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

Monday, 29 February 2016

Release Blitz for Hell on Heelz by Morgan Jane Mitchell

 Hell on Heelz, An Asphalt Gods' MC Novel Coming from Bestselling Erotic Romance Author Morgan Jane Mitchell
 Feb. 23, 2016
"My demons needed a long ride, a half bottle of Jack and a hard cock on a
good day. One a bad day, they itched for trouble, a fight. The Heelz
provided everything I needed. I didn't need a man to come rescue me. -
 Hell on Heelz, an Asphalt Gods' MC, Stand Alone, full length novel. 18+ for content 
"They say time heals all wounds, but my time's done run out. I’m no spring chicken, but it’s more than that. I’ve been mad as hell for far too long. It’s made me a different woman, a bitter woman. No, they don’t call me Rage for nothing—I’m a twisting bitch tornado and that’s before you make me mad. When I’m not fuming, I’m secretly festering in suffocating smog of self-loathing. A man did this to me, and now that I’ve finally met another man, one who calms my storm, one I might let break through the thick thorny vines I’ve wrapped around my heart—I fear there’s nothing left of me." 
Edie Pearl, better known as RAGE never thought her decision to leave her cheating husband and join the Hell on Heelz would land her as the potential president of the female outlaw motorcycle club when the Banshee is murdered. Rage has spent the last two years mad as hell, nursing her broken heart with booze and fast men. When she's pitted against her fellow heel, Dixie, in a race to track down the Banshee's killer, she meets the man of her dreams. Mud may be the only man to get her motor running, but he's also her sworn enemy. Will Rage do the unthinkable and choose a man over her club? 
Mud's been a mess since his twin brother left the Asphalt Gods' MC. He'd hate to have to kill his own kin. When Scar shows Mud mercy by sparing his brother, he thinks everything will finally be back to normal. He's proven wrong. A ride to California is interrupted by the Heelz. After he leaves Scar and catches up to his enemy, he finds a beautiful woman, one he can not resist. Showing her the same mercy puts Mud in even more jeopardy. His heart on the line with his life, which road will he choose? 
*Even though we met the Hell on Heelz MC in Scar and Seven Sunsets, Asphalt Gods' MC, Hell on Heelz can be read as a stand alone
Read for FREE for a limited time on Kindle Unlimited
Excerpt Hell on Heelz, An Asphalt Gods’ MC Novel
Copyright © 2015 Morgan Jane Mitchell
A typical Saturday night at the Roost meant our private club was busting at the seams with those who wanted to get drunk, get high and get laid. The Banshee and her girls had their favorites over. Some of the men were from other clubs but just riders tonight and then there were the stragglers, the men who the girls had brought in off the street. Me, I didn’t invite Ripper, but he was a regular here anyway. He wasn’t a looker either, but he had more than two brain cells which was a rarity around here.
“I’d say we’re perfect for each other.” He chugged his Bud Light, clutching my leather-clad knee under the table.
Good lord, this was not what I’d fixed my face for. Jerking my knee away from him, I barked, “Don’t tell me how I’m supposed to feel.” I didn’t feel a damned thing for Ripper. I sure as hell didn’t want a boyfriend.
Ripper smiled, the rare site almost making him dashing. He wouldn’t give up.
On my sixth drink, I didn’t want to talk about us—I wanted to fuck. It didn’t have to be Ripper. My chin resting on my hands, I searched around the Roost for another option.
Hearing Pepper’s voice screech over the noisy crowd, my neck snapped back to see her pink hair go flying over a man’s shoulder. That girl was so thin, she could hula hoop in a cheerio. Amazingly enough, she’d run away from a circus, used to be a contortionist before she started working at the Banshee’s shop.
Keg headed up the stairs behind the bar, taking a dangling Pepper to bed. I remembered when all I wanted was the man of my dreams to come along and throw me over his shoulder just like that. I imagined Ripper trying it and landing us both on our asses.
A young stud, Keg was Ripper’s younger brother. Both men had dark hair and light eyes, but Keg was fine, strong. Ripper looked like Keg minus the fine and strong part. They both worked at the paper factory where my girl Boots was foreman. They headed up the local riders’ club in Seville.
Where Keg was full of life, Ripper was broken, just like me. That’s why he thought we’d make a perfect pair, two broken people, fixing each other bullshit. I didn’t want to fix Ripper. I didn’t give a damn if his wife had died. I had my own demons to quell.
My demons needed a long ride, a half bottle of Jack and a hard cock on a good day. On a bad day, they itched for trouble, a fight. The Heelz provided everything I needed. I didn’t need a man to come rescue me.
“My house is awfully lonely, hon…” He put his arm around me, trying not to call me honey, sweetheart or darling. He knew better than to start with the terms of endearment.
