Release Boost

Title: Coyote Lee: SKULLS – The Early Years #2
Author: Jessie Cooke
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: October 26, 2018
The night Xander Lee found himself half-drowned, flat on his back and looking up into the blue eyes of his savior, everything changed. Going from lost boy to hardcore biker overnight definitely had its advantages. But could a guy with no social skills and the burden of a guilt he couldn’t shed, ever really fit in? Called Coyote by his brothers and friends, he struggled to do his best, but falling in love with his president’s old lady might just be his fatal mistake. That mistake would see him banished to another coast, alone, afraid and expected to fail.
 
With the weight of a soul that ached constantly and an almost nonexistent sense of self, Coyote found enough of a spark inside him to get things started…and from there he would blaze a path that no one saw coming. Not just any man could take one brick and build an empire…but despite his own misgivings, Coyote Lee was no ordinary man. Even life at the top didn’t come without a heavy price however. The love/hate relationship he had with the man who gave him a second chance at life, lay at the core of almost everything he did. The secrets he kept to himself for so many years gnawed at his soul. The whiskey he tried to drown the pain with was never enough, and the women and children who loved him would only get a glimpse of who the man inside really was.
 
Could Coyote ever measure up to the late, great Doc Marshall? Or would he die trying? Take a ride with us through the Central Valley of California and across the all the hearts that Coyote touched in this life and decide for yourself, but hang on tight and be careful what you say and do…because someone is always watching!
 
* * *
 
Book 2 in the SKULLS – The Early Years MC Series. 
 
This is a Standalone Romance Novel but characters from this story, will appear in future books in the series and many have appeared in the previous series of Southside Skulls and Westside Skulls.
 
No cliffhanger. 
 
Intended for Mature Readers.
 
* * *
Skulls – The Early Years MC Series is about members of the MC club, their friends and associates.

