Ltmk's bookshelf: read

Falling Behind
Seven Years of Bad Luck
Forever and Almost Always
Belong to You
Deceiving Lies
What's Left of Me
Threat to Our Forever: The Sensual Edition
Adam, Enough Said
Abby's Survival
Ten Tiny Breaths
The Future of Our Past
Restore Me
The Shoe
Heaven Sent
Unexpected Angel
Every Rose

Thursday, 27 October 2016

RELEASE BOOST PACKET - Don't Say It by Debra Kayn

Title: Don't Say It
Series: Ronacks Motorcycle Club #2
Author: Debra Kayn
Genre: Erotic Contemporary/Motorcycle Club
Release Date: October 18, 2016


The woman's shelter gave Gia two options. A house in the middle of Wyoming or share a duplex in Montana with a biker.

From the first day of her arrival to Haugan, Gia pushes herself into Swiss's routine. Then, danger moves her into his side of the duplex. The stoic biker with few words and more mystery than her body can handle pulls her under his protection with a profound commitment to keeping her safe from the men trying to kill her. But, close encounters and long nights fail to protect her heart, and she falls in love with Swiss. And, that's the one stipulation guaranteed to push Swiss away from her.

Swiss's ex-Army skills benefit Ronacks Motorcycle Club and the patch on his vest gives him the freedom to live without responsibilities. Responsibilities that nearly killed him in the past. He thrives off solitude until his isolated existence gets interrupted when a sexy lady moves into the duplex and his gut tells him something isn't right.

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He continued gazing at you and after a few seconds where she believed she'd crumble in her chair at the hypnotic pull from across the table, he said, "You and your dress, and the way you're blushing right this second, has me thinking I'm going to kiss you."

She caught herself panting and closed her mouth.

"Not here." He straightened and looked around the room and mumbled, "Later."

"Later?" She ducked her chin. Oh God, she'd said that out loud.

He chuckled low. "Do you need a specific time?"

She looked through lowered lashes. "That might help because I can't even think right now with you blurting out everything I'm thinking and looking at me that way and me being scared and not knowing what is going on with everything outside of us…and you. You scare me, Swiss."

He ran his thumb and index finger down the outside lines of his goatee. "All you have to do is tell me no."

"No," she blurted. "I mean yes. I want you to kiss me."

The corner of his mouth lifted. Gia sighed in impatience.

"I don't know what I'm doing. You're like nobody I've ever known." She glanced around making sure they hadn't grabbed anyone else's attention. "I'm also feeling guilty."


She sagged in her chair. "I came here with the intent to use you for protection like some big warning sign to keep the bad men away and instead…"

"Instead, you want me," he said, shrugging. "It is what it is, sweetheart."

She burst out laughing and shut off her nervous amusement instantly, mortified that she'd forgotten about everyone else in the bar and nodded. "Yes, I guess that's what I'm saying."

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Author Bio

Debra Kayn is the author of the Bestselling Bantorus MC series, Moroad MC series, Red Light: Silver Girls series, Hard Body series, Playing For hearts series, and a huge backlist of books.

She lives with her family in the Bitterroot Mountains of beautiful Northern Idaho where she enjoys the outdoors, the four seasons, and small-town living.

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COVER & CHAPTER REVEAL PACKET - Detoured by Love by Michelle Lynn

Title: Detoured by Love
Author: Michelle Lynn
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: Okay Creations
Release Date: November 10, 2016


Carly Lincoln is just months away from claiming her overdue promotion. The plush corner office, the view, the prestige is finally within her grasp. She’s worked her entire life to make her dream, her reality. But when an unexpected boulder blocks her perfectly paved path, Carly is forced to reevaluate her goals.

Bryant Garrity is just months away from another season. Last year, the star quarterback crumbled to a mere mortal on the games biggest stage. The blood. The sweat. The tears. He’s back and ready to return to his spot among the elite. His sole focus is one last shot at glory. But the detour on the road ahead, might cause him to alter his route.

Love isn’t on either of their radars, but Carly and Bryant’s paths are about to collide.

