Thursday, June 30, 2016

Release Blitz, cleat catcher, Celia Aaron Sloane Howell.

Received for an honest review.


I was surprised Cleat Catcher focused on Niki and Braden. I thought their relationship was solid and I was happy for it to be. Cleat Catcher shows what happens after.


It was a good, light, entertaining read. I liked the touches of humour provided by Kasey although I did find her a little over the top at times.

I also disliked Braden calling Niki a slut. I know it was in the heat of intimacy but it rubbed me the wrong way.


I felt the problems Braden and Niki faced, while reasonable, could've been played out more, I felt like it only just barely scratched the surface.


All in all, enjoyable but not much substance.


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What happens when an unrepentant Cleat Chaser meets the player of her dreams?

Nikki Graves has a history of going through the baseball roster with an eye for talent--the kind of talent that keeps things spicy between the sheets. But, once she meets Braden Bradford, catcher for the Ravens, her talent scout days are done. He's the one.

Braden has never met a woman like Nikki, and he can't get enough of her smart mouth and big heart. But life isn't always as direct and certain as the connection between Braden and Nikki. When family objections and career trajectories begin to crowd the plate, will Braden be able to keep his catch of a lifetime?

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I shot back against the cushion, doing my best to act normal. Nik pushed the door open. “Hey, babe. I was waiting for my dessert course.” I made a show of scrubbing my hand across my mouth and face like I was clearing her a space.

“I’m good.” Her tone was flat, and she didn’t even look at me.

What the hell?

Her usual spark was gone. She sauntered over to the side table, and dropped her keys and bag on it.

I glanced down at the laptop screen full of porn. Fuck! I’d been researching some new shit to try out with her, but there was no way she’d believe me. My gaze drifted to the mouse way up under the table. There was no chance I could get to it without giving away my knee situation.

Using my good leg, I tried to gently kick the computer screen closed, and, of course, it only opened wider.

“Have you moved from the couch all night? Did you even shower?” She sighed, still facing the wall like she had no interest in looking at me.

“What’s wrong, babe? What happened?” My mind raced. A lot could have occurred at Estate de CuntMuffin that would set her off. I’d been worried the whole time she was gone.

“I’m fine.” She turned around, and I watched her eyes dart straight to the computer screen. Her brows pinched together and her hands went to her hips.

Fuck me. This won’t be good.

“Nice, Braden. Real fucking nice.”

“It’s not what you think. I don’t look at porn.” I stared in the other direction and mumbled. “Often.”

“Your fingers slip and accidentally type in ‘fuckmedaddy.com?’” She scowled and began to pace back and forth.

I’d expected her to be upset about the porn, but not this much. I was halfway hoping she’d want to look at it with me. “No. I was trying to find new stuff to try out on you. If you must know.”

Her lips curled like she might smile, and then they mashed back into a thin line.

So close.

“Have they said if you’re going to be traded or not?” She took another step toward me, ignoring all of the pussy acrobatics flashing on the laptop.

“No.” I tilted my head to my lap and ground my teeth while I tried to compose myself. I’d been trying to forget about that shit all day, but the pain in my knee kept it front and center in my mind.

She made a pfft sound and threw her arms in the air.

 “Babe, I’m sorry. I know I’m supposed to have a clue what you’re upset about. I just don’t.”

A million things rocketed through my mind at once and brought my entire thought process to a crashing halt. My brain buffered slower than the inverted cowgirl pussy nomming scene I’d attempted to watch earlier.

Nik scowled, and then folded her arms across her chest. She stared me down like a closer in the ninth inning. “Think really really hard about the problem we have.”

My eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. “Uhh, your parents?” I glanced back and tried to judge her reaction.

She made a loud sound like a buzzer that startled me.

“Fucking hell. I mean, umm, me being traded?” I held my hands up and shrugged.

“Warmer.” She took another step toward me.

I hated this fucking guessing game. Why couldn’t she just say it? Heat rushed into my face, and my body tensed.

“Can you just tell me? Please. Stop fucking around with me.” I smacked my hand against the back of the sofa, and Nik jumped.

“Maybe my parents were right. Maybe you do have anger issues.” She stomped off a few steps and whipped back around. “Easton!

“Take that shit back. You know I don’t. Maybe your goddamn family just brings it out of everyone. Maybe you’re more like your mo—” I froze stiff on the couch, and my eyes bugged out. I held up my hands. “I stopped myself. You heard me. I did not say it.”