Prologue
Texas 2002
“What’s that you’ve got there?” The social worker had gotten the call early that morning. She had been doing this for almost twenty years, and these calls still rattled her to her very core. She recently moved from California to Texas, somehow hoping that things wouldn’t be so dark there. She’d seen things that she had to suppress and they only came out now in her nightmares. Texas wasn’t any different; at least that’s what her first call of the day today was about to teach her. She sat on the dirty couch next to the little boy. If the cop who called her hadn’t told her he was a boy, she wouldn’t have been able to tell. He had his head bowed and tons of matted, dark hair hanging down over his face. It looked like his hair had been braided at one time, but they were dreads now. She wasn’t sure if that was intended or not. “Hey, the officer told me your name is Adan. I’m Trinity.” She held out her hand, close to where she knew he could see it under all that hair, but he remained focused on what he was holding in his lap. “Can I see this?” She touched it and suddenly the mute, still little boy became like a wild animal. He clutched the leather bundle to his chest and scooted back on the couch, peering out at her through an opening in his hair. Trinity gasped when she saw his face. She hadn’t meant to…but his skin was so dark, and so was his hair, yet staring out at her were the bluest pair of eyes she’d ever seen. “Adan…” she said, again.
“Adam!” The sound that came out of the small boy’s mouth startled her at first.
“I’m sorry, I thought it was Adan…”
His blue eyes cut toward the bedroom. The woman that had been there was gone. Trinity had watched them load the black bag that bore her body into the ambulance when she first got here. The first light of morning was just showing over the horizon then, but now the sun was climbing and Texas was waking up. She looked at the little boy sadly. Her compassion for human beings had drawn her to this job, but her empathy might well destroy her someday. “She called me that,” he said. “I don’t want to be called that anymore. My name is Adam. Adam Marshall.”
“Marshall?” she asked, confused.
The little boy slowly opened up his arms to reveal the vest that he was holding so tightly. It had a big, round patch on the back that said, “Southside Skulls, Boston Chapter.” He turned it over and Trinity saw what was stitched on the front of it. “Doc Marshall, Prez.” Well, maybe at least this poor little baby with eyes like sapphires wouldn’t spend the rest of his life alone…
* * *
Boston
Spring 2002
Coyote sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall. He’d been staring at the same spot for fifteen minutes. The door to the bathroom opened and Colleen stepped out. Coyote shifted his focus and his eyes roamed his wife’s sexy body. “Is it bad that I’m horny again?” They had made love the night before—it had been passionate and heated—then again that morning when they woke up, but considering what day it was, it had been slower…sweeter. Colleen could always sense his moods and she always knew when he needed her.
She laughed at that and picked his tie up off the dresser. Standing in front of him, she draped it over his neck and moved his long, thick hair so she could slip it underneath. “We don’t have time.”
“Let’s not go,” he said, while she worked on the tie. He lifted his arms and put them on her hips. She had wide, sexy hips. He loved them.
Colleen smiled down at him softly and said, “If I thought you meant that, I’d stay right here with you. But I know you wouldn’t let them lay him to rest without you being there.”
Coyote sighed. “I fucking hate this. We’ve been to way too many funerals lately. I hate funerals. But this one…fuck, babe, this one is the worst.”
She stopped fooling with his tie and bent down so she could press her lips to his forehead. “I know, love. It’s always hard to say goodbye…but when it was so unexpected…”
Coyote chuckled and said, “I honestly believed he would live forever.”
Colleen sat next to him on the bed and took his hand. “He will,” she said. She ran her free hand down his back, over the patch on the kutte he was wearing with his button-down shirt and tie. “Because of this,” she said, and then she moved her hand around front and put it against his chest, over his heart. “And this,” she said. “Because of men like you, who will carry on his legacy. He’ll live forever, baby, and so will you.”
Coyote chuckled again, mostly to fight back the tears that were pressing hard, trying to get out. “I’ll never leave a legacy like he did.”
“Hmm,” she said, “we’ll see. Now stand up and let me do your tie.” Colleen was his biggest fan. Coyote had never been overly confident. His childhood was shit and his early adult years hadn’t been much better. Meeting Doc Marshall had changed his life in so many ways. Who would have thought that falling in love with the man’s wife would have pushed him into the greatest opportunity of his life? Doc banished him to California and for a hot minute, Coyote thought that was it for him. But somewhere he found the resolve he needed to get things started out there…and somehow, things had taken off like one of the wildfires that burn every year in the foothills above the valley that he now called home. He’d met Colleen, and they’d had a son. His son was grown now…and he was a fine young man. Coyote had made so many mistakes along the way, though. He had secrets, even from his wife, that ate away at him daily. He made decisions that ended lives. He walked around in his kutte that said “Coyote, Prez, Westside Skulls” on it, like he owned it. But sometimes deep down in his gut, he felt like he was still faking it. “There,” Colleen said, finally getting the tie all tied up. Coyote pushed the knot up and had to take a deep breath to fill his lungs. He hated wearing the fucking things, but if anyone ever commanded enough respect to deserve one worn at his funeral…it was the man he was going to say goodbye to today.
“Alright,” he said, reluctantly, “I guess we should do this.” They walked out of the room and down the stairs hand in hand. The ranch had changed a lot over the years, but it always did Coyote’s heart good to see the pictures on the wall of the great room when he reached the landing. They had been added to, but none had ever been deleted. He knew there was a lot of talk about taking Hawk’s picture down. The Skulls had been searching for him for three years, but so far, not a trace. One could only hope that the man who betrayed his best friend, and the man they all loved and respected, was dead in a ditch somewhere south of the border.
Coyote’s eyes landed on the very first photograph in line on the wall. It was in black and white, but if you looked closely enough, you could still see that his eyes were unlike anyone else’s.
“Hey, Coyote.” Coyote turned toward the voice and had to quickly correct himself. Doc Marshall’s eyes were looking at him, but not from Doc’s face.
“Dax, I’m sorry I missed you last night, we got in late. You remember Colleen?” Dax Marshall was almost the spitting image of his father…but Coyote could see Dallas there, especially in his smile. His heart still ached when he thought about her. He’d never stopped loving her. He felt guilty about that for a lot of years. But one thing he had learned was that there were different kinds of love, and different levels of it. His love for Dallas had been on a level all its own.
“Of course,” Dax said, taking Colleen’s hand first. “Thank you for coming.” He shook Coyote’s hand then and Coyote, not caring what anyone thought, pulled the boy in for a hug. He knew that an almost twenty-two-year-old Dax would object to being called a boy. But Coyote could vividly remember the day he drove his mother to the hospital to give birth to him. It seemed like only yesterday. Dax stiffened slightly, but he hugged Coyote back. Coyote let him go and said:
“I’m sorry. This is just…surreal, I guess.”
Dax nodded. “Yeah, it is for all of us. The SUVs are outside and ready to go, if y’all want to catch a ride. Otherwise, you can ride out with those of us who are riding.” Coyote looked at the mass of bodies behind Dax. He doubted that a single man who had ridden with the one they were going to bury would dare step into an SUV on a day like today. He looked at Colleen and with her powers of perception, she smiled and said:
“I’ll ride in one of the SUVs and see you there.”
Coyote smiled and kissed her cheek. He looked back up at Dax as she left and said, “You have no idea how much I loved him.”
Dax smiled and said, “You loved him enough that although you wanted his old lady, you never did anything about that. He banished you to the middle of nowhere and you loved him so much that you built an empire…in his name. You loved him so much that you drove my mother to the hospital the day she gave birth to me. I think if I shook this building and all the men who loved and were loyal to my father fell out…you would be on top.”
One of the tears Coyote had been holding back slid out of his eye and began to roll slowly down his cheek. He brought his hand up to wipe it away and he said, “Fuck, Dax…what are we going to do without him?”
Dax looked around the room again, letting his eyes linger on the photos on the wall, and said, “He’ll always be there for men like you and me, Coyote. Any time we want to give up, or we want to settle, he’ll be there, mentally kicking our ass. Anytime I think I’ve just had it…that I’m done…I picture his face when I was five years old and he made me slide down a water slide. I was terrified, but to this day I can’t remember a better feeling than facing that fear and watching the pride on his face as I did. That’s what Doc Marshall was all about. Fears exist…we have to face them, if not for ourselves, then for him and all he did for us. We better get going.”
Coyote nodded. He followed Dax and the crowd of bikers out the door of the Skulls clubhouse. They all stood on ceremony as Dax climbed on the back of Doc’s Harley for one last ride. After the memorial service, it would be retired to the meeting room and another part of Doc Marshall would live forever, in infamy.


