We are beyond excited to be celebrating the release of Donna Grant’s MY FAVORITE COWBOY with you today! MY FAVORITE COWBOY is the third book in Donna’s Heart of Texas series and it is available now. Links to purchase your copy can be found below.
About MY FAVORITE COWBOY:
New York Times bestselling author Donna Grant rounds up the hottest cowboys in Texas in her latest novel of no-holds-barred passion.
Audrey Martinez is a veterinarian who has devoted her whole life to the care and protection of horses—even if doing so leaves her little time for meeting a man. Who would have thought that a strange case of criminal horseplay would lead her to falling deeply, wildly in love? If only the man who makes her heart race faster than a wild mustang would let his guard down, that is. . .
Caleb Harper is no ordinary cowboy. Sure, he wears his hat, boots, and jeans like a second skin, and displays an easygoing charm that comes from years of working on the ranch. But with his military background, and Army buddies at his side, he is tried-and-true Texas tough. Audrey knows she can trust a man like Caleb to help her save horses. But can Caleb trust himself to resist his attraction to Audrey—or will the sparks of their desire end up getting them burned?
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Donna Grant has been praised for her “totally addictive” and “unique and sensual” stories. Her latest acclaimed series, Dark Kings, features a thrilling combination of dragons, Fae, and immortal Highlanders who are dark, dangerous, and irresistible. She lives with her two children and an assortment of animals in Texas.
Connect with her: Website / Facebook / Instagram / Goodreads
Owen Shaw and his “brothers” lost everything, their entire existence erased. Science had robbed he and all the Lost Boys of their memories and their past, but not their future. Hunted by every intelligence agency in the world, they are focused on two goals: find a cure for what was done to them and ensure that the technology that ruined their lives doesn’t get out into the world. Rebecca Walsh might be the key to achieving both. Owen has been studying her closely, living in her building, and he cannot resolve how such a beautiful, giving woman could have helped design the evil process that destroyed his past.
Dr. Rebecca Walsh has dedicated her life to researching the secrets of the mind. Her atmospheric rise in her field was fueled by the horror of watching her mother’s agonizing journey into madness at the hands of a disease with no cure. She vowed to never rest until she finds it. But obsession takes a heavy toll, and when Owen moves into her building she realizes how much of her life she has missed out on. Owen opens her eyes to a whole new world, filled with joy, laughter, and possibly love.
Owen and Rebecca grow closer, unraveling more about each other and the mysteries surrounding her connection to Hope McDonald. As the sinister forces working against the Lost Boys descend on Toronto, secrets long buried are uncovered that could shatter the bonds holding the Lost Boys together and cost Rebecca her life.
“Becca.” Owen’s voice was low. “Concentrate on me, on our conversation. You’ve done incredibly well. You’ve been able to hold it off, but this has gone on far longer than you ever should have been expected to handle it. This elevator is tight. I feel it, too, but we can hold off the anxiety together.”
She doubted very much the man in front of her was anxious. He looked solid, like the kind of man who took whatever came his way and simply dealt with it. He wouldn’t have needed two freaking years to figure out what he wanted. He would have signed his divorce papers and moved on, not hiding in his work.
It struck her forcibly that she might never have met a man like Owen Shaw. Her childhood had been fairly sheltered. She’d constantly been surrounded by intellectuals, men and women who were far more concerned with their work than anything else.
The ground beneath her shifted and the elevator dropped what felt like ten feet, but she knew in her head it was mere inches. Her heart rate tripled, and she grabbed on to the closest thing she could—him.
His arms went around her, holding her up, and she heard it. He was so tall that her head naturally rested on his chest, and she could hear his heart beating in rapid time.
He was nervous.
The phone rang and Owen cursed, reaching out to grab it. The shaft was so small, he didn’t have to let her go to grasp it.
“What the bloody hell is happening, Colin?”
She could hear his voice over the line. “Sorry. So sorry. We had to lower the shaft the tiniest bit. I should have warned you. It’s not going to fall. Just needed to reposition to get to the problem. Not long now. Another half an hour or so and I’ll have you right out of there.”
“If you do that again, do you know what I’m going to do to you, Colin?”
There was a pause over the line and she could practically hear Colin’s gulp. “Write my father a tersely worded letter of complaint?”
“No, I’m going to pull your heart out through your throat and then I’ll shove it back up your arse.”