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Chapter One


The sky is dark, and the air is quiet, except for the soft hum of the band playing at the resort. Nightly walks keep me sane in my job as a travel agent for corporations. After shuffling people off tour buses to ruins to swimming with the dolphins or scuba diving, my busy days end at five. Every night, I walk the shoreline of the ocean, letting the coolness of the water rise over my feet.

My phone rings in my pocket, and I slowly move off course, away from a couple holding hands. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and trudge through the sand.

“Hey, Riley,” I answer.

“I’m getting married!”

I press my finger against my free ear to hush the echo of crashing waves. My heart flutters out of my chest before it drops dead into its dark dungeon again, but not because my baby sister has decided to promise her love to only one. I couldn’t be happier for her and her now fiancé, Cameron. The problem is, my sister’s upcoming nuptials will put me face-to-face with my ex-fiancé, Dean. Worse, my guess is, Dean will be the best man, which means that I’ll be walking down the aisle with him after all.

Why, again, did I meddle in my sister’s life and introduce her to Dean’s best friend, Cameron, all those years ago? Oh, right, I had a sparkling ring on my left hand and believed in the happily-ever-after crap.

“That’s great, Riley.”

I’m happy for my sister and not even close to upset that she’s embarking on my mom’s and sister Renee’s designated path. Nope, because that ship sailed for me when I left my perfect fiancé at the altar of my childhood church. In the last three years, I haven’t regretted that decision. I mean, who wouldn’t want my life?

My job is more like vacation than work. Traveling to exotic islands with all expenses paid isn’t hard. Living two hundred days of the year with my toes wiggling in the sand is easy. Give me a break; no one’s life compares. I have no one to answer to. I have no one who expects things. I have no one to report to.

“So, you’ll be my maid of honor?” Her question yanks me back to our conversation, like an anchor to a cruise ship.

I was blissfully happy, leisurely sailing along the ocean, by myself.

Maid of honor?

“What about Sara? You two have been best friends since preschool.”

“Carly, she’s not my sister. Plus, all she cares about is planning the bachelorette party.”

Great, so I’ll be drinking out of a penis-shaped cup with a lit-up penis necklace adorning my neck and eating jelly candy–shaped penises. Fun times.

“I’m really okay with just being a bridesmaid. What about Renee? She’s done it before.”

Renee, my older sister, the one who married young, lives two streets over from my parents and buys my mom’s favorite grocery items when they go on sale. You know, she’s the favorite child.

I stop right before I reach the hotel and sit down. My toes dig their way through the small particles of sand. Did I mention I never pay for a pedicure?

“You don’t want to do it? Is this because of Dean?”

I scoff, my toes reaching the cold and damp layer of sand.

“No, that’s not an issue.”

“Carly,” she says my name slow, as though I’m going to admit I’d rather cut off my feet than walk down the aisle with Dean. There is a reason I didn’t do it the first time. “I know it’s hard, but I need my sister. Mom’s going to drive me crazy with her anal obsession of daily calendars, spreadsheets, and time-scheduling.”

I stare out to the moon reflecting down on the ocean. Seriously, people would kill for my life.

“Riley,” I sigh, hesitating longer, hoping she’ll relent and not push me toward standing up in her wedding.

“I ran interference for you.” The slight whine that must be built in the DNA of the youngest child rings in my ears.

Oh, she’s pulling the big guns.

“That’s different.”

“Different!” she screeches. “Carly, I had to walk down that aisle, ask the organist to stop playing, and tell everyone that the bride just sped off in the limo without the groom.”

She’s got me.

My back collapses into the sand. “Fine.” The entire word depletes my energy.

“You’re the best. I knew I could count on you. When will you get back to Chicago?”

I cup a handful of sand in my palm, letting it slither down my closed fist. This is going to suck. Big time.

“Three days.”

I hear the claps from her hands.

“Great. We need to start planning. Oh, I forgot to tell you the most important thing.” The whine in her voice fading.


“I want a July wedding, like Mom and Dad.”