Chapter One
New York
July 1975
Sweat, and the smoke of dozens of cigarettes and just as many joints, hung like a sticky fog in the air as Coyote was led down the empty stone hallway toward the room where the fight would take place. His fights were always in a different warehouse and he was picked up at his dumpy little apartment in the Bronx and driven to wherever it would take place by one of Slinko’s men. Sometimes the drive took hours and sometimes only minutes. Coyote was always disoriented when he got wherever they were going, no matter how long it took, thanks to the blindfold they handed to him to put on each time before they left his driveway. You might think, instead of common thugs, that they were the fucking CIA.
Not that he really felt like he had any right to throw stones. Coyote had worked for Slinko now for almost a year. He was one of Slinko’s fighters, a lost kid he “found” on the streets, moved into a crappy apartment, and took ownership of. Coyote and the other fighters might as well have been machines for all Slinko cared. They ate what Slinko’s guys told them to eat. They worked out three hours a day at a gym that took over an hour to get to and back from each day…and come Saturday night, they fought…and they’d better fucking win. Coyote didn’t have any family, and Slinko made sure that all of his fighters stayed way too busy, tired, and isolated to have friends. All that mattered to Slinko in the end was that they won. He had invested a ton of money in them…or so he liked to say when he showed up with a “lecture”…or more like a threat…on a Saturday night. He expected a return for his investment and he only got that if they beat some other guy to a bloody pulp. Coyote had been the star of dozens of Slinko’s fights, and he hadn’t lost yet. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he did. Slinko never came right out and told him. But he wasn’t stupid. He could see that the men who lost their fights never showed back up for another. If Coyote worked for anyone but Slinko he might just think they’d been fired…once they healed, of course. But the truth he knew in his soul was that winning was saving his life.
Still, that wasn’t why he won. Coyote’s “life” consisted of Slinko’s orders and Slinko’s fights. He didn’t have family, he hadn’t been with a woman since he left California almost two years before…and as far as he knew, he had nothing to look forward to. Every so often he would have a dream, mostly at night while he was asleep and the ugliness around him was invisible. He would dream that he was a “real” fighter. He dreamed that he trained in a real gym with a real trainer and come Saturday night, his pick of music was played overhead while he bounced on his toes down the long hallway that would lead to thousands of adoring fans and the brightly lit, well-padded cage in the center of it all.
There was no cage where Coyote fought…just a circle made of bricks. He stood on cement in the center of that circle with his opponent, while the bloodthirsty onlookers made bets on who would still be standing when it was all over. At least the surface encouraged him to stay on his feet. His head had hit the floor so many times that he wasn’t sure his brain could take another concussion. He learned how to fall and he learned how to deal with the pain. It was his life…for what it was worth.
Slinko did pay them when they won…a little. The apartment he so “kindly” allowed Coyote to use had been completely unfurnished. He used his winnings to buy some furniture, dishes, and his most valuable possession…a console television set. It wasn’t one of those newfangled color TVs and there was no antenna on the building…so the picture was fuzzy most of the time and it only got two channels. But the voices of people that weren’t yelling at him…to hit someone, hurt someone, draw blood, or kick ass…soothed his aching soul. He watched things like The Brady Bunch and Leave It to Beaver and tried to imagine how different his life may have been if he’d been raised by Mike and Carol Brady, or Ward and June Cleaver…instead of his parents, God rest their souls.
It didn’t matter what he imagined, however. He knew what his reality was. Tonight, Slinko had met him in a small room in the back of the warehouse, and he’d told him that the opponent he was about to go up against would be his toughest yet. Slinko was being extra nice. He told Coyote that he had put him instead of one of the other guys up against Viper  because he was the “best” and Slinko knew he could do this. He told him that he’d get a big bonus if he won this one…enough to buy a color television and a new antenna. At the end of Slinko’s long spiel, he had told Coyote to be sure and let him know if he didn’t think he was up to winning tonight. He had a lot of money riding on the fight, and if need be, Coyote could be “replaced.” Coyote knew what that meant. In his mind, anyway, it meant that he would be on his way to that seat in hell he was sure the devil had reserved for him, and Slinko’s life would go on…sans a few hundred thousand dollars, and down another fighter.
“I got this,” was all Coyote had said. Now as he walked toward the circle and got a glimpse of “Viper,” death almost sounded more inviting. He took his place on the other side of the circle and quickly, without pulling his head all the way up, he took stock of who was in the room. Coyote was not an educated man, by any means. But he wasn’t stupid, either. He did have one ace in the hole, just in case an opportunity to use it ever presented itself. Coyote had an almost photographic memory. He remembered every face he ever saw, and if there was a name to be put to it, he would remember that as well. These illegal fights that took place in the midst of an empty warehouse in the center of nowhere and under the cover of night were not a poor man’s paradise. Only rich men came here to play. These men were important men in the community. They were doctors and lawyers, cops and politicians. Most of them were married with children…but it was rare that the woman draped over their arm wore a wedding ring or went by the name of “Mommy.”
For those who came alone, Slinko offered a second service…just as lucrative for him as the first one. Slinko didn’t just pimp out fighters. He had a collection of women “robots” as well. Some of them looked way too young to Coyote…but he was barely in a position to speak up for himself, much less anyone else. But he watched and listened, and somewhere deep down inside he hoped that someday he’d have cause to use all that knowledge he’d gained. Slinko offered him a “girl” once as a bonus for winning a fight. Coyote turned down the offer, cursing himself the whole time. He’d only been with one woman in his life, and that was some older woman who gave him a ride on his way out East. He didn’t know what to do with a girl his own age, and he was scared to death that she’d tell Slinko if he did it wrong.
