Shameless by Nina Lemay Release Day

Publication Date: August 18th 2014

Synopsis via Goodreads:

~New Adult Contemporary Romance -- recommended for mature readers~

Girls like me don’t get happy endings.

I know what I am. At worst a cliché, at best a cautionary tale. I put an international border between me and my past, only to wind up working in a low-end titty bar. Even my excuse is as lame as it gets: I’m paying for college, getting my art degree from Montreal’s most prestigious school. Although some days it becomes confusing: am I just a student who moonlights as a stripper, or a stripper who masquerades as a student?

But the inevitable happens and my two lives collide. And now there’s one other person who knows both the quiet, antisocial Hannah and the sensual, shameless Alicia. One person who keeps my secret.

He’s beautiful, he’s sophisticated. He comes from the other side of life, the one where I’m not wanted or accepted. But he calls me la petite Américaine, and his hot, hot hands on my skin promise me things I long ago gave up on.

The problem? He teaches my Classic Photography class.

This is a standalone novel, no series, no cliffhanger.

Excerpt:

His hand slides, hesitant, across the edge of his seat as he leans closer. The black ink of the letters on his knuckles is stark against his skin.

“Show me,” I say.

And he kisses me. Our lips don’t meet smooth and choreographed like in movies. The stubble on his cheek grazes the corner of my mouth, leaving behind a burning trail, and then his lips cover mine. Nothing hesitant about them. Assertive, self-assured like I thought his kiss would be, the promise of those strong hands and broad shoulders and arrogant posture made real. But he’s anything but arrogant. He gently nips on my lower lip and his hands caress my neck, my jaw, cup my face. He’s holding me like I’m something fragile and precious.

I’m afraid to close my eyes.

He has that lavender scent, sharp and clean, with a note of wild muskiness lurking underneath when you get close enough—that note that’s just him. I don’t know what to do with my hands so I slip them under his jacket and put them on his waist, right above his belt. I finally start to sketch out what his body looks like under his shirt: sinewy and fit and hard.

His hands finally move on, mirroring mine, down to my bare belly exposed by my cropped top. The little hairs along my spine stand on end. An involuntary shudder courses through me, making my abs tighten and quiver. His hand finds the small of my back and settles there, guiding me forward with smooth confidence, pulling me toward him. The heat of his palm melts through my skin into my bones and up my spine, softening my muscles until my entire body feels like hot wax held together by a membrane of skin. I tuck my hand under his belt, just the fingertips—past the hem of his shirt where the pads of my fingers find hot, smooth skin over taut muscle.

He groans softly into my mouth. I lean in and slide onto his lap, barely aware that I’m clambering over a car seat. It’s just so smooth and natural, the grooves of our bodies clicking together like a jigsaw puzzle. His hands on my waist, spreading goosebumps all over my belly, up my back and down my arms; then they move up, up, under my top, stopping when they find my bra. Pausing, hesitant.

I kiss my way along his jaw and his neck, peel away the collar of his shirt to continue down his clavicle. His hand settles over my bra and I can feel its heat through the fabric, a tiny little jolt of sensation that lights up my nerve endings like a Christmas tree.

My mind floats up, under the closed sunroof of the Audi, and watches me from there, impassive. I’m aware of everything I’m doing, too aware, but I don’t stop. My body continues like an automaton, the lips, the hands, performing the motions. Like I’m a car on cruise control, easing into the familiar mode. I know what happens next.

A part of me, very deep down, hopes I don’t.

Only one way to find out.

I go for his belt buckle, find it, tug on it. It yields with a soft clink.

And just as I’m about to stick my hand down his pants, he pulls away.

“’Annah,” he pants. His hand slips out from under my shirt and dives down to catch my wrist. His fingers wrap around my wrist bone, strong and firm.

Maybe it’s the touch that zaps me back into my body, disrupts my functioning. The false step that throws off the whole routine, the bad note that ruins the aria.

“What?” I whisper. My body’s nerves settle into normal mode one by one.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“This isn’t right. This is… overstepping.”