“You sound very much like Liam Neeson in that movie.”
“Liam Neeson is Irish. I’m a Scot. I assure you what I’ll do to you will make you run into Liam Neeson’s arms and beg him to save you.” He reached back and hung up the phone with a resounding clang.
His arm went back around her. “It’s going to be all right. They’ll move faster now. So you’ve taken a sabbatical from men.”
She breathed him in, loving how he smelled. Were men supposed to smell so good?
She could feel herself relax as he held her. She’d known him for three hours. She shouldn’t let him hold her like this.
And why the fuck not? Because it wasn’t smart? Because he might think she wanted something she shouldn’t?
She was human. Why shouldn’t she want him? Because society told her that good girls didn’t make out with guys they’d just met in an elevator?
Society sucked, and she wasn’t a good girl. When her husband had tried to put his name on her work, she’d told him to fuck off and write his own paper. When he’d cheated on her, she’d walked away.
She was single.
God, was he single?
She stepped back.
“What’s wrong?” Owen asked.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
His lips curled up in the sweetest grin, as though he knew exactly why she was asking that question. “No, love. I don’t have a girlfriend and I don’t have a wife.”
He was single. She was single.
The moment lengthened between them.
He stepped back. “I’m sorry. I’m coming on way too strong.”
He wasn’t. He’d been gentlemanly, friendly. Up until the last couple of moments, he hadn’t put a hand on her or leered. She could feel his attraction. It was there in the warm way he looked at her, in the set of his shoulders, relaxed earlier and tense now that he’d touched her. He was thinking about the same thing she was.
“I’m very nervous, Owen. My logical mind knows that it’s far more likely for me to die getting hit by lightning than in an elevator, even one that’s stuck.” Unfortunately, her logical mind was slowly losing control of her dumbass lizard brain.
“Will talking help?” Owen asked. “Because I’m willing to do that. Or whatever you need to take your mind off things.”
There was a wealth of promise in those words. Dirty and sweet at the same time. They’d shared her wine, passing it back and forth between them, her lips touching the same place his had been moments before. When she’d drank after him, she’d thought about kissing him.
It had been too long. Two years was way too long to go without sex.
They had a half an hour or so. At least that’s what Colin—who might be murdered soon by Owen Shaw—said. She even thought his name was sexy.
What exactly would it hurt if she did kiss him? If she touched him and let him touch her? Hell, what would it hurt if she fucked him? They were both single, both a little needy. They had some time to kill. They’d done everything else.
“I would like to kiss you.” If he didn’t want her to, he could say no and they could find something else to do. She wasn’t going to be embarrassed because some guy didn’t want her. Some stunningly gorgeous guy. Some really funny, sexy guy. After all, she wouldn’t see him after this. She’d never seen him before. He’d told her he was moving in, but she went into work early and came home late. He was a bodyguard, so he likely worked odd hours and traveled a lot.
He was safe. She could open that door, enjoy herself, and then close it again. Owen Shaw could be her first really good memory in a long time, the start of many because it was time to get serious about finding some joy and balance in her life.
But only if he wanted some joy, too.
He moved back, placing his back against the elevator wall, the sweetest smile lighting up his face. “You have no idea how much I want you to kiss me. I’m right here, love. Do your worst.”
He was letting her make the first move. And probably the second. And the third. He was obviously a careful man. It would be easier if he took over, but he was right. This needed to be her choice, and she had to make the move.
She’d been the girl who’d told her parents at the age of five that kindergarten was boring and she wanted to move through the grades until she found something challenging. When they’d told her they wanted her to slow down and enjoy her childhood, she’d gone on strike until the teachers at her school begged her parents to let them move her up.
She was the girl who’d put it all on hold to take care of her mother, too.
She wasn’t the girl who didn’t take what she wanted, and she wanted Owen Shaw.
“It’s been a long time since I did this.” But her body was already heating up. Her body remembered. Her marriage might have sucked, but the sex had been fairly good. It had been the reason she’d married him. She’d gotten used to regular, good sex.
She’d get used to it again, just on her terms this time.
“Somehow, I think you’ll remember,” he said. “You play all you like. Stop when you want to.”
She’d been right about him. He was a careful man. “And if I don’t want to stop?”
“Then you should be happy I’m a man who believes in being prepared.”