This night wasn’t much different than any other as far as Coyote could tell. The warehouse was packed, and noisy. Coyote was fighting in the second match of the night. The first one had been quick. Coyote wasn’t allowed to watch the other fights; he only knew when they were over and how they went, if the winner came back to the fighter’s room…or the loser hadn’t shown up before they came to call him out. He focused his attention back across the circle on his opponent, Viper. Viper looked like the kind of guy that grown men would cross the street to keep from passing. His neck, chest, and arms were covered in black and white and faded green tattoos that looked like they might have been carefully crafted in prison. Coyote was six-foot-two and this guy had to be at least two inches taller than that. Coyote was told by the “trainer”…the guy who escorted the fighters in and…if they could walk…out of the circle, that he weighed in at three-fifty pounds. He was wearing shorts and nothing else, and as far as Coyote could tell by looking at him, none of the three-fifty was fat. He was bouncing up and down on the balls of his bare feet and nothing was moving. He had scars on his face, a lot of them, and his nose looked like it had been broken more than once. The swastika tattooed on his bare scalp drew the picture together. Coyote knew how to fight, and he was good at it. He did it to survive, but it didn’t normally give him joy. He focused on the swastika now, however, and thought about looking at it on the ground when he took this racist son of a bitch to the floor, and it did feel good.
When the buzzer rang he tried to block out the cheers and jeers echoing off the walls and ceiling around him, and he focused on the giant in front of him. There were no referees, no real rules…the people just wanted to see a fight, preferably a long one, with lots of blood. With both eyes on Viper, waiting for him to make the first move, Coyote cracked his knuckles and his neck and cautiously moved forward until he was close enough to Viper that the other man took a swing. Viper swung hard, but Coyote dodged it, coming up with an uppercut to the other man’s chin. Viper barely flinched, but as soon as Coyote was upright, the man threw another punch…this time his right fist connected with the side of Coyote’s head. His fist felt like steel, and it hurt like a motherfucker, but Coyote didn’t go down. He shook off the ringing in his ears quickly enough to dodge the next blow and this time threw a punch at Viper’s ribs. He hit hard and fast and he heard something snap and Viper wince. He almost hoped that he’d cracked one and punctured a lung, so the fight could be over. No such luck, though. Viper managed to keep moving while he fought through the pain and caught his breath, and then he lunged toward Coyote and started throwing punches one right after the other. Coyote bobbed and weaved and managed to dodge a few of them…but it was a relentless barrage of left, right, left, right, head, shoulders, ribs, head…Viper was trying to wear him down…and doing a pretty good job of it so far.
Coyote’s body was screaming in pain. Viper was in close, using Coyote’s face like a speed bag. He couldn’t hear anything and it was getting hard to see thanks to the blood and sweat in his eyes. He had never wanted to go down so early in a fight before, but this guy was a killer, and if he was going to die anyway, he wondered if he shouldn’t just get it over with. About that time he either saw Slinko or imagined he did, out of the corner of his eye, and the idea of Viper winning wasn’t half as repugnant as the idea of Slinko getting to finish him off if Viper didn’t. Viper wasn’t good with his feet, but Coyote hadn’t been able to get his arms up past the other man’s bulk and he was pushed to the edge of the circle already. So, with all the strength he could muster, he spun his aching body around, lifted his leg, and let his foot connect with Viper’s neck. The big guy stumbled a few feet back. He didn’t fall, but it gave Coyote the room he needed to attack. He didn’t know where the burst of energy came from, but it propelled him forward and he began to pound every part of Viper’s rigid body that he could reach until he heard the sound of the buzzer, calling an end to the first round.
During the small break, the men were allowed to use a wet towel and a dry one to wipe the blood off their faces and bodies and get a drink of water. If anything was bleeding too profusely, one of the “trainers” would try and patch it up, to get them through the next round. Apparently, none of Coyote’s injuries qualified. He mopped the sweat and blood off his face and chest, drank the thermos of cold water, and while he waited for the next buzzer, once again, he soaked up the faces in the crowd.
Without any other fanfare, the buzzer sounded again and Coyote and Viper met in the middle. Viper didn’t waste any time, landing a right jab smack on Coyote’s nose. The pain radiated up through his sinuses and into his ears. It pissed him off…not at Viper, but at himself. Getting hit dead in the face like that was a rookie mistake. But the beating he had already taken made his reflexes slow and his judgment cloudy. That’s why, when he saw Viper rearing back to kick him…he made a fatal mistake. Coyote let his reflexes take over from his good sense, and he turned about ten degrees to the left and ducked his head. Viper’s right foot didn’t hit the target it was looking for. Instead, it sunk into the small of Coyote’s back, right over the top of one of his kidneys. Coyote heard himself scream, right before they turned out all the lights.
* * *
The next thing Coyote remembered was waking up with a pounding headache. Or maybe he wasn’t awake. He felt like he was floating, and then he realized he was suffocating. His head was pounding because his body had no oxygen…he couldn’t breathe. He opened his mouth and only when he sucked in air and got water instead, did he realize that he was drowning.
His body went into survival mode and his arms began to flail, looking for something to grab onto. The water was freezing but the cold at least made him too numb to concentrate on the pain. He needed to take a breath…if he didn’t, his lungs were going to explode. He opened his eyes as much as he could. It was dark, and dirty. He was probably in the Hudson River and if that was the case, fighting was a moot point, but he didn’t know how to not fight…he’d been doing it his entire life. Something kept drawing him toward the bottom of his dark, watery grave, but he fought toward the surface until one of his hands felt the cool air of the night. He sank again, but fought his way up, and then again, and the third time out just as he started his decent…probably for the final time…he felt a big, strong, cold hand clamp down around one of his wrists and then his body being hauled up out of the water, just as if he were no heavier than air.
Coughing, sputtering, choking, and trying to remember how to breathe, he looked up into a pair of eyes so blue that they shone in the night like a cat. Coyote said the first thing that came to his mind…
“God?”
“Close,” the man sporting the blue eyes said with a laugh. “Damned close.”