“Riley, it’s April.”

“Why do you think I need you to get back as soon as possible?”

Hearing her excitement over the line probably doesn’t compare to seeing her in person. I envision her wide smile and rosy complexion.

“You really love him, right?” I ask the question that no one cared to ask me three years ago.

“Carly,” she sighs, thinking my question has something to do with Dean.

It doesn’t because I did love him. He just didn’t love me enough.

“Answer the question. I want to hear it from your lips.” I stand up and brush the sand off my butt.

“Yeah.” Her sultry tone confirms what I already knew.

She’s found him, her one.

Cameron is nothing like Dean, and I have to remember that fact during their whirlwind wedding, especially since I’ll be thrown back into a room with him until July.

“You’re going to continue working for your master’s right?” I ask because my mom won’t.

“Yeah. Cameron said he’d support us until I graduated. Isn’t he the best?”

A better man than his best friend.
“Yeah, he is.” I catch a man sitting in the sand ahead of me.

His hoodie-covered head faces the ocean with his elbows propped up on his raised knees.

“Okay, I gotta go. I have to call Darla, Tina—”

“Stay on for just a second more,” I whisper so that the man who I’m fast approaching doesn’t overhear.

“Why? Why is your voice shaking?” Riley asks.

I shush her through the receiver.

“I hate that you travel by yourself so much.”

“I’m not by myself.”

“You are now. This is what Mom’s talking about, Carly. You have to settle—”


I’m behind him, and my eyes watch him for any quick movements. He doesn’t even stir, like he has no idea he’s not alone on this beach. Once I’m a safe distance from him, my eyes fixate on the pier that goes back to the resort. My feet move faster, digging further into the sand to gain momentum.

“Okay, go call your friends,” I say.

“Carly, what was that?”

“Just some guy on the beach. I wanted to make sure someone could call the police if needed.”

With every new glow of a resort light in my view, another one of my body’s limbs relaxes.

“I worry about you,” she says.

“Oh, I’m fine. Go call your friends.”

“You’re safe now?”


“Okay, love you. Call me when you get back.”

“Congratulations, Riley. I love you, too.”

I hang up and glance behind me. The suspecting male is in the same position. I look to the wooden stairs that lead me off the sand and to the resort and then back to the ocean one last time for tonight. How could anyone not love to stare at this every night or to fall asleep to the sound of crashing waves? My job should be on some newspaper article for the best career choice.

My barefoot steps on the wooden plank of the stair, and a scream echoes through the ominous air. My mind floods with horrific images, and I instantly glance to where that man was sitting.

Did he pass me up for his next victim?

Immediately, news images of vacation stories when young girls go missing flood my head. I’d be a worthless witness because I never saw the guy’s face. I mean, a gray sweatshirt isn’t really a clue to catching an abductor.

My stomach plummets when I find the spot on the sand empty. I whip around so fast that the tail of my ponytail hits my cheek. The man is sprinting toward a woman who’s waving her hands on the other side of the resort.

Wait, that bleach-blonde hair is familiar.

My eyes shoot out to the dark water. Two flailing arms are swishing the water back and forth.

“Help!” I scream to no one who’s immediately around me.

I sprint after the man, my feet sore from the friction of the sand.

He strips off his sweatshirt, revealing a back most men would envy. He doesn’t bother slipping out of his sandals and dives into the first wave that combats him. The foreign male swims toward whom I now recognize as my client Mr. Fuller.

By the time I reach Mrs. Fuller, I’m heaving for breath. One hand is clasped over her heart, and the other is over her mouth.

“Here.” I take one side of her expensive silk blouse to cover her bare breast.

She looks down. “Oh my God.” Even though her skin is a golden hue from her extended time in the Caribbean, a pink flushes her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, buttoning up.

“What are you sorry for? Loving your husband?”

She smiles briefly and turns her attention back to the ocean. The man has his arm around Mr. Fuller’s neck until he reaches the shallow area and can no longer swim. Picking Mr. Fuller up as though he’s a child, no muscle strain whatsoever, the man carries him over, placing him on the sand.