NY Times and USA Today bestselling author Lexi Blake lives in North Texas with her husband, three kids, and the laziest rescue dog in the world. She began writing at a young age, concentrating on plays and journalism. It wasn’t until she started writing romance and urban fantasy that she found the stories of her heart. She likes to find humor in the strangest places and believes in happy endings no matter how odd the couple, threesome, or foursome may seem.
USA Today Bestselling
author, Elisabeth Grace, has a soft spot for romance novels with happily ever
afters and a hot spot for alpha males! She currently lives outside Toronto,
Canada with her hubby and two small children. Life is busy, but never too busy
for a good story and to share her love of reading and writing with others.
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 loves all thing romance and cries at happy
Not original content. Post reproduced with permission granted by Jonathan Bailey, from Plagiarism Today, where it was originally published.
Up until last week, Cristiane Serruya’s story seemed to be a compelling one for a romance authors to get behind.
After 22 years of practicing law, the Rio de Janeiro-based Serruya decided to take up then pen. After after 6-7 years of writing, had churned out more than 30 works and had one of her short stories published in a best-selling collection.
However, in less than 24 hours, all of that was gone.
As of this writing, her site is down, her books, though online, likely won’t be for long and all of her social media presences, including Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, have either been deleted of have fallen silent.
Like so many authors before her, Serruya had become the center of a rapidly evolving plagiarism scandal. It’s a scandal that’s left her reputation in complete tatters and made her a pariah among romance authors and readers alike.
However, what’s so amazing about this story isn’t just how quickly Serruya’s downfalls was, but her handling of it. It’s a rare situation where a plagiarist, once caught, managed to make the scandal worse not by denying the allegations, but by admitting to something that many see as even worse.
The post highlighted over a dozen passages where she alleged that Serruya had copied from her in Serruya’s book Royal Love. The passages ranged from short sentences with moderate rewriting to whole multi-paragraph sections that were near verbatim.
Soon, other authors, including Tessa Dare, as well as fans of the genre began noticing still more similarities. They began using the Twitter hashtag #CopyPasteCristo keep track of their findings and the discussion around it.
Dare was particularly engaged in the hunt, searching through Serruya’s work and finding more and more examples.
Through most of this, Serruya herself had been quiet. According to Serruya, it’s because she’d been asleep and was surprised to learn about the controversy when she woke up.
However, her response to the controversy after she learned about it may have ended up hurting her more than it helped (Serruya has since deleted her Twitter account, thus the reason for the screenshot of the tweet).
In short, she said that she was not responsible for the plagiarism. Instead, she put the blame on an unnamed ghostwriter she hired from the site Fiverr, a site that’s best known for enabling the hiring of low-cost freelancers.
Though some had suspected a ghostwriter much of the time the scandal was unfolding, others have remained skeptical, noting that Serruya has failed to identify who the person is or provide any proof, other than to say their Fiverr account is now closed.
But, even those who do tentatively believe Serruya often struggle to see why this confession is better.
This, in turn, sparked a new and separate debate about the use of ghostwriters in the genre. One with sharp opinions on both sides of the issue.
In the meantime, Serruya was busy shutting down much of her online presence. As of this writing, her website and Twitter are both offline. Though her Instagram and Facebook pages remain active, neither have new content nor do they have statements about the story.
Whether they stay up or not, it seems very unlikely that Serruya has any future in any literature field, let alone romance. Especially since others are continuing to work through her books and are finding more and more examples of plagiarism and more authors that she pulled from.
However, the story does raise a lot of interesting questions, some of which do not have simple answers.
Breaking Down the Plagiarism
Serruya’s plagiarism is about as straightforward as it gets. The many examples provided by Milan and others on Twitter showcase countless passages, some small and some large, that have been lifted from other romance authors, sometimes with rewriting and sometimes without.
As with many such plagiarism stories, the proof is in the quantity. One or two examples of similar passages could be explained as coincidence, cryptomnesia or simply taking too much influence. However, when you compile a list of this number of passages, many of great length, the evidence speaks for itself. No expertise needed.
There’s not much doubt that Serruya, or her ghostwriter(s), copied and pasted from a variety of other authors in field and provided no attribution. It’s also clear that the copying is extremely pervasive in the books and pulls from a large number of other authors. Without simply copying and pasting the whole book, it’s about as serious as such plagiarism can get.
The only real wrinkle in the case is Serruya’s explanation, that it was her ghostwriter.
That added an odd but important layer to this case and one that has to be explored separately.
