring at someone on the ground.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I huffed, trying to level my breathing. I rested my hands on my knees, waiting for the thumping in my heart to calm itself. My skin stung and my muscles throbbed from the impact of our bodies. I was six foot three, and my frame matched the constant training and rigorous workouts it endured. Her—I  couldn’t tell what she looked like—but I knew this much: if the collision had hurt me, it must’ve almost killed her.

She slowly came to a sitting position, resting her ass on her heels. Her head was bent, and her loose blonde hair formed a curtain around her face. She lifted her hands, palms up, and examined them. Blood.

“Shit! I’m so sorry.” A wave of panic whooshed through me.

Squatting in front of her, I took her hands to study the damage. She yanked them away and sniffed, straightening her legs out in front of her. Her short-ass skirt left nothing to the imagination.

“Dammit,” she whispered, her head still down.

My gaze moved from the hem of her skirt to her knees. Blood.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” I said for the third time.

It was dark, the only light coming from the moon and a lamppost fifteen yards away. I wanted to see her face, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask her to look at me. “Are you okay?”

Before she could answer, a rustling from the bushes interrupted us.

A guy stepped out, close to my age. He looked rough, rougher than the kids I hung out with—and I use that term loosely. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then eyed it. Blood.

His eyes narrowed. Looking down at the girl in front of me, he seethed, “You fucking whore!”

Slowly, she stood up.

I swear I could actually hear the clicking of the pieces as it all fell into place in my mind.

Him—with his fat lip, torn shirt, and undone fly.

Her—now fully standing. The top of her tank was ripped, exposing one bra-covered breast.

I watched as her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed to slits, but then fire flamed in them as she yelled, “Fuck you!”

He took a step toward her with his hand raised.

Before I knew it, I was between them, gripping his forearm, my other arm behind me, wrapped around her waist. I could feel her shallow breaths against my back.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, trying to pull away from my hold.

“Blake. Who the fuck are you?”

He laughed once, a snarl on his lips and a challenge in his eyes.

“What are you, her bodyguard?”

I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders. I towered over him, eying him down. I knew I could take him. Easily. “I don’t know, dickface. Does she need one?”

He tried again to withdraw his arm. I grasped it tighter. Then a cynical laugh escaped him. “Good luck. She’s a fucking tease— dresses like a whore but won’t even suck dick.” He looked around my shoulder at her. “You cock-teasing slut!”

Something in me snapped.

Blood rushed to my ears, and the numbness I’d hoped for was well and truly gone. My arm—the one previously wrapped around her—moved fast. My fingers had formed a fist and would have made contact with his face— Would have—if not for the tiny blonde girl standing in front of me. Between my intended target and me. With her entire body weight, she pulled my arm downwards, her eyes widening. “Don’t,” she said. “It’s not worth it.” Her voice was quiet, but her expression screamed for me to let it go. I was so surprised by her actions that I dropped Dickface’s raised arm.

Glaring at the guy behind her, I tried for an even tone as I warned, “You got three seconds to get out of here before I beat your ass.”

Her warm hands were now pressed against my chest, their pressure causing me to inhale sharply. My eyes fell to hers. They were pleading.

I heard “fuck this” and then heavy footsteps thumping against the pavement, the sound growing gradually more distant. My eyes, though, they never left hers.

After what felt like forever, she looked away.

I blinked for what seemed like the first time.

She suddenly noticed that her hands were still on my chest.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” she said, pulling them away and hiding them behind her back.

I swallowed. It was thick and embarrassingly loud, louder than the beating of my heart in my eardrums. “Are you okay?” I asked her. Bending slightly, I finally relaxed enough to catch my breath.

“Yeah, are you?”

Straightening, I studied her warily. She was a mess. Scraped knees. Disheveled hair. Shoe missing. I looked away when I caught sight of her purple bra, openly exposed from her torn top.

She cleared her throat.

I returned my gaze to her once she’d crossed her arms over her chest, hiding herself. She bit the corner of her lip, but everything else was still. There was no movement, not until she slowly raised her hand and wiped her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

My eyebrows bunched. It’d been a while since I’d heard such genuine sincerity. “It’s no problem. Really.”

She tried to smile and then adjusted her top while taking off her remaining shoe. Then she just stood there, barefoot and shivering.

One arm at her side, holding her one and only heel, the other covering her breast. “Well, thanks for saving me.” She laughed softly, jerking her head toward the path behind us. “I better get going.”

I nodded, chewing on my thumb. Then some sense kicked in, and I stepped in front of her, blocking her from walking away.