“Oh, Kevin!” Mrs. Fuller says, falling to her knees at her husband’s side.

Just then, the staff from the hotel rushes out to the beach with cases full of medical supplies.

Mr. Fuller coughs a few times, and the resort medical group assists him to roll over to his side.

The man stands idly behind everyone, catching his own breath. My eyes concentrate on the droplets of water dripping off the hard ridges of his muscles. His hair is dark, and it matches his features of his olive skin tone and a scruff that I assume is his vacation growth.

Most would collapse into the sand right next to Mr. Fuller, but this man appears unfazed from the exertion his body must have taken from swimming through a current and dragging at least two hundred pounds back with him.

As Mrs. Fuller is busy holding her husband’s hand and the medical group is concentrating on checking over Mr. Fuller, my eyes fixate on the man in front of me. This is what I imagine encountering one of the most beautiful people from those special edition magazines would be like. Even his crooked nose suits him better than if it were straight. A dangerous yet safe element surrounds him.

My vision awakens thoughts of him exhausting me in bed, only to cuddle me afterward. With that thought, my heart’s rhythm syncs with the fast beat of the steel drums echoing from the resort.

My eyes cast further down from his perfect abs, but a deep throat clearing interrupts me. My eyes fly back up to his face. The right side of his lips quirk up in the most egotistical smirk I’ve ever encountered on a man. Again, it fits him though. His confidence is sexy and appealing, and beads of sweat form across my hairline.

Straightening my shoulders, I pull the hem of my T-shirt down over my hips. I break the few feet between us, holding my hand out in front of me. “Thank you, sir.”

He studies my hand for a moment, wipes his own hand on his drenched shorts, and shakes mine, firm and quick, leaving a few pieces of wet sand on my palm. Nothing too meaningful, except for the zing of electricity up my arm.

“Hey.” His gruff and unapproachable voice makes me distance myself from him.

Once Mr. Fuller has sat up and appears to be okay, Mrs. Fuller springs to her feet. Rushing over to the man who has yet to give me his name, she tackles him, and he practically falls over— if the man built of bricks could actually collapse, that is.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she gushes.

He chuckles. “You’re welcome,” his husky voice says.

She steps back, straightening out her blouse that became wet from hugging Mr. Fuller.

“Oh my,” she fawns. She glances back to me, widening her eyes.

I shoot a smile to appease her, but she bugs them out more, nonverbally saying, Look at this man. I roll my eyes, silently telling her, Yeah, I’ve seen him, but unfortunately, he isn’t as pleasant as he looks.

She retracts her hand before it lands on his bicep. “We owe you.”

He shakes his head, little beads of water falling from his dark strands onto his shoulders. “No, ma’am. I’m glad your husband is okay.” He smiles, and an amazing mouthful of sparkling white teeth emerges.

My knees weaken.

“No, please. He could have drowned,” she continues.

Mr. Fuller slowly rises to his feet with the help of two medics. “I wouldn’t go that far, Marci.”

She leaves Mr. Lifeguard to help steady her husband. Once she swings her arm through his, he glances over to me and winks.

The two of them have been married for forty years. They’re empty nesters, except for their two poodles, Bella and Stella. They are one of those couples who can make critics like me believe in true love. Almost.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Mr. Fuller’s mouth hangs open.

He waves off the medics, and they slowly walk back up to the resort. His stunned eyes are set on the man who saved him, as though he’s a kid standing in front of his childhood hero.

The guy looks at me from the corner of his eye, and then he studies the sand at his feet.


“Bryant Garrity!” he exclaims.

Mrs. Fuller’s face matches Mr. Fuller’s excited tone of voice, as though she knows the man.

She sneaks a look my way. I can tell the name gives her no recollection. I shrug, having no idea who the hell Bryant Garrity is. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t recall anyone by that name on this trip.

“Yes, sir,” he answers, stepping forward and holding out his strong, large hand.

“Holy shit. A Heisman Trophy winner as well as a first-round draft pick and pro-bowl quarterback of the Chicago Knights just saved my life?”