I sit back. I’m still balancing with my shins on his legs—kind of like at work when I lean in, my hair brushing over a customer’s face, and ask in a seductive whisper if he wants another dance.

I blink at him in utter dismay. Thrown off. Tossed overboard into unfamiliar territory and I don’t know what to do.

But I want to be doing this, I start to say. We aren’t doing anything wrong. “I’m attracted to you,” he says. His voice still holds a hint of breathlessness. “But then again, you already knew that.”

“But I’m—” I’m attracted to you too. This much should be obvious.

“I know,” he says softly. He lets go of my wrist and instead takes my hand between his hot, hot palms. He brings it to his lips. “But this isn’t right.” 

Buy Links:

Amazon | Smashwords | Amazon UK

~~ I am so excited for Shameless. I cannot wait to read this. ~~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nina Lemay is a YA writer by day and author of sinfully twisted New Adult…well, also by day. She loves all things dark and edgy and never tires of tormenting her characters. While Nina is a fan of all things scary, Gothic, and fantastic, she doesn’t shy away from a gritty contemporary romance when the muse strikes. She lives in Montreal, a city that never fails to inspire, with her partner and her dog.

ninalemay.com | twitter.com/NinaLemay

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What do you think of Shameless??

Katy Evans' Rogue

Katy Evans' Rogue...

Release Date: July 29, 2014

Links: Amazon

BN

iTunes

The doors burst open and a couple walks inside, soaking wet, the woman shaking her damp loose hair, laughing.

“Omigod!” I cry, my stomach plummeting when I realize it’s fucking raining.

I run to the door when a man grabs the handle with a black-gloved hand and gallantly pulls it open for me. I almost stumble outside, and he grips my elbow to steady me. “Easy,” he says in a rolling voice as he steadies me on my feet, and I blink desperately across the street at the light blue Mustang. All I have in my name. All I have to sell because I desperately need the money and who will want it now? It’s a convertible and a little old, but it’s as cute as it is unique, with white interior seats to match the tent top. But now it’s outside in this rain, with its top down, becoming my very own Titanic with wheels.

My entire life is sinking right with it.

“I assume by that sad puppy-dog look on your face that that’s your car,” the rolling voice says.

I helplessly nod and lift my eyes to the stranger. A flash of thunder cuts through the distance, illuminating his features.

And I can’t speak.

Or think.

Or breathe.

His eyes grab me and won’t let go. I stare into their depths while also registering that his face is stunning. Hard jaw, high cheekbones, strong forehead. His nose is classic, sleek and elegant; and the lips beneath are full and curved, firm and . . . god, he’s edible. His dark hair flips playfully in the wind. He’s tall and broad shouldered and dressed in dark slacks and a dark turtleneck that makes him look both elegant and dangerous.

But his eyes.

They’re an indecipherable color, but it’s not the color, it’s the stare, the incredible shine. Framed with thick black lashes, his eyes shine as brilliant as the brightest lights I’ve ever seen. As they quietly assess my features in return, those narrowed eyes feel as powerful as X-rays, and they seem to be sparkling especially because I—me—have somehow done something to amuse this man, this . . . fuck, I have no name for him. Except Eros. Cupid himself. God of love. In the flesh.

I used to think Cupid used an arrow but I don’t feel as if I’ve been pierced by an arrow. I feel like I’ve been hit. By a rocket.

As I keep standing here, floored by the over six feet of total hotness before me, he grabs my keys from me with one gloved hand and puts his other free one on my hip to hold me in place. And I feel it. I feel the touch race down my hips, knotting in my stomach, pulsing in my sex, straight down my thighs, curling my toes. “Stay here,” he says into my ear, then he pulls up the collar of his turtleneck until it becomes a hood in the back, and he runs across the street.

I watch him head to where my car is getting soaked. The wind whips through the streets so hard, I have to use both hands to try to flatten my skirt so it doesn’t fly up to my middle.

“Put the top on!” I force myself to yell through the pounding rain, suddenly as determined as he is to save my car.