The Battle Over Ghostwriters
Ghostwriters are, almost automatically, a divisive subject among readers and authors alike. Many authors shudder at the idea of ever using a ghostwriter. The thought of publishing someone else’s words under their name simply feels too dishonest.
However, the practice is common in publishing. In non-fiction writing, many, if not most, celebrity autobiographies are ghostwritten. This is also true for other kinds of books written by celebrities not known for their writing, including lifestyle books, cookbooks and so forth. This behavior is not just accepted, but expected much of the time.
But when dealing with fictional works, things get more complicated. Fiction is a wholly creative expression and people generally want to know who created the work much the same way they want to know who directed a film or made a painting.
Similarly, most of the works of Edward Stratemeyer (Hardy Boys) were produced as part of the Stratemeyer Syndicate, which employed ghostwriters to crank out the stories, including the Nancy Drew stories. The same is also true for the Baby-Sitters Club series of books, which had Ann M. Martin as the author for the first 35 but were then ghostwritten after that.
So when is it acceptable to employ a ghostwriter? It’s difficult, if not impossible, to say.
The reason is that it comes down to audience expectation. It can be difficult to know what the audience at large, let alone any single person, is expecting. Though hopefully not, it is theoretically possible someone could read this post and be completely unaware about V.C. Andrews, Edward Stratemeyer or Ann M. Martin even though they’ve all been open secrets for decades.
In short, I may be disappointing someone here.
One thing that is pretty consistent is that, when it is more accepted, it’s the publisher hiring the ghostwriter, not the author. Though Stratemeyer hired his own ghostwriters, he was also his own publisher and clearly saw himself as a publisher first. The ghostwriters that took up for Andrews and Martin were both hired by the publisher as are, in general, the ghostwriters for celebrities and their books.
That, in turn, is one of the key differences with Serruya. Serruya not only hired her own ghostwriter, but did so on Fiverr, a site dedicated to hiring low-cost freelancers for a wide variety of jobs. In short, it’s probably the least personal and least artistic way to hire a ghostwriter. It also shows the least amount of care.
Also, since Serruya hired the ghostwriter, it means she is completely and fully responsible for the plagiarism, just as if it were her own hand. She chose to become a romance “author”, she hired ghostwriters and published work under her name. She is responsible for what she puts out there, including plagiarism.
However, that’s perhaps the most bizarre thing about Serruya. No one forced her to become a romance author. She was an attorney for 22 years and began writing supposedly out of her love for the genre. Why would anyone become a romance author if they were just going to hire ghostwriters?
To that end, Jason Chu at Turnitin once said, “Plagiarism is about putting outcomes ahead of processes.” Simply put, Serruya valued the idea of being a romance author more than the process of writing romance books. That, in turn, is a big part of why so many find her admitted use of ghostwriters so offensive.
In short, it feels as if Serruya loves the idea of being a romance author but does not love or respect the genre itself. At least, not enough to write her own books.
In the end, it’s unlikely that Serruya will have any kind of literary career in the future. The plagiarism plus the admitted heavy use of ghostwriters means that there isn’t likely much hope for her future.
Likewise though, there likely isn’t much hope for litigation against her. With her being based in Brazil, any lawsuit against her will likely prove difficult, expensive and not worthwhile. The nature of this kind of plagiarism simply makes litigation impractical.
When it’s all said and done, the legacy of this story may not have anything to do with Serruya at all. This story shines a particularly ugly light on the world of modern self-publishing. While it’s enabled many authors to find an audience it’s also made it possible for people like Serruya to feign a career through plagiarism and/or ghostwriters.
In short, for authors like Serruya, publishing has become a quantity game rather than a quality one and they are going to great lengths to make it happen. It’s highly unlikely that Serruya is the only author, likely not even the only romance author, doing exactly this or even doing worse.
As such, this likely won’t be the last such revelation we see. It may simply be the first of many to come.
However, until the publishing industry changes, it’s unlikely that this particular bad behavior will go away.
If you want to read the original post, with all the screenshots, please visit https://www.plagiarismtoday.com/2019/02/20/the-cristiane-serruya-plagiarism-scandal/
For fans of Nicholas Sparks and Jodi Picoult… A soldier falls in love with his battle buddy’s sister through their letters and returns home from Afghanistan with a secret that could destroy their fragile relationship. Don’t miss THE LAST LETTER by Rebecca Yarros! Grab your copy today!