“Some might assume I was a bum about to assault you.” He glances over to me, winks his cocky eye, and then gives Mr. Fuller a firm handshake.

“No, who would ever think that?” Mrs. Fuller adds.

I feel myself shrinking into my body.

“You’d be surprised, ma’am.”

Again, his damn blue eyes sparkle my way, and suddenly, with the words that came out of his mouth, the tornado of lust that his looks whirled me in moments ago dies a still death.

“Please be our guest for dinner tomorrow night,” Mr. Fuller requests.

The guy, whom I guess I should refer to by name, Bryant, shakes his head. “Not necessary.”

“Please, Bryant, we’d like to thank you for saving—”

“His life,” Mrs. Fuller interjects.

That low chuckle easily leaves his throat once more. “Um…sure.”

Mr. Fuller looks over to me, and soon, all three of their sets of eyes are pinged right in my direction.

“Carly, can we make a reservation for a private party on the beach for four?”

I eye Bryant, who’s now holding his arms over his chest. I swear, he could squash a watermelon with those biceps.

“Of course, Mr. Fuller. I’ll call first thing in the morning.”

I pull out my phone to set a reminder to get that done before the day’s activities tomorrow.

“Don’t forget to block time for the dinner in your calendar, too, Carly.”

I look up, and Mr. Fuller’s eyebrows are raised in my direction.


“You had help in rescuing me, too,” he continues.

Bryant huffs.


“Oh, not really.” I toss off any compliment of helping.

“No objections, Carly. You will not hole yourself up in that hotel room of yours for another night here.” He laughs as my mouth hangs open.

It’s like I’m thirteen again, and my mom just told a boy on the phone that I was in the bathroom. I’m fairly sure a professional quarterback never sits alone in his hotel room.

“Great.” I lean forward and place my hand on Mr. Fuller’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay, but I’d better get going. Call me if you need anything.” I flip my direction to Bryant. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Garrity. Thank you for your heroic efforts in saving Mr. Fuller.”

I’m respectful and polite, right?

Bryant holds his hand out in front of me, his eyes squarely on me. “Have a nice night.” He pauses.

“Carly,” I bite out my name, not allowing myself to be discouraged that Mr. Fuller said my name no less than three times in the last five minutes.

“I’m wondering what your last name is.”

The two of our hands are slowly moving up and down.

“Lincoln,” I say.

He shoots me what I assume is his winning touchdown smile, and damn if my stomach doesn’t feel like a roaring stadium.

“Have a nice night, Mrs. Lincoln.”

I let go of his hand, and he chuckles again.

Seriously, what is wrong with this man?

“It’s Miss,” Mrs. Fuller corrects him.

I roll my eyes, earning another damn chuckle. Is there nothing this man won’t laugh at?

“Oh, here I thought, you holed yourself up in your room because you missed your husband.”

“You’ve got it all wrong. Our Carly is as single as they come.”

I choke on my own air. Seriously, Mrs. Fuller?

He tucks his hands into the wet pockets of his shorts, the shorts currently hanging off those sculpted hips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

I move to pass him, and my toe hits something hard in the sand, catapulting me forward. Wanting to stop myself, I have no choice but to grab ahold of him. His hands instantly grip mine, and I fall into his strong, muscled arms.

Damn him and his mouthwatering body.

“I gotcha,” he says softly.

For a moment, I stare into his eyes, believing him.

Quickly, I straighten my body with his assistance of placing me back on my two feet.

“Have a good night,” I mumble, wanting to bend down to pick up the flashlight the medics left behind and chuck it into the ocean.

I sidestep him and try to hold up any dignity I have left as I disappear to the resort.

Author Bio

Michelle moved around the Midwest most of her life, transferring from school to school before settling down in the outskirts of Chicago ten years ago, where she now resides with her husband and two kids.  She developed a love of reading at a young age, which helped lay the foundation for her passion to write.   With the encouragement of her family, she finally sat down and wrote one of the many stories that have been floating around in her head. When she isn’t reading or writing, she can be found playing with her kids, talking to her mom on the phone, or hanging out with her family and friends.  But after chasing around two kindergarteners all day, she always cherishes her relaxation time after putting the kids to bed. 