“Princess, I got this!” He leaps into the front seat, turns on the car, and the top starts coming up until it . . . doesn’t.

It gets stuck.

After a squeal of protest, the fucker starts coming back down.

“ARGH, SHIT!” I hurry into the street and suddenly the drops of rain bombard me like little cannon balls, soaking me in a second. I swear I want to yell Fuck you! at them. My car, the one thing in my life that hasn’t been shit on, is being ruined and I want to scream.

“Are you kidding me? Get under the roof!” The guy leaps out and then pulls off his sweater in one quick jerk. He spreads the material over my head, using it to shield me from the rain while he herds me back to the small awning over the building entry.

“No! I’ll help you. My precious car!” I cry and push at his chest, trying to get him to back off, but he’s a head taller and built of steel.

“I’ve got your car,” he promises. He hands me his soaked turtleneck and adds, “Hold this,” before he runs back out.

He’s wearing a white crewneck undershirt, and it clings to his sculpted torso as he tries to manually override and pull the top of my car back in place.

Raindrops sluice down his bare arms, the soaked cotton of his shirt plastered down on his chest, revealing every muscle in existence. Fuck. He’s off-the-charts gorgeous; he just broke my Man Hotness Radar. I can’t take my eyes off every inch of his body or the way it moves.

Thunder shakes the city again when he finally latches the top of my car on and signals for me to come over. He opens my car door from the inside, and I hurry into the passenger seat and shut it behind me.

My cold, slick clothes cling against my skin while he sits behind the wheel, looking big and manly, and suddenly we’re ensconced in the small, almost cramped interior of my car. The seats are flooded with water, and when I shift to face him a little, I hear a squish that makes my cheeks burn in embarrassment.

“I can’t believe this,” I whisper. “My best friend tells me I’m the only idiot with a convertible in Seattle.”

His eyes are openly amused. “I dig your car.” He reaches out to the dashboard, and the hand he runs over it is covered in an elegant lambskin glove that makes my skin prick with goose bumps. He shifts his big torso in my direction with an irresistibly devastating grin. “Everything wet gets dry; don’t worry, princess.”

I can hardly take the way he says wet.

Or the way a raindrop clings to his dark eyelashes. Water sluices down his tanned, corded arms. His hair is slicked back, enhancing the beautiful face he has. I have seen works of art and beautiful men, beautiful buildings and beautiful rooms, but at this moment as he looks at me, I can’t remember ever seeing anything besides him.

He’s a ten. I’ve never, ever, been with a ten. And the way that he looks at me . . . I’ve seen that look before. The look that Remington Tate gives Brooke. That look. He’s giving it to me and I’m dying inside. Can I die from one look? And if one look can kill me, then what would one touch do?

“So,” he says softly, his voice textured. He waits a little before speaking again, and it surprises me that he still only looks at my face, not my wet chest, not my bare legs—he’s looking at nothing but my eyes while absently stroking the circle of my steering wheel.

“Want to go somewhere with me?” he asks, then reaches out with his free wet black glove to brush my hair back behind my ear.

What I feel is so far beyond lust, I can hardly answer him.

I tremble. “Yes,” I say, dizzied with want.

Katy Evans' Social Media Links:

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Release Day: La Cosa Nostra by Amie Nichols

Happy Release Day to Amie Nichols!

La Cosa Nostra, This Thing of Ours (a contemporary romance standalone novel) is live!

Blurb:

Harper Troy, like most students, was working her way through college barely making it by. She hears about an opening at a well known gentlemen’s club, The Guardian, ran by a very well known Chicago Family, the Tarseta’s. Even though the uniform is very revealing and the other waitresses are catty bitches, the money is worth it. Until she meets the youngest Tarseta, Liam. He’s Chicago’s most eligible bachelor and drop dead gorgeous. She feels an instant attraction. Being a known playboy, Harper fights the attraction and his advances. Liam has his eyes on Harper the moment he sees her. Being different and not falling for his charms, he is determined to break her down. But Harper refuses to be another notch on his bed post. Just when Liam is breaking down Harper’s barriers, he learns some shocking news that changes everything. Can he make her see they are meant to be together, or will he lose her forever?