“And it’s probably a mess,” I slurred. I still had my cleaning business, though my client list had dwindled. Club life and jobs for the club took up a good chunk of my time. I’d cleaned Ripper’s house a time or two before I was a Heel. His wife had had Cancer, on her deathbed when I’d been hired.
Fuck, that was two years ago, before I’d left Neil. Before, Kelly... I stopped my train of thought with another drink.
“You could come home with me tonight,” Ripper went on, thinking we could be something more.
I rolled my eyes before a crash from behind me took my attention. DDD and Twink were having it out, again. “Cat fight,” Boots hollered before a shot rang out. The Banshee had done shot another hole in the ceiling. Someday she was going to kill whoever was using the stables. That’s what we called the upstairs, where we took the men we didn’t want in our homes. Anyway, our president had stopped the fight. DDD let go of Twink’s silky dark hair and stomped off. Both only prospects, DDD and Twink were as different as night and day.
Dede, had been her real name, but we called her DDD for her triple Ds—she was a know-it-all beach beauty, like she’d stepped off the set of Bay Watch, but she wouldn’t get the reference because she was a young online college student with a nose problem, in other words, a drug habit. Twink, an ex-whore was a middle-aged Korean woman, who liked her racial slur of a road name. The Banshee had given her a place to hide from her pimp, and she liked Harleys and ink so much, she’d wanted to stay. Differences or not, Twink and DDD were both in the same boat now, like all of us.
Hell on Heelz wasn’t just a rider’s club like Ripper had founded. His club, the Seville Slayers was made up of mostly respectable blue-collar men who wanted to get away from their nagging wives on the weekend and put Harley decals on their pick-up trucks. They rode with us sometimes and ended up here. They were the sizzling meat in our biscuits.
Hell on Heelz, on the other hand was an MC, a motorcycle club with roots in the one percenters. Although Shirley, I mean the Banshee, wanted her club to be different than the men’s clubs, no prostitution, no sex trafficking and the like, she was no saint. The Banshee wanted us to be outlaws like the club she’d come from, the Asphalt Gods’ MC, which like many others struck fear in the hearts of regular folk. She’d picked us girls, all of us because of what we were capable—what we’d done, or in my case, what I was about to do. It was like she’d known it, seen something in my eyes that had been off about me.
Us girls weren’t regular people. I wasn’t a regular person like Ripper. Sure, he had a cool name, but he hadn’t murdered someone like I had. The only thing he could kill was an 18 pack of beer on a Friday night. He hadn’t been biker brats like Locks and Topper who played pool with some fresh blood, two hawt volunteer firefighters visiting us for the first time. He hadn’t escaped being an MC’s clubwhore by burning down their clubhouse like Miss B who had the attention of Squid, a bodybuilder who’d been in the Navy. He’d come to visit with a couple of Slayers tonight.
Every other member here tonight whether they be older, fatter, younger, a gay man or just plain dumb, Legs, Duchess, Butterbean, Sugar Hips and Short—in that order, seemed to be on to someone new. Here I was stuck with Ripper who stared at me like I’d be his salvation.
Books in the Asphalt Gods' MC Series
Scar, Asphalt Gods' MC Book #1
Emery wants to die. Good thing she just ran into a killer.
"They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but that's bullshit. What doesn't kill you leaves a scar. More than the eyesore down my torso, I was a scar, the jagged, fucked up remains of a tragedy."
Scar's Nomad status gives him a chance to fulfill his one wish, but his lonely mission is interrupted when a possible one-night stand goes horribly wrong.
"They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but what if I can't live with myself anymore?"
Finding the blonde face down in a puddle of her own blood jeopardizes everything. Saving her and keeping her quiet could get Scar killed, but when Emery wakes up, her shocking proposal for him to kill her starts the ride of his life.
Seven Sunsets, Asphalt Gods’ MC Book #2
Scar’s Nomad status gives him a chance to fulfill his one wish, but his lonely mission is interrupted when a possible one-night stand goes horribly wrong.
Finding the blonde face down in a puddle of her own blood jeopardizes everything. Saving her and keeping her quiet could get Scar killed, but when Emery wakes up, her shocking proposal for him to kill her starts the ride of his life. 
Money alone won’t be enough for Scar to take the job, but he could use an accomplice with nothing to lose, one who won’t be around to tell tales. Agreeing to a week on the back of his motorcycle, keeping his bitch seat warm for the woman Scar’s hell bent on saving from a rival gang, Emery sets out on her last adventure. But saying goodbye is harder than they could ever imagine after seven sunsets