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Blog Tour Package - The Long Ball

The star player with a troubled past…
Cash Greenwood escaped a difficult past by becoming a star baseball player. Now, one of the major league’s rare double threats, all his effort is thrown into the sport. He's never had any interest in women, until he meets the one woman who wants nothing to do with him.

The daughter of baseball royalty…
Delilah Gray’s life revolves around numbers, research, and data. She has no time for anything messy like emotions or relationships. Especially not when they come in the sexy guise of a baseball player. She's seen first-hand the devastation caused by dating a man obsessed with the sport, and that's one risk she's not willing to take.

She is one curveball he never saw coming…
But this is one pitch Cash is determined to hit out of the park. Sexual tensions run high and feelings start to develop, but will Delilah ever see that they could have a solid future together? Determined to make her his, she may just prove to be the hardest game of Cash’s life.

WARNING: The Long Ball features an obsessed jock with six-pack abs in tight pants determined to get his girl. If syrupy sweet romance and fiery passions appeal to you, then hold onto your panties because this one may just hit them out of the park.

Watch the trailer HERE


“Stop being a whiny bitch, Greenwood! Bottoms up!”
   My best friend and resident troublemaker of the team smacked me on the back. His boisterous laugh and booming voice took up all the space around him. I loved many things about the man, but the thing I loved the most was that in his presence, I became invisible. Since the age of 16 I’ve been recognizable. Once you were a star athlete with a future and the hope of winning a championship, you became a commodity, something shiny. And being simultaneously a slugger and a pitcher was a combination so rare that those with it, like myself, were priceless.  
   It hadn’t taken me long to learn that being invisible keeps you safe.  
   “We have to meet that analytics chick in an hour. I don’t want to reek of alcohol. Coach will kick our asses.” I didn’t like to drink. Most days I can’t even stomach the smell of it, but for the sake of keeping up appearances I usually nursed a glass in my hand and always offered to be the designated driver so no one suspected anything. Rod was really good about covering for me when needed, chugging back the drinks people often bought for me, acting like the cocky best friend he was.  
   “It’s still technically the off-season. Another one won’t hurt.”  
   “Another always hurts, particularly in the form of a hangover the next morning,” I replied.
   “You sound like a dodgy old fuck. Where’s the guy who used to party with me all night long? I want him back.”
   I chuckled, thinking about all the times we’d been in trouble. I prided myself on how well I blended into the crowd and let him take the attention. Rodriguez and I had been buddies since our rookie year. We’d grown up together on this team, cut our teeth on the ins and outs of playing professional ball, but as time passed I found that faking it seemed to exhaust me more and more each day. I was tired of it all, and the only thing that still made me feel something was the game. Everything else was endless noise that passed by with no true meaning or intention. I felt like I was walking in a blur, just waiting for time to pass.  
   “I’m not twenty-one anymore. Coach said any more stunts like that one you pulled at warm-ups and we’re both benched. And you, motherfucker, are not getting me benched.” The idea of sitting out a game was unbearable. Rod and I were thick as thieves, and Coach knew that if anyone could reel him in, it would be me. But what the coach didn’t know was that the idea of losing baseball in any way was like a noose around my neck, tightening until all the oxygen was ripped from me.
    “You're my wingman, buddy, and ya gotta admit, spiking the water cooler was pretty genius.”
    “And landed us in a shit load of trouble. Frankly, I’m just too old for this shit anymore. Let the rookies have at it. We had our fun.”
   “You make thirty sound like a death sentence. Not for me. When I turn the big 3-0 next year I’m going big. I want my feet in the sand with a drink in my hand and a pussy on each arm. Fuck it, a limo full of pussy. I am gonna get more ass that night than a toilet seat.”
   “Yeah, I bet you do.” I’d never liked how Rodriguez embraced the cliché ball player persona. He played ball hard—out on the field he was a beast. But he partied even harder, a revolving door of girls after every game. I was always up for a few drinks, but the groupies that surrounded Rodriguez always made my stomach turn. It was so obvious they wanted him for his status and money—his staggering salary was very appealing to bunt bunnies. I had absolutely zero interest in them.  
   All the women around ball players didn’t have much to offer, and my life was so messed up that I doubt any woman wanted anything to do with it when she found out. The only kind that would stay would be one that would hope for a staggering payday at the end. I had enough people standing by with their hand out, so I wasn’t interested in a woman who wanted that, too. Besides, I only had a few more years to play this game, and I wasn’t going to squander them for some chick. These women didn’t care about the men. They cared about the limos, the big ticket items the ball players paid for, and the thousand-dollar dinners. Rodriguez made hundreds of millions, just like so many of my buddies, and just like the other ball players, he had no issue living like a king. But that lifestyle didn’t interest me in the least.  