About THE LAST LETTER:
If you’re reading this, well, you know the “last-letter” drill. You made it. I didn’t. Get off the guilt train, because I know if there were any chance you could have saved me, you would have.
I need one thing from you: Get out of the army and get to Telluride.
My little sister Ella’s raising the twins alone. She’s too independent and won’t accept help easily, but she has lost our grandmother, our parents, and now me. It’s too much for anyone to endure. It’s not fair.
And here’s the kicker: there’s something else you don’t know that’s tearing her family apart. She’s going to need help.
So if I’m gone, that means I can’t be there for Ella. I can’t help them through this. But you can. So I’m begging you, as my best friend, go take care of my sister, my family.
“I cannot imagine a world without this story.” – Hypable
“A stunning, emotional romance.” – Jill Shalvis, NYT Bestselling Author
“Ella.” It was a plea to speak, to not speak. Hell, I didn’t know anymore.
“You don’t see me like that. I totally get it.” She reached for the TV remote.
“How exactly do I see you? Please, enlighten me.” I leaned forward, stealing the remote. She’d opened this box and had better well dish it.
She huffed in annoyance. “You see me as a mom. As Colt and Maisie’s mom. And of course you do, because that’s what I am. A mom with two kids.”
“Well, yeah,” I said. Her motherhood—that selfless devotion she had to her kids—was one of her most attractive attributes.
She rolled her eyes with a little sigh, and the metaphorical light bulb went off in my head.
“You don’t think I want you.”
She shot me a look that confirmed my guess and blushed the same crimson of her couch. “You know, you’re right. It’s late.” She faked a yawn. “Suuuuuuper late.”
“I want you.” Damn, it felt so good to say the words.
“Yeah, okay.” She gave me a goofy look and a thumbs-up. “Please don’t make me feel any more idiotic than I do right now.”
Yeah, enough of this bullshit.
I pounced in one smooth motion, taking her back to the couch, sliding over her as I gathered her wrists in one hand above her head and settled between her open thighs.
“Holy shit, you move fast.” There was no fear or rejection in her eyes, just surprise.
“Not in every arena,” I promised.
Her lips parted.
“Ella. I want you.”
“Beckett…you don’t have to.”
Yeah, that soft little sigh she did was going to be my undoing.
I let go of her wrists, letting my fingers trail down her arm until I had one hand weaving my fingers into the hair at the base of her scalp and the other at the curve in her waist.
“Feel this?” Then I slid forward, letting my dick stroke along the seam in her pajama pants hard enough for her to gasp at the contact. I couldn’t remember ever wanting to shred a piece of fabric so much in my life. “I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you.”
I moved again, and her eyes slid shut as she let loose the sweetest moan.
My dick throbbed, knowing everything I’d fantasized about for the better part of the last eight months was one decision away.
“Beckett.” Her hands found my biceps, her nails digging in.
“Don’t ever think that I don’t want you, because if things were different, I would have already been inside you. I would know exactly how you feel, and what you sound like, look like, when you come. I’ve thought about it at least a hundred different ways, and believe me, I’ve got a great imagination.”
She rocked her hips against me, and I locked my jaw to keep from giving her exactly what her body was asking for. “Ella, you have to stop.”
“Why?” she asked, her lips dangerously close to mine. “What do you mean if things were different?” Her eyes flew wide. “Is this because I have kids?”
“What? No. Of course not. It’s because you’re Ryan’s little sister.” Before I could do any more damage, I got the hell off her and sat back on my side of the couch.
“Because…I’m Ryan’s little sister,” she repeated, scooting so she sat upright, facing me. “And you think he’d, what? Haunt you?”
Three things: The letter. The cancer. The lie.
I repeated those in my head until I was certain I could look at her and not drag her back under me.
“When I was growing up, if I wanted something, I took it. Immediately. I had sex at fourteen with a girl in my foster home of the moment. I opened Christmas presents early if I was lucky enough to get one, and it was usually from my social worker or some charity.”
“I don’t understand.” She wrapped her arms around her knees again.
“I took it immediately because I knew if I didn’t, chances were I wouldn’t get it. It was a now-or-never kind of thing—there weren’t second chances.”
“I can’t touch you, can’t talk about it, because I’m afraid I’ll act on it.”
“And why does that matter if I want you to?”