 

 

Jessie Cooke writes hot romance novels about tough guys, bad boys, bikers, fighters and lovers and the women of strong character who tame them.

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Book Tour

Title: Love on the Ranch

Series: McKinnie Mail Order Brides
Author: Ciara Knight
Genre: Sweet Historical Romance
Release Date: October 16, 2018



Elizabeth McKinnie will no longer accept men ruling her life. After the Civil War devastated her family home and having no way to survive, Elizabeth accepts one of the mail-order bride proposals presented to her and her sisters. She chooses a man who promises to treat her as an equal. Her sister convinces her to switch suitors, proclaiming the weather in Texas would be more suitable for Elizabeth’s weak lungs. Agreeing, she heads west to meet the mysterious cattle baron she knows little about.
Jeb Clayton grew up as a poor son of a drunkard. He has worked his entire life to ensure he never starves again. He is a man who understands cows better than women, especially after watching the fairer sex manipulate his father into an early grave. Still, he begrudgingly agrees to marry a sturdy bride to produce sons who can help build his ranch into an empire. Yet, what he sees getting off the stagecoach is a whisper-of-a-woman with undesirable birthing hips.
When Elizabeth’s and Jeb’s futures are threatened will they join forces, or will their bitterness be their end?

Ciara Knight is a USA Today bestselling and Maggie Award-winning author who ‘battles for love one book at a time’. Her popular sweet romance series, Sweetwater County (rated for all audiences), takes readers into small town romance full of family trials, friendly competition, and community love. If you are looking for a little more adventure, check out her historical western romances with a little grit and a lot of romance. When not pounding away on her keyboard with her dog at her feet and her two cats in her lap, Ciara loves to travel, watch her boys play ball, and gets lost for hours in her favorite place, Ciaraland.
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Release Blitz/Giveaway

Title: Tuning It Out
Series: Young Spades #3
Author: Riley Long
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: October 31, 2018
Trick Thomas has it all: a great family, a tight-knit group of friends, and a promising future. Tired of the go-nowhere music scene in Boulder, Colorado, Trick and his up-and-coming indie rock band Young Spades are headed to California with dreams of making it big in L.A. and nothing is going to get in his way.
Noah Reed is inches from finishing graduate school, married to his high-school sweetheart, and gay. Even though they’ve both known for years, Noah’s wife Haley can’t let go of their marriage as she tries to protect her ailing father. Convinced that he will never be able to live the life he knows he wants, a chance encounter at an art gallery leaves him with no choice but to try.