   This life wasn’t for everyone, I wasn’t even sure it was for me sometimes. I rarely liked to go out, and the women did nothing for me. I lived and breathed the game, so much so that I couldn’t imagine what else I would be doing if it wasn’t this. I had one single focus and that was to win the World Series. I had been playing ball for eleven years with the MLB, and that was the only thing that eluded me. I was known as the best player in the entire league and yet I didn’t have that World Series title under my belt. My years left playing ball were dwindling—a ball player was gettin’ some age by thirty—but it was the one dream I hadn’t yet attained.
   “Let’s head over, man. Don’t want to piss off Coach.”
   Rod slammed his shot glass down on the counter, his eyes shining with excitement. “Wanna place bets on how fast I can get up the analytic girl’s skirt?”     
   “You haven’t even seen her yet.” We walked out the doors of the corner bar, afternoon light heating my skin as we walked the short block to the stadium. Today we had a meeting with what would be the new official star analytics firm for the club, before opening day tomorrow. I’d been waiting months for this day, the time between playoffs and opening season always left a pit of dread in my stomach. If I could play twelve months of the year I would.  
   We pushed through the stadium doors and made our way down the dim hallway, headed for the conference room next to the locker room. I nodded at Coach when we walked in and greeted a few of the other guys as the entire team settled on benches around the center of the room.  
   “I don’t want to take up much of your time, so I’ll cut right to the chase.” Coach looked around the room. “A few of you have been fucking off, so we need focus if we’re going to have a good season. I don’t expect miracles, but I do expect you to listen. No more antics. Stay focused. I expect each of you to improve your averages by the end of the season. “
   “Like it or not, stats are down, guys. We need all heads in the game if we’re gonna improve and have a shot at going all the way this year. Delilah Grey from Lionsgate Analytics is here to help us do that.. She’ll be with us—every game, every day—all season. She’ll be sending me the stats throughout the game, and I want you guys tuned in to your averages. Push yourselves every night.”
   He glanced around the room, pausing for a moment on Rod. “And please treat Delilah with respect. She knows we need some help, but she doesn't need to know you’re all a bunch of animals.” God, I loved Coach. So steady and calm. He was the reason this team was great. Without him we’d all be a bunch of animals on the field.  
   Coach swung open the locker room door and in walked a fucking vision.  I noticed the heels first. Sexy stilettos with leather cutouts that made me want to get down on my knees and slip them off her feet one at a time. My eyes devoured her creamy, toned calves, and not even the conservative pencil skirt could hide the full curves of her hips.  
    Rod said under his breath.
    I nudged him, for the first time in my life irritated by his overt appreciation of a woman. Looking at Delilah, the hairs on my arms stood to attention. As did something else. Damn, she was stunning, I’d never seen a woman so radiant in my entire life. She had dark silky hair cascading down her back in loose curls, so damn soft-looking that my hand itched to brush up against them. I, Cash Greenwood, for the first time in my life had a desire to brush up against a woman’s hair.
   “Hey guys, I’m Delilah Grey.” She nodded, her spine rigid as she leafed through a handful of papers in her arms. “If you could pass these around, I’ll tell you a little about me, then we can chat individually.”
   “Individually?” Rod chimed, his horny grin sending anger racing through my stomach.  
   “Yes, that’s how I prefer to work. Deal with each player’s specific issues before we bring the whole team together.”
   “I’ve only got one issue.” Rod shifted in his seat, his hand brushing over his crotch. My nostrils flared. Why was he such a dick?. At that moment I hated my best friend so much I wanted to pound his face into the ground. The thought made me feel ashamed and idiotic. I knew Rod, he was a joker, more talk than action on most days, but the fact that he was being crass to this woman upset me beyond all reason. I didn’t have an explanation, but I did not enjoy the idea of Rod looking at her like she was a piece of meat. Not one bit.  
   Delilah’s deep chocolate eyes narrowed in a flare of anger for a moment before she turned back to her paperwork. If one paid close attention to her, as I was doing, one could see the patch of red forming on the back of her neck. “I started Lionsgate Analytics nearly three years ago. I want you to be the best players, on and off the field, and excelling in this world isn’t just about home runs and fly balls. It’s also about measuring speed, distance, velocity.” Her eyes flicked over the team again. “I’ll be hanging out at all the games, laptop open and watching just how consistent everyone is, and hopefully it won’t take us long to get an average. Anyone have questions for me?”
   “Yeah, got plans tonight, sweetheart?” That was Rod, and I nearly shoved my fist in his gut for that one. I watched as Delilah’s jaw ticked. She was tough, I could tell. I liked that. I liked that she wouldn’t take anything sitting down. I had had enough of women taking things sitting down, so the fighter in me was drawn to the fire in her.
   “Let me make one other thing clear: if anyone calls me sweetheart, toots, doll, baby, or any other demeaning term of endearment again, I can’t promise you won’t feel my high heel in your balls. I don’t play well with men who act like animals. We’re here for one thing and one thing only—to get this team in shape to win this year. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make an ass out of yourself in the process. Have I made myself clear?”
   Fire blazed through my veins when she spun and exited the very door she’d come from. Well damn, after thirty years I finally found a woman who could make me take notice, make me want to chase. And not only chase, but tie her up and hold her against me, bind her to me in every way possible.