Purchase La Cosa Nostra on Amazon!

Amazon US

Amazon UK

About Amie

I live in Iowa with my amazing, supportive husband. He is my rock and my king, and treats me like all woman should be treated. (Like a spoiled Queen.) I have two miniature dachshund's that are my babies, and they love to keep me company when I am writing away on my next WIP. I'm about to publish my 6th book, and can hardly believe how my life has changed. I'm called an author, and still can't believe it. I've have met some amazing woman on my journey so far, and have learned so much. (Sometimes the hard way.) I've been like a sponge soaking up all the information I can on how the publishing world works. It's been a rollercoaster ride so far with its ups and its downs. No matter what, I will never regret anything I've done. You can't succeed if you don't try, and if you don't try you won't succeed. One of my favorite quotes "If the dream is big enough the facts don't matter". Some other info about me, I love my family, friends, wine and anything caffeinated. I also love writing HEA. For the same reason I won't watch a movie that I know will make me cry, (with the exception of Steel Magnolias) I will never write a book without a HEA. There might be a few twists and turns, a cliffhanger or two. But ultimately my stories will leave you feeling warm and fuzzy inside. For me, reading is entertainment, a way to escape this crazy insane world. If a book leaves me feeling sad, mad or gut wrenched, it is not for me. There is enough gut-wrenching sadness in this world, I don't need to read about it too. I started writing 3 years ago, and have no plans on stopping. So keep your eye on me because with the help of some amazing people and my wonderful fans, this girl is going to be on the New York Times best selling list someday.

Connect With Amie

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Thank you to all of the kickass awesome blogs who have helped spread the word about Amie's newest release. Keep an eye out for the blog tour coming soon with tons of reviews and an awesome giveaway for you amazing readers.

Lotus Petals Three Day Release

New Release!!

Book Info-

Title: Lotus Petals

Author : Brantwijn Serrah

Genre: Paranormal/Historical/Erotic Romance

Audience: Adult

Formats: E-book

Publisher: Breathless Press

Cover By: Victoria Miller

Editor: Jayne Wolf

Pages: 235 pages

Expected Date of Publishing: Jan 17, 2014

Blurb-

Aijyn, human slave to a ruthless vampire Lord, would never dare do anything to incur his wrath. Then, she fell in love... with his bride.

Book Links-

Breathless Press / Goodreads / Amazon / ARE / Bookstrand

Excerpt-

Three vampires rested in the room occupied by the captain of the daimyo’s hunting party—all three of them awoke instantly when the little human oiran threw back the screen, shouting at them in furious Japanese. Without waiting for them to move, she strode boldly across the little space to come eye-to-eye with the captain himself as he struggled to come to his feet. At first they were so stunned by the mortal’s appearance none of the three knew what to do: Kazuo, the captain, finally registered her shrill accusations.

"You would poison the daimyo’s honored guest?" she shouted at him. "You would drug her with octopus venom and then humiliate her?"

Coming to his senses—they were slower in the daytime, vampires—Kazuo brought his hands down on her shoulders and lifted her off her feet. The sudden movement reminded her she had stepped into a tiger’s den—she stiffened in his grasp and sucked in a fearful breath.

"Since when does the human come into my rooms uninvited?" he snarled. Fear shook her—she fully expected he would hurt her, and rightfully so—but she did not give off.

"Rhiannon Donovan has drunk the venom of the blue-ring octopus," she said, her voice quavering but still strong. "Your huntsmen use it to paralyze and kill—one of them drugged the human she hunted, and she swallowed it with his blood!"

"You dare charge my men with such a disgraceful act? And for a gaijin slut?"

"What’s going on here?"

Kazuo looked up; his two servants followed his glance. In the doorway stood Nagisa, tall and elegant, wrapped in the gauzy silk of her azure sleeper’s yukata—she, too, must have been roused by the sound of Aijyn’s screams. Her cold eyes regarded each of them carefully.

