Monday, June 18, 2018

Out Now—Shopping for A Billionaire’s Baby (Book 13 in the Shopping series) by Julia Kent #Comedy #Romance


You know what's even better than marrying a billionaire? Having his baby.

We're ready. We've studied and planned, read all the birth and labor books, researched parenting classes, consulted our schedules, and it's time.

And by we I mean me.

Declan's just ready for the "have lots of sex" part. More than ready.

But there's just one problem: my husband and his brother have this little obsession with competition.

And by little, I mean stupid.

That's right.

We're not just about to try to bring a new human being into the world.

We have to do it better, Faster, Stronger.


McCormick men don't just have babies.

They engage in competitive billionaire Babythons.

I thought the hardest part about getting pregnant would be dealing with my grandchild-crazed mother, who will go nuts shopping for a billionaire's baby.


Between conception issues, my mother's desire to talk to the baby through a hoo-haw cam, a childbirth class led by a drill sergeant and a father-in-law determined to sign the kid up for prep school before Declan even pulls out, my pregnancy has turned out to be one ordeal after the other.

But it's nothing -- nothing -- compared to the actual birth.

Shopping for a Billionaire's Baby is the newest book in Julia Kent's New York Times bestselling romantic comedy series and is a 400+ page full-length novel.


“This conception stuff has you thinking. Philosophically, I mean,” Andrew notes, suddenly paying close attention to me.

“Of course. It’s powerful.”

“How? It’s just sex.”

I snort. “I thought so, too. Until I had sex where I tried to get her pregnant on purpose.”

Vince, Gerald, and Andrew all take a step closer to me.

“Bareback,” Vince whispers, like the word itself is holy.

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Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.


Saturday, June 16, 2018

Capital Offense by J.R. Gray (Bound Series) #Gay #BDSM @EvernightPub

Title: Capital Offense

Series: Bound

All good things must come to an end.

George is trying to hold his world together, but it’s crumbling and he doesn’t know who he’s even fighting anymore. All the people he loves are suffering because of him.

Jesse is shattering because he can’t provide what George needs.

Elliot is broken perhaps beyond repair.

Zac is ruined by his own doing and isn’t fit to be what Elliot needs him to be.

There is no soothing light at the end of this tunnel. The reckoning is coming and not even George can protect them from the monster of his past. They are splintering, trying to avoid the flames, but they must come together or become ashes. 

George picked up the container of sterile needles he’d been saving so Jesse could see them. “This will be a little like a tattoo.”
“Oh God. You’re so close to my dick.”
“If you hold perfectly still there is a good chance none will even come close to your cock, unless of course you want me to pierce it for you.”
Jesse picked up his head. “Can you do that?”
He pursed his lips. “I’m going to think about that one.”
“Don’t think on it too long.”
“Why not?” Jesse laid his head back down and let his arms go limp.
“Because if I don’t get an answer, I’m going to assume you approve.”
Jesse’s eyes shot back open. “You know what they say about assuming?”
“That it’s a perfectly acceptable thing for a dominant to do when his submissive is gagged?”
“But I’m not gagged…”
“You easily can be.” George pulled the pink ball gag halfway out of his pocket so Jesse could see it.
“I think I’ll wait on the piercing until we both discuss the pros and cons, Sir,” Jesse said as politely as George had ever heard come out of his mouth.
“Acceptable,” George said as he pushed the first needle into the tender skin on Jesse’s inner thigh.
“Holy fuck. Getting a tattoo there would be a whole lot different than on my neck.”
“If you can make it to fifty needles there will be a reward.”
“God help me.”
“You’re going to need it.”

Author Bio: When not staying up all night writing, J.R. Gray can be found at the gym where it's half assumed he is a permanent resident to fulfill his self-inflicted masochism. A dominant and a pilot, Gray finds it hard to be in the passenger seat of any car. He frequently interrupts real life, including normal sleep patterns and conversations, to jot down notes or plot bunnies. Commas are the bane of his existence even though it's been fully acknowledged they are necessary, they continue to baffle and bewilder. If Gray wasn't writing…well, that's not possible. The buildup of untold stories would haunt Gray into an early grave, insanity or both. The idea of haunting has always appealed to him. J.R. Gray is genderqueer and prefers he/him pronouns.