 Morgan Jane Mitchell

Bestselling erotic romance and paranormal author, Morgan Jane Mitchell spent years blogging politics and health trends before she rediscovered her love of writing fiction. Trading politicians for bloodsuckers of another kind, she's now the author of bestselling post-apocalyptic fantasy novel, Sanguis City. Her action packed series of vampires, witches, demons and zombies is paranormal romance, dystopia, urban fantasy and erotica in one bite. When Morgan Jane is not creating the city of blood or conjuring up other supernatural tales, she's dreaming up erotic and dark romances. Morgan Jane lives in the beautiful bluegrass area of central Kentucky with her husband, three sons, three cats, a greyhound shepherd mix dog named Miss Penni Lane, fifty chickens and seventeen ducks. 
Connect with Morgan Jane Mitchell
Also by Morgan Jane Mitchell
Biker Series
Scar (Asphalt Gods’ MC #1) 99c
Seven Sunsets (Asphalt Gods’ MC #2)
Hell on Heelz (An Asphalt Gods’ MC Novel)
Coming Soon - Sunrise (Asphalt Gods’ MC #4)
Coming Soon - Cowboy, Take Me (An Asphalt Gods’ MC Novel)
Coming Soon - Bones (An Asphalt Gods’ MC Novel)
Erotic Romance Titles
In Too Deep (Table 21 #1) FREE
Never Too Late (Table 21 #2)
Love Too Hot (Table 21 #3)
2 Sex Addicts Fall in Love (The Complete Table 21 Series)
The Red Door (Mouth Rocks the Heart Anthology)
Paranormal Romance/ Urban Fantasy Titles
Prequels (Sanguis City #0.5) FREE
Sanguis City (#1)
Carpe Noctem (Sanguis City #2)
Coming Soon - Deos Mortis (Sanguis City #3)
Twice Bitten (Broad Gate Pack #1)  Coming Soon - She Wolf (Broad Gate Pack #2)

Cover reveal for Rough & Rowdy by Hayley Faiman

Title: Rough & Rowdy 
Series: Notorious Devils MC #1
Author: Hayley Faiman
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: March 24, 2016
Kentlee Johnson has always been a sweet girl with good intentions and simple dreams. 
Pierce "Fury" Duhart is an outlaw by nature, born and bred to ride with the Notorious Devils. 
When a chance encounter brings them face to face, Kentlee knows that getting involved with the president of the town's notorious MC is not a wise choice. 
But Fury knows what he wants, and Kentlee is the little bit of sugar he craves on the side. 
Daring to be bold for just one night, Kentlee surrenders to Fury's advances—but one taste of the rough and rowdy man is all it takes to turn her world upside down. 
*** Recommended for 18+ due to Sexual Content, Adult Language, and Violence
32 years young... born and raised in California, did a stint in  Oregon only to return to the Golden State. Lived that life a while until the Lone Star State called to us, Hill Country, Texas is where we call home, where our boots rest and loving that country life. Living the life with one bearded power pole climbing husband, two little boys that are full of energy and drive us crazy plus a chocolate lab named Optimus Prime.