“You shouldn’t be walking anywhere alone, especially—” I cut myself off. “Dressed like that” was definitely the wrong thing to say. Instead, I opted for “especially this late at night.”

Her smile was tight. “I’ll be fine,” she assured me, looking around at the darkness surrounding us.

She shivered again.

I pulled out my shirt, which I’d tucked into my shorts’ waistband, and handed it to her. “It’s probably wet—from my sweat— and it might smell a little funky, but you’ll be warmer.”

Her face relaxed, and her lips curled up. “Thank you, Blake.”

“You’re welcome, umm . . . ?”

She paused, searching my face. “Abby.”

“Abby.” I nodded in confirmation. “At least let me walk you wherever you need to go.”

She seemed to hesitate before nodding slowly. “I need to find my purse and my phone.” She studied me for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’re hiding a phone anywhere on you I can use for light?”

I looked down at my running shorts and sneakers. “No. But it’s in my car . . .” I pointed in the direction of the parking lot. “We can grab it and come back.”

She cursed under her breath. “It’s okay. I don’t think we’ll be able to find our way back here. Not when it’s this dark. I’ll come back in the morning or something.”

I smiled. Knowing that park as well as I did had its perks. “I know where we are. It’s fine.”

Grimacing, she asked, “Are you sure? You’re not . . . on your way somewhere?”

My laughter echoed through the still air. “Yes, Abby, I’m sure. Where would I be going dressed like this?”

She smiled then. Amusement danced in her eyes. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “To kill someone?”

“What?” I asked, surprised at her sharp wit. I turned and began moving toward the lot.

When she caught up to me, she continued. “Think about it.

How many times do you hear on the news about dead bodies being found in parks? You know who always finds them? Joggers.”

I turned to her, tilting my head slightly, trying to work out whether she was serious or not. She tried to hide her smile before adding, “It seems a little suspicious to me—you joggers always being first on the scene and all. My theory is that you’re all a bunch of murderers, and you get away with it, using the jogger clause.

Makes me wonder if you have some underground club where you compare notes and brag about pulling off these murders.”

I threw back my head and laughed. “That’s one amazing theory.”

“Well,” she said, nudging my side with her elbow, “at least when you murder me, you’ll know that I was onto you, buddy.”

“Yet, here you are—walking with me in pitch-black darkness, at two in the morning, to a more-than-likely abandoned parking lot, under the impression I’m going to get you back to your necessities. You’re not even slightly afraid of what might happen to you?” All joking aside, she had to be a little worried. Surely.

The air around us turned thick. “No, Blake. I know I’m safe with you.”

She said my name as if it had a different meaning.

We walked the rest of the way to my car in silence.

About the Author:

Jay McLean is the author of the More Series, including More Than This, More Than Her, More Than Him and More Than Forever. She also has two standalones coming soon titled Where The Road Takes Me, and Combative.

Jay is an avid reader, writer, and most of all, procrastinator. When she’s not doing any of those things, she can be found running after her two little boys, or devouring some tacky reality TV show.

She writes what she loves to read, which are books that can make her laugh, make her smile, make her hurt, and make her feel.

Stalk Her:   Website | Facebook | Facebook Fan Page | Twitter | Pinterest | Google Plus | Google Plus Jaybirds Group | Goodreads

For publishing rights (Foreign & Domestic) Film, or television, please contact my agent, Erica Spellman-Silverman, at Trident Media Group. (less)

Giveaway

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The Deal

Off Campus Book #1

by Elle Kennedy

Blurb:
​

She’s about to make a deal with the college bad boy…

Hannah Wells has finally found someone who turns her on. But while she might be confident in every other area of her life, she’s carting around a full set of baggage when it comes to sex and seduction. If she wants to get her crush’s attention, she’ll have to step out of her comfort zone and make him take notice…even if it means tutoring the annoying, childish, cocky captain of the hockey team in exchange for a pretend date.

…and it’s going to be oh so good

All Garrett Graham has ever wanted is to play professional hockey after graduation, but his plummeting GPA is threatening everything he’s worked so hard for. If helping a sarcastic brunette make another guy jealous will help him secure his position on the team, he’s all for it. But when one unexpected kiss leads to the wildest sex of both their lives, it doesn’t take long for Garrett to realize that pretend isn’t going to cut it. Now he just has to convince Hannah that the man she wants looks a lot like him.