It was too late. I thought my head was going to explode the way Nik glowered in my direction. Her hands were squeezed into fists at her sides, and I could see all the whites of her knuckles. She started toward me like a possessed demon. “Did you say what I think you said?”

Do not answer, Braden. That shit is rhetorical. Adapt and survive.

I shook my head quickly and braced myself in case she resorted to physical violence.

 

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Celia Aaron

Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.

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Sloane Howell

Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.

Visit his web page www.sloanehowell.com to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.

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Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Rocking Racers 2 update.

So I've been a little slack with my writing lately. In my defence I haven't been well, but I'm back at it now.

I've got to say Cole and Knley are surprising the hell out of me. You might be wondering how that is seeing as though I'm the one writing and all of this is coming from my brain, but I don't control WHAT exactly comes out of my brain and it's a doozy! There are so many facets to these characters I never considered would be part of their make up, but they are certainly coming to the fore now.

To be honest, I'm kind of unsure about the latest direction that's arisen, I'm not sure if I want to go down this route, not sure that if I do I can do justice to it. Cole wants to go down a little more dominant route and I'm vanilla to say the least. I think I'd like to follow it and see where it goes, there's no rule saying he has to go full Christian Grey on me and if I don't like it, or don't think I do it well I suppose it can always come out during editing.

Where you'd rather be, or Rocking Racers 2, is a little darker than Breaking the Cycle. There's more angst, more personal demons. I wrote Breaking the Cycle as my homage to the perfect book relationship but Where you'd rather be is going to be primarily story orientated, or at least guided by the story.

I'm not sure if I'll make my end of July deadline, though I will try my hardest, but with the twists and turns Cole and Knley are throwing me, I'm in for a ride as much as you are!
It's interesting this writing thing, so much more than I ever thought it would be, both harder and yet more enjoyable than I thought.
I'm also busy doing the blogging thing as you may have seen. It's my way of paying back the bloggers that have supported me and my release, it's still as surreal as it was when I got the email saying my book was goi g to be published, even though sometimes I forget it's out there!
So thank you for your support, for taking the time to read this and Breaking the Cycle, I hope you're waiting for Where you'd rather be and I'm doing my best to get it to you!

Blog tour, Sweet Alibi, Adriane Leigh

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From USA Today Bestselling author Adriane Leigh comes a passionate contemporary romance about giving in to desire so sharp and sweet it threatens to consume...

Georgia Montgomery is desperate for an escape from the life she’s been leading. The perfect job, the perfect apartment, the perfect boyfriend—all are on the cusp of driving her over the edge. On a whim, she buys a beach house on the North Carolina coast, eager to spend a summer with her college friends. She thinks she’s found the perfect balance, until one pleasure-seeking playboy turns her world on its axis. Georgia tries to ignore the tornado of emotion that sweeps through her system whenever Tristan Howell is near, but just like an addiction, one look, one taste, one touch is never enough.

The chemistry is scorching and it isn't long before the slow burn ignites into a full-blown wildfire that threatens to consume anything in its path. But Georgia and Tristan can't shelter their love from the outside world, and the moments of exquisite passion they share aren't enough to sustain the relationship. When scars from the past resurface--will their hearts meld together as one? Or will outside forces tear them apart, leaving an empty shell where love and passion once thrived?

*Note: The characters in Sweet Alibi are real and flawed--they make bad decisions and learn hard lessons. It contains a love triangle, a sweet alpha-male with a broken heart, and a leading lady that doesn't always know what she wants. If you love a character-driven romance with a hard-fought happily-ever-after, Sweet Alibi is for you. (Formerly published as The Morning After and Light in Morning duet, now with more than 10,000 words of never-before-published BONUS content!

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“You’re getting wet.” Tristan lifted a finger and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I licked my lips nervously, my eyes locked with his. His touch set my skin on fire. I held my bottom lip between my teeth painfully, willing myself to feel anything other than my stomach rolling and the arousal throbbing between my thighs. His eyes darted down to watch my mouth as his lips parted lightly with his breath.

“Georgia,” he whispered as he leaned into me. His lips grazed mine and my eyelids fluttered closed.

Why wasn't I pulling away?

God, I needed to be pulling away, like two minutes ago.

I should have moved my chair away from his when I sat down. Being in Tristan's space did things to me, delicious things like the hair rising on the back of my neck and goosebumps dancing across my skin. My stomach flipped, my breathing hitched, and a slow ache settled between my legs.