“Because I won’t get a second chance. And I’m crap with people, with relationships. I’ve never had one that lasted more than a month. Never loved a woman I’ve slept with. And chances are I’d do something to screw this up, because it’s not just my dick that wants you, Ella.”
That O popped right back onto her face, and I closed my eyes to keep from lunging across the distance and kissing her. Knowing she’d let me—that she wanted it—sent my need from a bullet to a nuclear missile.
“And when I’d screw it up, because it would happen, trust me, it would hurt Colt and Maisie, too. You’d be on your own again, because there’s no chance you’d let me hang around and help you out like Ryan asked.”
“And there it is.”
“There it is. You’re Ryan’s little sister.”
“There were only five years between us. Not so little, you know.” She reached for the remote.
“I’m well aware.”
“So if Ryan were still alive…” She shot one last look at me.
I let everything slip for a millisecond, letting her see it all in my eyes, how badly I wanted her, and not just for her body. “Everything would be different.”
“Everything but the way I feel about you, which he probably would have killed me for. Where does that leave us?”
“You mean besides me being a dried-up spinster and you being honor-bound to a ghost?”
“Something like that.”
She rolled her head along the back of the couch, muttering something that sounded like a curse word under her breath. Then she sat up straight and powered on the TV with a click of her thumb. “That leaves us choosing a movie on demand. Because I’m not letting you walk out that door right now.”
“Nope. You walk out now, you might get all weird about this and not come back. Honor is a fabulous thing, but sometimes pride can be a lot stronger, especially when you convince yourself it’s for the good of the other person.”
Damn, the woman knew me.
“So movie it is,” I agreed. “Just…stay on your side of the couch.”
“I wasn’t the one who crossed the center line,” she teased with a smile that got me hard all over again.
Movie chosen, we sat and watched, both of us stealing sideways glances. There was that saying…the horse out of the barn. Yeah, the horse was out of the barn, and it wasn’t going back in. Not no way. Not no how.
That horse was running amok and screwing with my carefully constructed control.
But I didn’t complain when she moved over. Or when she pressed against my side. Nope. I lifted my arm and savored the feel of her curves, her trust. Still didn’t complain when she lay down in my arms. Hell no, I held on and memorized every second.
“This story gripped me from start to finish. The Last Letter is poignant, heartfelt and utterly consuming. I loved it!” – Mia Sheridan, NYT Bestselling Author
“Hands down, the best book I’ve read all year.” – Fic Wishes
The Montgomery Ink: Colorado Springs series continues with a couple fighting to keep what they thought they had and gain what they didn’t know they needed.
Roxie Montgomery met her soul mate when she least expected it. When he asked her to marry her, she thought her happily ever after was only just beginning. Then, she found that walking into the sunset was much harder than her favorite books made it out to be. After a crushing loss, she feels as though she doesn’t know her husband anymore, or rather…she doesn’t know herself.
Carter Marshall has loved Roxie since the first time he saw her. But as the days pass between them, so does the distance. He doesn’t know how to show her that he’s all in, and honestly doesn’t know if she’s in at all. When an accident changes everything, they’ll have to decide if what they have can be salvaged, or if starting over is the answer. Or even possible.
Without fighting, without a true new beginning, sometimes, the remnants of what was lost can leave anyone jagged, shells of what they were before. It will take more than the idea of forever for Roxie and Carter to find themselves again, but as the Montgomerys know, nothing worth fighting for is easy.
Carrie Ann Ryan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary and paranormal romance. Her works include the Montgomery Ink, Redwood Pack, Talon Pack, and Gallagher Brothers series, which have sold over 2.0 million books worldwide. She started writing while in graduate school for her advanced degree in chemistry and hasn’t stopped since. Carrie Ann has written over fifty novels and novellas with more in the works. When she’s not writing about bearded tattooed men or alpha wolves that need to find their mates, she’s reading as much as she can and exploring the world of baking and gourmet cooking.
Today we have the blog tour for Hayley Faiman’s Convict! Check it out and grab your copy today!
Author: Hayley Faiman
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Guilty. ExCon. Felon. Prisoner. Criminal.Words that now represent me. Words that keep any decent person away from me. I never gave much thought to words before now. Slut. Hussy. Whore. Homewrecker. Jezebel.Words that now reflect me. Words that will stay indefinitely. The evidence of those words grow inside of me. Those Words make the entire town assume they are vindicated to use them. I am wrong. They are right.
should push him away. I should tell him to stop. I should do a lot of things. I
don’t do any of them. What I do is press my palms against his hard chest and
moan a little louder. Rylan’s fingers grip my hips and I wish they would move
lower, or higher. I wish they would roam all over my body. I know his rough
calloused fingers are going to feel amazing against my skin.