Pre-Order the Book:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TG1CZFC
https://store.kobobooks.com/en-CA/ebook/the-deal-31
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id966391102…
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-deal-elle-k…/1121202984…

About The Author:

A RITA-award nominated author, Elle Kennedy grew up in the suburbs of Toronto, Ontario, and holds a B.A. in English from York University. From an early age, she knew she wanted to be a writer, and actively began pursuing that dream when she was a teenager.

Elle currently publishes with Harlequin Romantic Suspense, Harlequin Blaze, Samhain Publishing, and NAL. She loves strong heroines and sexy alpha heroes, and just enough heat and danger to keep things interesting!

Praise For The Deal:

​“Hannah and Garrett are funny, relatable, and their chemistry on the page is palpable enough to linger off of it. The Deal reminds me of all the reasons I love romance. Two capable, yet flawed people realize that living without the other is worse than anything else life can throw at them. I highly recommend it to fans of Easy by Tammara Webber or The Hook Up by Kristen Callihan. It’ll make you laugh, maybe even tear up, but most of all leave you with that warm good book feeling at the end.”
– Jane Litte, Dear Author

Romance. The most adorable couple. The banter – omg the banter. The romance. The friends. The flirtation. The smiles it gave me.

Unexpected Fate by Harper Sloan

Prologue

“Axel Reid, don’t you dare!”  my mom exclaims. Then she yelps when my daddy charges through the front door.

“Don’t I dare what, Princess?  No way that boy is going near my girl.  Look at him!  He looks like he can’t wait to creep on my daughter!”

“Well, there is no need to scare him to death!” she mocks.

My cheeks heat instantly when I see Dane start backing away from the porch.  My hopes of being able to actually go to my senior prom are starting to go up in flames.

Poof.

Just like that.

Not that I should be surprised about it.  Mom did her best to calm Daddy down, but we should have known better.  He took one look at me and stormed over, only to return ten minutes later looking like he does now.

So embarrassing.

“You need to stop this nonsense right now, you big lug, or you’ll be sleeping on the couch,” Mom fumes.

“Like hell I will, woman!” Daddy roars at my mom.

I watch her face get sharp.  He stops long enough to sling one of—that’s right, ONE of—the rifles he’s carrying over his shoulder, where it lands next to the other one he already has over his other shoulder.

Only my mom would be brave enough to deal with him when he’s in “Protect Dani from everything with a penis” mode.  He looks absolutely ridiculous.  He has two hunting rifles now hanging by their leather straps over each shoulder.  He has two handguns strapped to each thick thigh, two on each side of his belt, and various knives along the way.  His shirt, which he thinks is hilarious to wear when I attempt to go out on a date, says I kill things…and eat them.  I know it’s a hunting shirt—for animals, not teenage boys—but Dane doesn’t.

Mom moves in front of him, standing in the front doorway and blocking his path, where Dane is still slowly retreating.  She’s been dealing with this way before they even had me.  He’s…protective.  I guess that’s the nicest way to put it.  Well, she calls him protective.  However, I call it possessive, overbearing, controlling, demanding, and jerky.

“This is her senior prom, Ax.  You wouldn’t let her go last year.” She pauses when he grunts. “And I’m sorry, but you won’t be stopping her this year.  She has a right to experience this.  And Dane is a nice boy.  Right, Dane?” she yells over her shoulder.

“Uhh…” he stammers, causing my daddy to grunt some more.

“The boy doesn’t even know how to talk, Izzy.  I bet he will be nothing but handsy and think with his little pecker.  Nope.  No way.  Not near my baby girl.”

Oh.  My.  God.  I wish I could just fall into a hole right now.  I try to see over my parents to find out if Dane heard that, but with Daddy basically being a giant, that’s not happening.

“You did not just say that!” I yell at his back.

Daddy turns around, his movements awkward with how many weapons he has strapped to his body.  His green eyes, so like my own, slant and harden.  He looks down at my dress for the thousandth time since I came downstairs and doesn’t even bother hiding his displeasure that it’s showing too much of my body.  Even if it is about as tasteful as it gets.

My strapless, red dress has a sweetheart neckline, and everything he calls my “girly bits” is covered.   There isn’t really any cleavage.  Well, okay, there is some, but surely with my lack of being busty, you couldn’t even call what is showing “cleavage.”  His first problem was with how much of my legs was showing.  Then I made the mistake of turning around without my wrap on.  That’s when he saw that the dress was completely backless to my bra line.  Well, what it would be if I had been wearing one.  Which is clearly when he lost his mind.