Trick showed up at Noah’s house a few minutes after seven. He’d taken the world’s fastest shower, and had gone through at least fifteen shirts before he’d settled on the right one. He went with the light blue sweater his mom had gotten him a couple of years ago. It was snug, and looked great with tight black jeans.
He stood on the front porch and rubbed his palms on his hips. He was already nervous, had been for hours, but the nerves intensified with each passing minute. He wasn’t sure why he was so worried, exactly. He had totally been doing the hookup thing for years. He’d had a few brief relationships with guys, friends-with-benefits, that kind of thing. Somehow, this felt different.
No. He had to keep reminding himself, he was moving soon, and Noah would be staying put. He wasn’t going to get too caught up in this one.
It was at that moment that Trick realized he’d been standing on the stoop for an inappropriately long time without knocking. He raised his fist. Before he could make contact, Noah’s shape appeared through the decorative pane of glass in the door.
It swung open. Noah was smiling wide, showing off his straight, white teeth. He was wearing a tan, form-fitting thermal shirt that accentuated off his strong body, and his hair was damp.
“Sorry, just got out of the shower.”
He moved aside and Trick stepped into the house, trying like hell not to think of Noah in the shower.
Trick looked around as Noah shut the door behind them. The house was small, the living room barely big enough for the oversized, well-worn couch and battered coffee table. The dated kitchen was just off of the living room, and beyond that, a narrow hallway with several closed doors. One of those had to be the bedroom.
Focus. Trick couldn’t just obsess about sleeping with this guy. At least, not while they were on a date. The beginning of the date.
“I was going to cook, but my last session ran long. I hope takeout’s okay?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever’s fine. I’m easy.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Noah said, winking, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Trick exhaled with relief. His entire face was flooded with heat. He wasn’t sure why he was so self-conscious and shy around this one. Get a grip.
“With Colby around, my mom has it hard enough planning meals, so I’ve learned not to be picky.” Trick followed Noah into the kitchen. “You need a hand or anything?”
Noah looked up from his work plating big servings of pasta with tomato sauce. “No, I’m good. How old is Colby, anyway?”
“He’s eight.”
Noah added what seemed like a half a loaf of bread to each plate. “Wow. That’s a lot younger.”
“Thirteen years.”
“Must’ve been weird, being a teenager and suddenly having a baby brother around.”
Trick shrugged. “Guess so. Honestly, my parents let me move into the basement right before he was born, so it’s not like he was keeping me up at night or anything.”
“Nice. You want anything to drink?” Noah opened the fridge. “I’ve got water, lemonade, cheap beer.”
“Uh, lemonade, actually. Thanks.” No need to get drunk on a first date.
Noah poured two glasses, then handed one to Trick along with an overloaded plate. “Let’s eat in the living room. I don’t really have a ‘dining room’ exactly, so I just eat at that little table.”
Trick nodded and led the way.
“So that basement has been all yours for a long time, then.”
“I’m kind of a hermit, so I like it.”
“Well, you’re in a rock band. How much of a hermit can you be?”
Trick settled onto the couch, lowering his plate and glass to the table. “Indie rock.”
Noah gave him a look, dark eyebrows raised, head tilted to the side. Trick was momentarily distracted by Noah’s hair, which tumbled onto his forehead.
“There’s a difference.”
“Fair enough. The question stands.”
“I don’t know. It’s fun.” He took a bite of his pasta. The sauce was garlicky and sweet at the same time, and while it was delicious, he couldn’t help but wonder if garlic was the best choice for a date-night meal.
“That’s it, just because it’s fun? Then why move to L.A.? Why pursue stardom?”
Trick put his fork down. “I’m an artist. It’s who I am. I like to create. Part of creating things for me is sharing them with people. Music has gotten me through a lot of shit. If I can do that for someone else, y’know, it’s worth it.” He knew the answer wasn’t the standard one everyone handed out, but it was the truth.
Noah was quiet. Trick noticed his hands again, broad and strong, but tonight, they had a little tremble when Noah moved.
“What?”
“Nothing. That was just really honest.”
“You expected me to lie?”
“No, not at all. That’s not what I meant. I just figured you’d say something easy like, ‘money and fame.’ Not that you wanted to help people.”
Trick felt self conscious, and shifted in his seat. Unsure of what to do next, he shrugged, and scooped a forkful of noodles into his mouth.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things so serious.”
Trick shook his head. “It’s fine,” he mumbled, eyes on his plate, his mouth partially full. He swallowed and looked at Noah. “What about you? Working with kids with autism?”
“Same basic idea, really. I want to help kids who can’t always help themselves.”
“Cool.”
They both went back to their food, which was almost gone anyway. When they finished eating, Noah took the plates to the kitchen while Trick browsed through streaming services to find a movie. Noah returned with two small bowls.
“What’s that?”
“Ice cream. Hope vanilla’s okay.”
Trick grinned. “It’s a good starting point.”
It was Noah’s turn to blush a little, and he cleared his throat. “Any good movies?”
“Action okay?”
“Always.” Noah laughed.
Trick pressed play, and the movie began. Noah turned off the overhead light. Only the glow from the kitchen and TV remained. They watched and ate ice cream, but Trick wasn’t really paying attention. He was focused on Noah, throwing sideways glances at him as often as he could get away with it. He caught Noah doing the same.
Trick took one last bite and placed his bowl on the table, then turned to Noah, one leg tucked underneath himself. Hesitating, he studied Noah for a moment, waiting for a cue. Noah swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and broke their eye contact, looking at his ice cream. Trick took Noah’s dish from his hands and sat it next to his own, then shifted a little closer to the other man. Noah ran his hands along the tops of his thighs, then reached toward Trick. Once again, Trick caught sight of the tremor in Noah’s hands.
That was all the encouragement Trick needed. He moved forward, planting one foot on the ground between Noah’s, and kneeling on the couch with the other leg. Noah’s hand slid up Trick’s thigh and onto his ass. Trick leaned in and pressed his mouth to Noah’s, lips parted, hands on his face, pulling Noah close.
Noah tasted cool and sweet—the kiss was anything but. The scrape of Noah’s unshaven stubble on Trick’s face set a fire inside him, and he pressed forward. One of Noah’s hands clutched Trick’s ass, and the free one moved up to the waistband of Trick’s jeans fingers curling around the fabric, nails scratching Trick’s hip.
Trick’s cock strained against his jeans as they kissed, and when Noah’s hands loosened their grip, it was all Trick could do not to guide one of them to his groin. Almost as if Noah could read his mind, Noah’s hand rubbed over the erection as his deft fingers worked to free Trick.
Trick slid a hand up, into Noah’s hair, and tightened into a fist, tugging gently. Noah’s hands stilled, making Trick want to stop in protest, but he could wait a few more seconds. He released Noah’s mouth, and Noah gasped as Trick pulled his hair. It didn’t sound like a protest, and in any case, Trick wasn’t pulling hard enough to hurt, not really. He bent down and moved his lips and tongue from Noah’s earlobe to the soft spot under his jaw.
Noah gasped again, and he really didn’t sound like he minded, so Trick scraped his teeth along the skin there. A little cry escaped Noah.
“You okay?” Trick whispered against Noah’s damp jaw.
“God, never better.” Noah’s hands began working again, until Trick’s jeans were unfastened, and Noah was shoving the denim down Trick’s hips.
Trick pulled back slightly. “As much as I’d like to do this right here—”
“Don’t tell me you’re leaving.” Noah wrapped a hand around Trick’s erection and it was all Trick could do not to gasp in relief.
Trick laughed once. “I just don’t want to be naked in front of your door is all. Wouldn’t want to scandalize the neighbors if they peeked in.”
“Fuck ‘em.” Noah stroked his fist along Trick’s length.
“I’d rather fuck you.”
“If you insist.”
Trick took a step back and reluctantly pulled up his jeans. “Now, show me where the bedroom is.” 
 