"Aijyn," she said, the curiosity in her tone edged with danger. "What do you mean by disturbing the captain during his daytime rest?"

Kazuo shot a dangerous and warning glare at the human oiran, but Aijyn ignored it, desperate with fear.

"Nagisa-sama, the Councilwoman’s noble emissary was betrayed last night during the hunt," she said quickly; she’d never imagined one day it might be Nagisa, of all people, to save her from the fangs of an angry vampire.

"Rhiannon drank the blood of a human poisoned with octopus venom, and now she lies in her rooms injured and sick. They took her hair, Nagisa-sama! They’ve shorn her like a...like a rag boy!"

Nagisa’s poisonous eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line like the blade of a knife.

"Kazuo," she said, the word like a stone dropping into an empty well. "Put Aijyn down."

Kazuo stared, incredulous, at the graceful tayu. When he did not immediately comply, Nagisa strode into the room and grabbed him by the throat.

"Why, Kazuo-san," she growled sweetly. "I had no idea you had already become so bored with immortality. Seventy-three years, if I recall, and already you wish for our master to release your soulless carcass into oblivion."

Amazingly, Kazuo slowly backed down, quietly letting Aijyn go while his eyes remained furiously on Nagisa. His servants watched with silent awe as Nagisa continued, never breaking her hold on the captain’s neck.

"Aijyn-chan, you are surely aware you will suffer greatly, should this accusation prove false," the tayu said.

"I am quite sure of it, Nagisa-sama," Aijyn replied, bowing low. "I have heard the captain and his hunting party speak of the blow-darts they use to sting their human prey with the toxin. Kazuo-san has said the poison stings kin-born vampires as well; I am quite sure Rhiannon has swallowed it, and what reduced her to helplessness while her clothes were torn and her hair cut off."

"Please return to the rooms of our guest. Attend to her carefully—be sure these men did not force themselves on her body, as well. I will deal with Kazuo, and send word to the daimyo of this dishonorable conduct."

Aijyn felt cold all through her, and a dizzy giddiness swept through her mind. She had not even considered what she did—storming into one of the vampire’s nests!—and now she felt weak in the stomach. How had she even survived it?

Nagisa’s words echoed in her head: make sure the men had not forced themselves on Rhiannon’s body. How could she not have considered it or checked for signs of it, to see if Rhiannon had also been raped by these monsters?

"Aijyn-chan," Nagisa said again. Shaken from her daze, she nodded. Then she slipped quickly out of the room and found herself running, again, for Rhiannon.

Book Trailer -

About the Author –

Sometime in early 2009, Brantwijn Serrah ran across an erotic novel in her local Barnes and Noble, and fell in love with the gorgeous geisha pictured on the cover. Sad to say, the book didn't live up to expectations. After one too many iterations of the phrase "his most honorable penis", Brantwijn decided to write her own story instead. The idea for Lotus Petals, the tale of a geisha seduced into the world of vampires, was born.

When she isn't visiting the worlds of immortals, demons, dragons and goblins, Brantwijn fills her time with artistic endeavors: sketching, painting, customizing My Little Ponies and sewing plushies for friends. She can't handle coffee unless there's enough cream and sugar to make it a milkshake, but try and sweeten her tea and she will never forgive you. She moonlights as a futon for four lazy cats, loves tabletop role-play games, and can spend hours watching Futurama, Claymore or Buffy the Vampire Slayer while she writes or draws.

In addition to Lotus Petals, Brantwijn has had several stories published in anthologies by Breathless Press, including the 2013 Crimson Anthology and 2014 Ravaged Anthology.  She's also had a short story published in the Cleiss Press Big Book of Orgasm, and hopes to have several more tales to tell as time goes on.  She has author pages on GoodReads and Amazon and loves to see reader comments on her work. Her short stories occasionally pop up at Foreplay and Fangs, her blog at http://brantwijn.blogspot.com.

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I am very excited for this novel. I love the cover and I will be reading this book sometime soon.