“You look just like your mother did that night twenty years ago when we finally came back to each other.  Right down to those strappy shoe things. And I guarantee you, Danielle Reid, any teenage boy who doesn’t bat for the other team will be thinking thoughts I’ll cut his dick off for.  No.  You aren’t going with that boy, and that’s final.”

I harden my eyes, and his narrow even further.

I put my hands on my hips, and he squares his shoulders, his rifles clinking together.

I raise one brow, and he mirrors the action.

“Daddy.”

“Dani.”

“I’ll cry.”

“No, you won’t.  You have more balls than that.”

“Want to bet?”  I attempt to muster up some tears, knowing that he won’t be able to handle them, but before I can force the first one out, my brother jumps into my line of sight and blocks our standoff.

“Yo, Dane!  You just run along now.  Dani is unfortunately feeling a little under the weather.  Ebola. Or the flu. I don’t know.  It’s really ugly and you probably don’t want to be around this.  The boils—they could pop at any moment.”

“You did not just do that,” I heatedly whisper, fuming at his nerve.

Nate turns and smirks at me. “Oh I just did.”

“I can’t believe you two!”  I spin to look at the one person who can help me.   “Mom, seriously?”

Her expression softens, and she just shakes her head.  “I’m sorry, Dani.  I tried.”

“You two,” I start, pointing between my older brother and father.  “You just can’t leave it alone?  I’ll be eighteen in a few months.  What are you jerks going to do then?”

“You’re not dating, Danielle.  Not ever.”

“Oh yeah, Daddy?  And how realistic is that crap?”

“Watch your mouth, little princess.”

“Mom?”

“I’m so sorry, Dani.”  She walks over and wraps me in her small arms.

I could probably really cry now a lot easier than when I was trying to fake it, but I’ve never been one of those girls who weep constantly.  It would be easier to just go upstairs, take off the dress mom and I spent hours looking for, scrub off the light makeup she helped me apply, and pretend this night didn’t happen.

***

An hour later, I’m sitting in my bedroom, still wearing my perfect dress.  My makeup is still done and my hair is still flowing in long waves.  And I’m no less mad at the men in my life than I was earlier.  I’ve considered climbing out my window.  I’ve considered asking my best friends, Lyn and Lila, to come help me escape.  But what would be the point?  Rambo-Dad already scared away my date, the only boy left in school who had been willing to ask me even though his friends had warned him about my father.

I lie down on my bed and stare up at the ceiling.  Maybe I should go away for college.  I planned on living at home while I attended Georgia Tech, but there is no way I can deal with this stuff any longer.  If my father had things his way, I would be shipped off to become a nun.  Or he would buy an island and make it an all-girls cult.

“Uhggggg!” I yell to the empty room.

“Seriously, Dani-girl, things can’t be that bad.”

I jump up when I hear the deep, gravelly, insanely sexy voice coming from my bedroom door.  That voice.  My lord.  The things it alone does to me should be classified as illegal.

My hair slaps me in the face, a good handful landing in my open mouth, and I hastily pull it out before I turn to where he is standing.

My lord, he’s beautiful.  He’s always been.  My heart speeds up when I take in his smirking face and the mischief dancing in his brown eyes.

“Cat got your tongue?”

I shake my head.

“Speechless?”

I shake it again.

“Do you really have some flesh-eating, boil-slash-Ebola-like sickness?” he laughs.

I narrow my eyes at him, and his rich laughter booms through the room.

“I’m just kidding, Dani-girl.  Come on. Get yourself ready and let’s go rock this prom.”

My jaw drops again.  “What?”

For the first time, I notice that he’s dressed in a perfectly tailored tux.  My eyes travel down his tall form to his shining, black dress shoes.  On the way back up, my eyes hit the corsage spinning around his finger before I look back up into those gorgeous eyes.

“Let’s go, beautiful.”

“Does Daddy know you’re here?” I ask, not moving from my spot.

He sighs, steps into my room, and walks over.  His cologne, Gucci Black, wraps around me.  He’s worn the same scent for years.  I perversely sniff it every time I hit the mall with Lyn and Lila.  That scent—it’s my undoing.

He grabs one of my hands and gives my knuckles a kiss before placing the corsage around my wrist.  He gives my hand a squeeze before letting go.  Placing his strong hands on my shoulders, he presses down until I’m seated on my bed.  Kneeling before me, he takes my feet one by one and fastens the straps of my black heels before standing and grabbing my hands, again, to pull me to my feet.

The whole time, I act like a freak and just gape at him.

What in the hell is going on?

“Ready?” he asks.