I breathe when he breaks the kiss slowly. He nibbles on my bottom lip, as
though he doesn’t want to pull away from me, and I don’t want him to. Not ever.
grunts. “I shouldn’t have done this.”
my hands, I wrap them around his biceps, afraid he’s going to walk away from
me, afraid he’s going to turn around and leave. I didn’t think it was possible
to want a man I barely know. I want him, though. I want all of him, and I want
up at him, I blink a few times and inhale deeply before letting it out on a
sigh. “I shouldn’t either, but here we are. Don’t go,” I beg.
light brown eyes search my own. I don’t know what he sees in my gaze, but
whatever it is, he nods. He makes a decision, internally. He doesn’t voice it,
whatever it is, and I’m too nervous to ask him what it could be. I gasp when he
leans down, his face moving closer to mine and he nips my bottom lip.
myself I wouldn’t touch you. Swore it, in fact,” he informs me.
my bottom lip, my eyes staying focused on his. “But?” I chance.
fucking liar,” he exhales. “A goddamn liar.” He wraps his arm around my thighs,
beneath my ass and picks my feet up off of the ground.
About the Author:
I was born and raised in a small farming town in California. I met my husband when I was 16 and he was 19. We married four years later and have two little boys! We lived in Oregon for a few years while he served in the US Coast Guard.
Texas is now where we call home, where our boots rest, and where we’re raising our two little boys and a chocolate lab named Optimus Prime.
I first noticed him in Lover’s Landing coffee house simply because he was a hot guy wearing a cowboy hat. But then… as I came back each morning for coffee, I started to notice he did the exact same routine, at the exact same time, every single day. I’ve determined from the coffee-to-go he orders, that his name is Holden. The other patrons, who are all locals of Love, Georgia, seem to know and understand whatever it is Holden does each morning. They leave him alone to his routine, and his table. Every single day.
Until this day. This Valentine’s Day that I decide to sit at his table and see where the fireworks go. And yes, he’s annoyed… but eventually he sits with me at his special table, because for some reason it’s that important to him. I know there are reasons behind the routine. This precise ritual. What or why, I have no idea, but finding out—now—seems like just the thing to do while I’m in Love.
Little do I expect, the journey into the why behind Holden’s routine also starts to become the why behind how deeply I start to care for him, and why I don’t want to leave Love. But the why is also the greatest obstacle to there ever being more than just morning coffee for us.
Today we’re celebrating the release of BREAKING THE SINNER, the fourth book in The Breaking Series, by Ember Leigh. Check it out and get your copy now!
About BREAKING THE SINNER
She picked the name Gen.
As an evangelical exile who fled her community only to land in LA, Genevieve couldn’t be greener. Armed with a list of experiences she’s eager to live, it serves as her compass in the choppy waters of normal society. Until she meets Cobra. There’s nothing normal about the resident gym bad boy who struts around like he could undress her with his eyes alone.
And he goes by Cobra.
Cobra knows better than to believe in blessings. Snagging this stable job at Holt Body Fitness is the only break of luck he’s had since his life took a nosedive as a teen, but it’s just a matter of time before this goes downhill too. Which is why when ultra-innocent Gen stumbles onto his bleak path, he’s eager for the distraction provided by the oblivious bombshell. He can help her live her list—but only so far. Because Cobra’s only good at being temporary.
They both have lives they left far behind them.
Setting three months to wade through Gen’s list of sins, the two of them plunge headfirst into something equals parts sizzling and intense. As Cobra inches nearer to securing his permanent spot at the gym, he comes even closer to a scary new reality. One that might be too good to be true. One that will force him to choose between the only family he’s ever known, and the one thing he swore to never need: love.
Ember Leigh has been writing erotic romance novels since she was far too young. A native of northern Ohio, she currently resides near Lake Erie with her Argentinean husband, where they run an Argentinian-American food truck. In addition to romance novels, Ember also writes travel memoirs and occasionally updates a couple of blogs. In her free time, she practices Ashtanga yoga, hops around the world, and eats lots of vegetables.