“Tristan,” I breathed as he brought his hand to my jaw in a light caress, just like he’d been doing a minute ago to the weathered wood of the deck chair. I parted my lips and the air escaped my lungs in a rush.

“I don't know what this is between us, Georgia, but I want to find out,” he said on a breathy exhale.

“Me too,” I whispered and pressed my lips to his. His soft, slightly salty lips tasted heavenly as I ran my tongue along them. He opened his mouth and our tongues brushed together as his hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers threaded in my hair, thumbs brushing my cheeks. He pulled me closer to him and before I knew it I was adrift in the heady sensation of Tristan.

I lost myself for those few blissful moments attached to his lips. I knew there was a reason I shouldn't be doing this, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was. I ran my palm up his arm and over his shoulder to tangle in his hair.

But the hair was too long. It didn't feel right. It was foreign, and yet the pull I felt to continue to kiss and caress was undeniable.

“Kyle.” I pulled away quickly, mumbling the name. I licked my lips where Tristan’s salty-sweet taste lingered. The feelings that were swirling inside my body and filtering through my head were terrifying and new and right all in the same breath. Tristan watched as my thoughts aligned.

“I’m sorry. I don't know what just happened or why I said what I did, but it can't happen again.” I rushed back into the safety of the house, leaving Tristan alone in the rain.

 

 

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Adriane Leigh was born and raised in a snowbank in Michigan's Upper Peninsula and now lives among the sand dunes of the Lake Michigan lakeshore.

She graduated with a Literature degree but never particularly enjoyed reading Shakespeare or Chaucer.

She is married to a tall, dark, and handsome guy, and plays mama to two sweet baby girls. She is a voracious reader and wishes she had more time to knit scarves to keep her warm during the arctic Michigan winters.

 

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Excerpt reveal, Stealing Home, Nicole Williams

Excerpt Reveal - Stealing Home by Nicole Williams

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Coming July 10th

Pre-order exclusively on iBooks HERE 

Add to your Goodreads shelf now. 

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 Being the only woman working for a professional baseball team isn’t easy. As the San Diego Shock’s newest athletic trainer, Allie knows all about long hours, endless travel, and warding off players’ advances. Given she’s already the subject of a handful of rumors about how “lucky” she was to have earned such a coveted position, she can’t so much as flutter an eyelash a player’s way if she wants to be taken seriously.

But number eleven is doing more than fluttering eyelashes Allie’s way. Far more. Luke Archer is at the top of his game and doesn’t let the fear of striking out keep him from swinging. This is a motto he applies both on and off the field, but Allie appears immune, seeming to view Luke as nothing more than caution tape on legs.

He’s a player, and in Allie’s experience, they’re all the same. She won’t risk her job or her heart to another one, no matter how different this one claims to be. But as Allie gets to know him, she discovers the number eleven the public thinks they know is very different from the real Luke Archer. He seems too good to be true.

And maybe he is.

Allie will have to confront the stories attached to a player of Luke Archer’s stature and decide who she’ll put her faith in—The man she’s falling for? Or the rumors?

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CHAPTER ONE

 

 

 

 

Working for a professional baseball team was going to be the end of my love life. The past two years confirmed that theory, as had the last text I’d received from my latest ex-boyfriend.

                Half of the year on the road added to another half of the year working grueling hours that rivaled a doctor’s first year of residency equaled a whole lot of no free time to fill with a social agenda. Since being hired on by the San Diego Shock this season and the San Francisco Kings the year before that, the longest relationship I’d maintained spanned eight weeks.

                This last one had barely cleared the four-week mark.

My lifestyle was costly, but it was worth it. Baseball was in my blood, and sports medicine was in my heart.

                I’d grown up in a small Midwest town where people still got together for potlucks and everyone from the town hermit to the mayor attended a funeral. Where the only place you were expected to be after church on a Sunday was stretched out on the bleachers around the baseball field. It didn’t matter if it was a T-ball game or the high school championships—the bleachers were always packed.

Baseball was a religion where I grew up—it was stitched into the fibers of my life—so it was no surprise when I ended up with a baseball player. No, the surprise came after I’d followed him to college and found him in bed with someone else.

                It had taken the wind right out of me, along with my tendency to trust first and doubt after. Ben had been sleeping around for a while by the time I found out—friends had known and said nothing—and that was the day I made a promise to myself to never let another guy hurt me as he had, to never be made a fool of like that.