cover reveal for Other Side (Series of Cliches #1) by Harlow Paige

Title: The Other Side
Series: A Series of Cliches #1
Author: Harlow Paige
Genre: Romance
Release Date: March 21, 2016
Cover Image by Perrywinkle Photography
True or False: 
From the outside looking in, you can be more objective to someone's situation.
People only see what you have, thinking your life and marriage are sheer perfection based on your tax bracket. If only they could step inside long enough to see how cracked the foundation truly is. 
True or False: 
The grass isn't always greener on the other side.
I firmly believe the only people who speak this nonsense are the ones living a life of contentment. They use this cliche to persuade you from searching for more out of life.
True or False: 
If momma ain't happy, nobody's happy.
This momma hasn't been happy for a long time, and I plan on changing that.
The grass may not be greener on the other side, but if I'm the one mowing the lawn, who the hell cares?!
My husband use to refer to the internet as the devil. He trusts nothing that takes place on the screens I’m constantly working from. It’s easy to sit back and judge something you haven’t allowed yourself to explore. I finally broke him out of his no-internet accessing flip phone, and he has now come to the dark side. 
Where I’m engrossed in social media and keeping up with my readers and fellow authors, he’s now consumed by stupid, childish games that make absolutely no sense to me. He likes to complain and assume the worst on my end, throwing out the fact that he’s kept in the dark and has no clue who I interact with. This is true. I do keep him out of my author world bubble. It’s mine. I don’t want to share it with him. If I allow him to get close enough, I know he’ll pop it. And I’m not ready to fall down to reality. He doesn’t get my “job” and doesn’t even see it as one—although he doesn’t complain when my “job” buys him stuff. 
Funny how that works. 
The internet is my office. And a very, very distracting one at times. But it’s a necessity. I wouldn’t be known without it. He doesn’t get it. He has no clue how much work goes into this passion of mine that has turned into a career. The truth of the matter is, he doesn’t support me. So therefore, his mind isn’t open to everything that goes hand in hand with me being an author. All he sees is me on my laptop or phone and he instantly thinks I’m chatting with people—guys—I shouldn’t be. 
And maybe I do. 
And maybe I shouldn’t. 
I’m unhappy. I’ve been this way for a couple years now—since I started writing my books, to be more precise. I didn’t wake up one day and tell myself, “Self, I want to be an author.” I woke up one day realizing I needed more in my life. Not that being a stay at home mother and wife wasn’t satisfying, but it definitely wasn’t quenching my thirst. Something was missing, and I was on a mission to find it. That’s when I discovered writing and that I could write out whatever I wanted and toss it into the black-hole known as the internet and if someone read it, cool. 
It felt amazing letting out anything and everything I had on my mind without any expectations in return. Slowly I started gaining readers. It was scary and exciting. There were actually people who wanted to read what I had to say. Why? I didn’t understand it. But as they started conversing with me, one by one, I realized I wasn’t alone in the grand scheme of life. And that felt good. I felt like my purpose had been found. And I planned on embracing it no matter who had my back, which my husband didn’t. But his unsupportiveness didn’t detour me from continuing my writing journey. It wasn’t a choice. It’s my destiny, my future, the passion burned throughout me and I couldn’t extinguish it even if I wanted to. And yes, there have been times I wished I could shut the ideas out. It completes me and gives me a sense of purpose. When a reader tells you that your story moved them, helped them, made them laugh or they related even a tiny bit to something you wrote—it changes you. 
And that’s exactly what’s happened to me. 
I’ve changed. 
And dammit, I like who I’m becoming. 
I want to embrace this revolution rising within me. I want to spread my wings and expand my horizons and see where the possibilities of it can one day lead. 
But I can’t.
Because I’m stuck.
Being a prisoner to a life of contentment, knowing that you settled and wishing you knew then what you know now is so disheartening. I’m married to someone I wanted by my side from the get go, but wouldn’t grab my hand. Now that he sees me pulling away, knowing I’m unhappy, he’s grasping for my fingertips, trying desperately to slip his fingers between mine and grip with all his might. 
But it’s too late. My fingertips are now digging into my hands, forming fists. Him refusing to take the journey with me, not only hardened my stance against him, but also my heart. 
I can’t change it. I can’t change the way I feel. I can’t go back to two years ago when I picked up the first book I ever had the urge to read, and warn myself of what would take place once I closed that story with a new outlook on life. And if I could, I’m not sure I’d want to. 
I knew it the first time he came over to my apartment and we ended up sleeping together that I was settling. I was compromising who I was, and who I wanted to be—even though I wasn’t sure of who that was. 
The ironic part of it all is me settling led to my passion. But now I’m in a predicament. Do I stay with the man who loves me, but doesn’t know how to fully support me, and stay unhappy and fake it for the rest of my life…or do I jump bail and find what brings me joy? I already know the answer, but I tried it once. It wasn’t planned out, and in return left me freaking out. I have kids to take care of. I have to be smart instead of jumping on a whim and praying for a safe landing. 
Waiting it out shouldn’t be hard, right? 
I’m sure most will say it’s me being a horrible wife and that I shouldn’t have put myself in this situation. To an extent, I agree. I know I should leave my husband before flirting with the opposite sex. I know all I’m doing now is flirting with disaster. 
I can’t help it…or stop it. 
It could all be the fucking author in me reading into it, writing my own personal whacked out fairytale.
I know people say the grass isn’t always greener on the other side, but something inside me makes me want to test that theory.
Harlow Paige is a known author using a pen to shield her identity (and others) as she writes about her adventures and many, many mishaps in the world of online dating. Her Series of Cliches is bound to resonate within any woman who has jumped back into the dating saddle. No worries if single-hood doesn't apply to you. This series will be full of real life honesty, as Harlow twists her life experiences with a bit of fiction to keep the reader guessing. Everyone who joins in on this adventure will be able to relate in some form, and if not, will still be rooting her on along the way.

Harlow asks that all willing participants please keep their hands, feet and legs inside the ride at all times. Your safety... and ENJOYMENT is her number one goal. 

Hold on tight---you're in for one helluva ride!