Aria Cole is a thirty-something housewife who once felt bad for reading dirty books late at night, until she decided to write her own. Possessive alpha men and the sassy heroines who love them are common, along with a healthy dose of irresistible insta-love and happily ever afters so sweet your teeth may ache.

For a safe, off-the-charts HOT, and always HEA story that doesn't take a lifetime to read, get lost in an Aria Cole book!
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Never Trust A Saint Sales Blitz

Title: Never Trust A Saint
Series: Los Santos Cartel #1
Author: Melissa Jane
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: February 6, 2016
A protector from evil. One who without fear will lead you safely through darkness.
Cold and ruthless. A CARTEL who cares only for revenge and glory.
My name is Nina Cross, and I’m the Los Santos’s newest prey. Determined to prove my partners innocence and avenge his violent death, I stumbled naively into the spider’s web. Tangled with lies and hunted for truth I was shadowed with each step I took. That was until one man, relentless in his touch and his desire threatened to bring me to my knees in ways I both craved and feared.
Jair Ruiz. Powerful, brooding and confident and not at all who he seems. He has me in his sights and has every intention of toying with his newest target while fighting to keep us both alive.
When the FBI turns it back on you and Los Santos cartel have already dug your grave, who is there left to trust?
Only one man. A savior.
But if I look my saint in the eye and all I see is the devil…do I run?
“I’m not entirely good. I’m not entirely bad. But I’m enough of a little of each to ruin you.”

Beautiful brunette fashion model on a gray background.

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About the Author 
Lover of dark, fast-paced stories with a dash of romance, Melissa Jane’s books are a ruthless combination of dangerous cartel Kingpins and beautiful strong heroines.  No one is safe within the pages she writes and the underdog is always favored to win… most times.
When not writing, Melissa loves relaxing with her family and a good glass of wine.

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