After changing schools mid-year, I started studying sports medicine and never looked back. Or at least not often. I only looked back when I found myself feeling something similar to what I’d felt for Ben. The relationship never lasted long after that.

                As evidenced by my newest failed relationship.

                “Whose ass do I need to kick, Doc?”

                Dropping my phone into my lap, I looked across the aisle to see who was sliding into the row across from me.

Luke Archer.

Known to fans as the best hitter on the Shock, if not in all of pro baseball. Known to women for his good looks and up-to-no-good smile. Known to Cosmo magazine as being voted the Finest Ass in professional baseball. And known by the athletic training staff as a well-rounded pain in our asses.

                Not because he thought he knew better or was yet another prima donna—which the sport had no shortage of—but because he held to the old-school code of taking care of an injury by “walking it off.” If that didn’t work, then we could usually convince him to pop one or two pain relievers after the game, and sometimes, if he was feeling especially accommodating, he’d accept a bag of ice.

                Luke Archer was the real man of steel, and no one to date had managed to convince him he was also made of those injury-prone materials known as flesh and blood.

                “Doc?” Archer’s voice broke through my haze of thoughts. “Just give me his name and I’ll take care of it.”

The rest of the team and staff were shuffling down the aisle between us to find their seats on the team jet, but his stare aimed my way felt unyielding.

                “What makes you think anyone’s ass deserves a kicking?” I asked.

I returned a high-five as Reynolds passed by. He’d twisted his ankle in the game earlier today, and I’d been the first on the field to get him taken care of. I’d been the last one out of the locker room to finish getting him taken care of too. As a noob, I had to work twice as hard. As a woman, I had to work ten times as hard.

                “I have three younger sisters. I have more experience than most with guys deserving ass kickings.”

                The last of the guys wandered by us. Without the break of their bodies coming between us, Archer’s stare became too intense. His eyes seemed capable of pinning me to the back of the seat.

                The head athletic trainer, Dax Shepherd, attended to the “money” players—the ones like Archer, who brought fans to the stadium and were a large part of the Shock’s impressive win-to-loss ratio. Up until this very moment, I didn’t know Luke Archer was aware of my existence on this team or the planet.

                “You really have three younger sisters?” I asked.

Unlike most of the female populace, I didn’t know every last fact about Luke Archer. The news about his parents had made headlines a few years back, and that was all I knew about his personal life.

                “I really do. And I talk to or text all of them every day.”

                “Plus you kick asses for them.”

                Archer’s hazel eyes lightened. “Plus that.” He twisted in his seat so he was almost facing me, his eyes dropping to the phone in my lap. “So? No one messes with my sisters. And no one messes with my team.”

                My forehead creased. “I’m not one of your teammates.”

                “You’re a part of my team. Just because you don’t play the field or swing a bat doesn’t mean you’re not. You keep us healthy and strong out there.” When I cocked an eyebrow, he added, “And when we get injured, you make sure we get fixed up quickly so we can get back to doing what we love. You’re every bit as vital to this team as . . .” He glanced up and down the aisle like he was looking for someone to fill in the blank with.

                “As Luke Archer?” I completed for him.

                His answer to that was a lifting of his eyes. “I’m one man who can swing one bat.”

                “One bat really, really hard. And very, very exactly,” I interjected.

                He continued, “You make sure twenty-five men can keep swinging their own bats.”

                “Well, there’s me, the two other athletic trainers, the physical therapist, the personal trainers, and the actual doctor who help out with that too. I can’t take all of the credit.”

                “Come on. You work twice as hard as any of them, so you should at least take most of the credit.” When his phone started chiming in his slacks’ pocket, he pulled it out, turned it off, and hid it back in his pocket.

                “And since the closest Shepherd and Coach Beckett have let me get to you is handing out a water bottle, how would you know that?”

                He pointed at his eyes. “I’ve got two of these and use them for observation on occasion.”

                “When they’re not searching for your next conquest?” I gave an internal groan the moment after I’d voiced something that should have stayed unsaid.

                My relationships with the players had always been professional and rarely, if ever, delved into the realm of personal information. If it didn’t have to do with preventing or tending to injuries, I didn’t bring it up.

                Until now. When I’d just suggested that Luke Archer had a reputation in every city the Shock had visited, every hotel they’d stayed in. Perfect way for my first real conversation with the star player of the team, and the whole of professional baseball, to go.

                Archer stayed quiet, studying me with that tipped smile he was famous for.