 
 
 

Riley Long is a wife and mother living a quiet life in Virginia, with her husband, son, and very silly Pit Bull puppy. She passes her evenings writing, reading, and watching bad television (or not so bad television). For fun, Riley participates in NaNoWriMo, GISH, and reads with her book club, the BAMFs. She likes things with silly acronyms. The craziest thing Riley has ever done involves lots of butter and a time lapsed video.
 
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Release Tour

Title: Goodbye, Kate
Author: Nicola Haken
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: October 29, 2018
Cover Design: Sommer Stein at Perfect Pear Creative Covers

Goodbye, Kate is a thrilling, unpredictable ride ~ Heather, White Hot Reads

 

Deception, action, drama, angst, and love ~ Stephanie, Goodreads Reviewer 

 

Truly phenomenal read! ~ Michelle, One Click Aholics


Crime families and mob wars only exist in the movies. Betrayal. Violence. Murder. They don’t happen to ordinary people.
 
Right?
 
Wrong.
 
For Lincoln Hollis, this is his world, and there isn’t a clapperboard in sight. A trained killer and advocate of justice, he’s been sent to unravel the neat little bow tied around Kate Fletcher’s perfect life, exposing her to the brutal truths she’s been so meticulously shielded from, before delivering the ultimate punishment for her family’s sins.
 
There’s just one problem. They’re his family’s sins, too, and he must make a choice.
 
Who will he say goodbye to first?
Nicola lives in Rochdale, England with her husband and four children. She is the author of multi-genre romance, including the Amazon international bestseller, Broken. When she is not busy playing with her imaginary friends (or talking about them with real life friends) she can usually be found carrying out her ordinary mum/housewife/all-round-slave duties, bingeing on boxsets, drinking too much Pepsi Max, or fussing over her menagerie of pets. Oh, and if the kids ever ask, she moonlights as the Pink Power Ranger while they’re sleeping…
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Release Blitz

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Book: Kismet
Series: Soulmates 3
Author: Sienna Grant
Genre: M/M Romance
Cover By: Obsessed By Books Designs
Hosted By: Francesscas PR & Design

Synopsis

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Most people I knew had their whole lives planned out from a young age. In some ways, I did too.
I was career minded, wanting to follow in my father’s footsteps, but there was something unorthodox about me. Being a twin and having three brothers, I knew I was the odd one out. I always shrunk back and let them take over…
While they were eyeing up girls, I had my head stuck in a book.
I was always different, the complex one, I thought that was all it was.

Sometimes life doesn’t take the path you planned and you have to take life as it comes; the good, the bad and the complicated. When I met him, it was like my world aligned. I suddenly understood why I never fit the mould.
On the path to self discovery, I found my kismet: my destiny.
Who was I to question fate?

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Early Feedback

I don’t know where to begin with this review…oh wait a minute yes I do ABSOLUTELY AMAZING!! ~ Tracey & Helens Romance Blog

Oh wow what can I say about Kismet other than it’s brilliant…. an emotional rollercoaster that will have you in a tailspin, I had to leave writing my review for a few days as I was to emotional to write it. ~ Goodreads Review

Sienna Grant has once again shown why she is the master or writing emotional master pieces. ~ Goodreads Review

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About the Author

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Sienna Grant is a British romance writer from the West Midland’s that decided to step into the world of writing a year ago and has since never looked back.
When she’s not writing, she’s a wife and mother to three children, two of which, are grown up.

She also loves to read most kinds of romance but always with a hint of realism.