“Uhhh…”

“Right. You’re ready,” he laughs, grabs my hand, and pulls me through the house, down the stairs, and into the entryway of the house, where my parents are waiting.

Mom has her camera ready, forcing us to take some pictures, for all of which I’m sure I’m just standing there in a daze.  I think I smiled in them, but I was too busy trying to figure out what the hell is going on.  Daddy smiles big and triumphantly the whole time, like he’s won some battle here.

“Oh, good.  You got here,” Nate mumbles through a sandwich he’s stuffing down his throat.

I shake out of my stunned stupor and look over at him.  “You did this?”  I ask with disbelief.

“Well, duh.  Can’t have my little sister miss her prom because of some boils.  Plus, I knew this guy,” he says, pointing at our father, “wouldn’t mind him.”  He takes another bite before he looks over my shoulder.  “And I know he isn’t going to try to pet the cat.”

“Nathaniel Gregory!” Mom gasps.

“What?  Why do you think Dad acts like he does?  Just because I’m willing to say the words doesn’t mean you have to freak out.”

I look over at my mom, who has turned bright red.

Daddy laughs at her embarrassment and pulls her into his arms.  “Are you sure we didn’t drop that one a few times as a baby?”

She slaps his hard stomach and shakes her head. “You look beautiful, honey.  Have fun, okay?”

I smile at her and move my eyes to Daddy to judge his mood.

He just smiles at me. “I trust him.  He won’t let any of those pimple-faced, prepubescent boys touch a beautiful hair on your head.  Have fun, sweetheart.”

I walk over and give them both a hug, standing up on my toes as far as a can to whisper my gratitude in his ear.  He’s annoying, overprotective, and possessive of his girls, but I love him and I know he comes from a good place.

“Uh, excuse me?  Do I not get any little-sister love here?  I’m the one running this show, you know?”

“You’re such a dork, Nate,” I laugh and give him a hug before turning back to my date.

He’s standing by the door, talking in low tones to my daddy.  I can’t hear him, but he’s still smiling, so I’m guessing there isn’t any talk about dismemberment going on.  He looks over, his smile deepening and the lines around his eyes crinkling.  Something moves behind his eyes that darkens them slightly, but he looks back over at Daddy, finishing up their conversation.

“Ready, Dani-girl?” he asks a few minutes later, making my heart speed up again.

Holy.  Crap.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”  Or at least as ready as I’ll ever be.

**

That night, while dancing to Brett Young’s “Kiss by Kiss,” I knew I would never be the same.  I could feel the jealous waves coming off every female in the room as he held me in his arms.  Of course, I had a man and not a boy as my date.  Five years older than I am and very obviously not a teenager.

Being held in his arms was a dream come true.  His scent invaded my lungs with every inhale.  His eyes twinkled as his smile held me hostage.  I knew I would never love a man as much as I love him.

Yeah.  That was the night I confirmed what I had always known.  What I had always felt.

Cohen Cage owned my heart and I never wanted it back.

Meet Cohen & Danielle in the newest stand alone

in the Hope Town Series by Harper Sloan!

Releasing:  February 17th

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1Aguv8a

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1z4HNQJ

Nook: http://bit.ly/16PbeyN

Unexpected Fate

(Stand alone)

Have you ever felt like you were living your life for a future that was predetermined? Like there was some bigger picture you just prayed you would someday see clearly? That picture has been crystal clear to me since I was old enough to recognize it for just what it was.

Or I should say recognize him for who he was.

I’ve loved Cohen Cage since I was a small child. He’s been my everything for the last twenty-two years. I’ve loved him through every girlfriend he’s ever brought home. Through his college years and then mine. I’ve loved him through two deployments. And ever since the day I told him how I felt, he’s acted like I’m a stranger.

My name is Danielle Reid, and it’s time for me to get my man.

Our future is an unexpected fate, and no matter what our parents, siblings, and friends say…it’s going to be worth every second of the fight to make it happen.

About the Author:

Harper lives in small town Georgia just a short drive from her hometown of Peachtree City. She (and her 3 daughters) enjoy ruling the house they dubbed ‘Estrogen Ocean’, much to her husband’s chagrin. Harper has a borderline unhealthy obsession with books; you can almost ALWAYS find her with her eReader attached. She enjoys bad reality TV and cheesy romantic flicks. Her favorite kind of hero–the super alpha kind!

Harper started using writing as a way to unwind when the house went to sleep at night; and with a house full of crazy it was the perfect way to just relax. It didn’t take long before a head full of very demanding alphas would stop at nothing to have their story told.

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