                “You know my opinion on rumors?” he said a minute later.

                I was capable of nothing more than shaking my head.

                “That they’re started by haters. Spread by fools. And accepted by idiots.”

                My head tipped. “Are you calling me an idiot?”

                His eyes flashed. “Are you calling me a manwhore?”

                I studied him lounging in his seat with his legs kicked out in front of him, his wide chest stretching beneath his suit jacket, his long arms resting on the armrests.. His body was enough to weaken the resolve of someone as jaded to player players as I was, but his face didn’t play second-string.

                Brown hair lightened by the sun, smooth skin darkened by it, a strong jaw, and hazel eyes that trended more toward the green end of the spectrum; Luke Archer was quite possibly the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. According to Sports Anonymous’s random poll of five thousand women, he was the best-looking guy in professional sports today. The other few billion women on the planet would have agreed with that title, I assumed.

                “Do you always take so long to answer a question?” Archer motioned at me, waiting.

                “No,” I said, recalling the last question he’d asked me. Snap out of it. “I don’t think that you’re a  . . . manwhore,” I whispered the last part.

I’d had enough experience with the rumor mill to be a sympathetic party to the target of so many. Being one of the first and only female athletic trainers in professional sports had opened me up to a hundred rumors when I’d been hired. All versions of them had to do with me fucking my way into the position.

                “Good.” Archer nodded, seeming satisfied. “Because you certainly don’t seem like an idiot.”

                “Thanks?”

                He nodded again. “Welcome.”

                That was when the pilot’s voice echoed through the team jet, running through his usual spiel. We were leaving Tampa and heading up to Chicago. Now that the season was in full swing, I lost track of the cities we were leaving and the ones we were heading toward. All of my attention was focused on the players and getting them through the season as injury-free as possible.

                “I’m still waiting for that name, Doc.” Archer clicked his seat belt into place when one of the attendants stopped beside him, looking ready to strap it into place for him.

                When she saw mine unfastened, all I got was a lifted brow and a pointed finger before she moved on to the next aisle.

                “Oh, it’s okay. He’s not worth it.” I lifted my phone toward him before dropping it in the duffel bag I kept on hand at all times. Bandages, tape, painkillers, and a small cooler of ice packs were always at the ready whenever I was with the team. “Any guy who breaks up with someone via text message isn’t worth much.”

                “Really? Over text?” Archer’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the reason the ass-kicking was invented. For those types of guys.”

                I shrugged as the plane started to taxi down the runway, the interior lights dimming. “We haven’t even been together a month. Truthfully, it lasted longer than I thought it would. This kind of lifestyle”—I twirled my finger around the airplane—“makes it difficult to sustain a long-term relationship.”

                “That’s why I’m not a fan of them.”

                “Long-term relationships?”

                “Any kind of relationship,” he said.

                I nodded my understanding. The players had it worse than the team staff. At least in terms of having to question if a person was into them for who they were or because of their job, and the fame and money that came with it. 

                “I’m either practicing for a game, playing a game, recovering from a game, or fueling up and resting for a game. There’s not time for much else,” he said.

                Leaning into my armrest, I realized how strange it was to be having such an easy conversation with Luke Archer. It felt natural, not forced. Most of the players would take a moment to chat with me about something game-related, but I was still the new kid on the block. I felt like I had to pass some test before they’d accept me as a member of the team.

                Archer didn’t seem to be of the same mind though.

                “Yeah, I know. It’s like you need to find someone who can just travel with you wherever you go, right?” I said, thinking how much easier it would to be in a relationship with someone I got to see on a daily basis without two computer screens.

                “Exactly. Someone who understands the lifestyle. Appreciates the sacrifices you have to make.”

My head fell back into the headrest from the inertia of takeoff, but I could still feel Archer’s eyes on me. “Someone who understands that the job comes first. Someone who doesn’t get insecure or jealous or bent out of shape that they get the few precious minutes in between the job.”

                When my head turned toward him again, I found Luke Archer staring at me with a kind of intensity I hadn’t seen aimed my way in a long time. My breath caught, and even though the strength of his stare threatened to overwhelm me, I held his gaze.

                “Someone who understands the game. The commitment. The time. The sacrifice. Someone who’s as committed to it as you are.” One corner of his mouth twitched, carving a dimple into his cheek. “It’s not like you could ever expect to find a person like that sitting in the row across the aisle from you, right?”

 

 

 

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Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.

 

Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.

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