You can Follow Sienna Here:

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Release Blitz

Title: His Angel
Series: Wounded Souls Series, Book Five
Author: Leah Sharelle
Genre: MC/Former Soldier Romance
Release Date: October 30, 2018
“I’m not leaving your side, Memphis. You are my home, Angel, so wherever you are, is where I want to be.”
CREED
Creed Stephens lost his heart when his wife died in an accident that also took the life of his unborn child. He threw himself into his job as a trained sniper, no longer caring about anything other than his team. After one disastrous mission, which left him broken and battered, he entered the real world again. Creed lived only for his club and his position as its road captain. Love was something Creed never wanted to feel again. He knew loss and drowned in it every single day—at least, that was until a brown-haired, sweet, and stubborn goddess insisted on reminding him that loss wasn’t a reason to stop living.
 
MEMPHIS
Memphis Van Elsen had experienced far too much loss in her young life. She lost her parents, her sister, and her sight. The one person she had left was the only person she loved, the only person she wanted. But how could she compete with a ghost? Did she want to? All she knew was that the deep, aching love she felt for her former brother-in-law made her wish for things she shouldn’t. When a chain of events forced them together, would Memphis be able to make Creed see she can be the one for him, the one to make him smile again? Or would Rogue rip her heart’s desire away from her before she ever got the chance?


I love the idea of being in love. Since my early teens when I first discovered Silhouette Desire novels my life has been all about reading. I would find myself re-writing scenes if I wasn’t happy with them and hiding them under my bed. That led me to writing love stories of my own. They all ended up under the bed and are still there, and there they will stay. I don’t do angst, in fact it drives me crazy.
 


I am a mum of three beautiful girls, Australian, and have what most say is a weird sense of humor.

I spend my free time doing movie, Sons of Anarchy, and Friends marathons. And reading.

I love Pina Colada’s and getting caught in the rain….. there’s that weird humor.



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Release Blitz

Title: Landing Eagle
Series: Dead Presidents MC Series #4
Author: Harley Stone
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: October 29, 2018 

One last time.
 
That’s the promise Naomi and Eagle break every time the whiskey flows.
 
Focusing on her hard-earned military career, Naomi Lincoln has kept her secret and highly carnal rendezvous hidden from her protective older brother, the president of Eagle’s motorcycle club.
 
Until one reckless night of uninhibited lust and passion changes everything and challenges them to see if their irresistible chemistry can lead to more than mind-blowing sex.
 
This time, will Houston “Eagle” Archer be able to protect his woman?
 
Or will she end up like the last one?
After refilling both our glasses, I found Eagle by the pool tables. “You any good?” I asked, handing him his drink as I gestured toward the table.
He started racking the balls. “I do all right. You?”
I grabbed one of the pool cues from its holder on the wall. “It’s been a minute since I played, but I used to be okay.” In truth, I was damn good. I’d grown up playing on these tables with Dad’s crew, and those old guys were a bunch of pool sharks who liked to show off. They’d taught me a thing or two.
Removing the rack, he said, “Your break.”
I took a deep breath, lined up the cue ball, and sent a stripe into a corner pocket. Then I shot again, sinking a second stripe into a side pocket. My third shot sank a third stripe.
Eagle arched an eyebrow. “I think you misled me, Pedro.”
Remembering that I wanted to get laid more than I wanted to win this game, I intentionally missed the next shot. Eagle sank three solids before missing the fourth.
“You do all right?” I asked. “I think I was the one misled, Marine.”
He shrugged, smirking.
My heart did a little flip at the sight. Damn, the man was sexy. His hands were huge, his shoulders were broad, and I’d overheard a couple of the club whores saying he was a beast in the bedroom. Exactly what Love Doctor Monica had prescribed to chill me the fuck out.
Needing a little more liquid courage to up my flirting game, I took a long drink of my cocktail before sinking two more stripes. He sank two more solids. He should have sank a third, but his hand twitched at the last second, causing the cue ball to hit its mark off-center. It looked like he did it on purpose.
Arching my eyebrow, I called him on it. “You don’t have to hold back with me, you know?” I asked. “I can handle your game.”
His nostrils flared, and his gaze roamed over my body. Whiskey was loosening him up as well. “I was about to tell you the same thing.”
I’d been caught. A guilty smile tugged at my lips as I backed up to the table and took a shot behind my back, sinking another stripe.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Eagle asked.
I sank my last stripe before turning my attention on the eight ball. I didn’t have a good shot, but I could sabotage Eagle’s next move, so I did.
“Rude,” he said, eyeballing my work.
I shrugged and took another sip of my drink. “You said I didn’t have to pull my punches. Did you change your mind, Sweetheart?” It felt damn good to throw that nickname back at him.

 

Shaking his head, he took a shot, surprisingly sinking a solid in the corner pocket. He missed the next shot, though. My turn. I sank the eight ball and his solid. We both laughed, and I racked the balls for our next game while Eagle refilled our drinks. We were evenly matched and with whiskey flowing, conversation was easy and relaxed. Not only was the guy easy on the eyes, he was great company.
Harley Stone writes mafia romance and funny-as-shit romantic fiction. When she’s not writing, she’s busy living out her real adventure in southwest Washington with her husband and their five boys. 
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