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Friday, June 15, 2018

The Black Hand by Jonathan Dunne #Mystery @Tirgearr ‏

Thank you so much for inviting me on your blog. I’m happy to tell you a little of what I’ve been writing lately.

Time and time again we meet the burnout degenerate cop with a heart of gold. In my novel, Curtis Jackson is a perfectly loving husband with a penchant for junk food and a wife he adores. Is he perfect? Nope! He regularly assaults convicts, breaks their limbs and will resort to violence without a moment’s Blurred Lines of cops and criminals. The Black Hand at it’s heart is a mystery. However, intertwined in the story – as always – is the moral compass in the form of law enforcement.

Buckley is up against a tactical mastermind and a criminal genius. Where Jacob kills with stealth, Curtis uses a bulldozer. The Black Hand is a secretive mercenary with lairs of planning within every move and Curtis is a wrecking ball – smashing and maiming as he goes.

Believe me, anybody that thinks the police are ‘holier than thou’ is very much mistaken. The criminal environment can be all encompassing and to catch a criminal you must think like one. Buckley is from the streets as most of his prey. His back story is one of bullying and victimisation at the hands of local criminals. In some areas of Dublin, the very notion of a local joining the police force is heresy. Law enforcement are the enemy and Curtis Buckley embraces his stigma with glee.

It is the policeman’s tenacity that makes him formidable – he is the long-distance runner who will die before he stops. Curtis understands the violence. He has a sense of the streets and subtle shifts in power as the criminal’s fight for control. He even respects some of the killers because he understands they world they inhabit, and he is also desensitised to the violence of this dark world.

Here’s an extract from the book;
Excerpt from The Black Hand.
The house was empty when he arrived, and he poured himself a cold glass of coke before heading for the basement. His tools were there, and he needed to add a layer of sponge to the handles of his crutches.
Buckley was awkwardly cutting the tape with a blade when he heard the shuffle behind him. 
‘Are you looking for me?’ asked Jacob.
In a flash, Buckley had the blade at his throat. ‘My fucking home? You know the rules motherfucker!’
‘Your limp has deserted you,’ replied Jacob.
‘My home?’
‘You’re being tailed. I had no choice.’
‘You know what I do to criminals who break the rules,’ stated Buckley.
‘If it makes you feel better, go ahead.’
They were millimetres from each other. Neither man seemed perturbed when the blade drew blood. 
‘I should butcher you.’
‘I'll be butchered eventually. It’s all a question of timing, Buckley.’
There was nothing behind Jacob’s eyes. No fear, no joy, no warmth, and no consideration for the danger he faced. Buckley had his left hand wrapped around Jacob’s neck and his left pressed the blade against the jugular. He could feel Jacob’s pulse; it was steady.
‘I'm bringing you in, Jacob,’ he replied, as he dropped the blade.
‘Yes, you are…but not yet.’
‘I won't let you kill again.’
‘I've no intentions of killing again. I’m beaten,’ said Jacob. ‘Let me get my affairs in order and I’ll meet you here in three days.’
Buckley considered the response for several minutes before replying. ‘Do you want a sandwich?’ he asked.
‘I’d love one. Do you have coffee?’
‘I do. C’mon to the kitchen. We’ll have a proper chat.’
‘Do you want a hand up the stairs?’ offered Jacob.
‘Do you want a kick in the bollix?’
‘With the good or bad leg?’
‘You’re very chirpy for a man looking at life in prison.’
Buckley had known Jacob all his life. There were no games being played. It wasn’t his style. The man would lay out his plans and agree a timeframe. Most of the police force held a grudging respect for the criminal. He was never vulgar. Jacob always came quietly, and if they were straight with him, it was reciprocated. Not once had he skipped bail, and even though they had assaulted him many times, he always kept quiet.
At one time, it had got to the stage where police raids were carried out with a knock on the door and a quiet word. Jacob came along quietly every time, and his wife even put on a pot of tea for the officers when they arrived.
In Jacob’s mind, it paid to be civil. Most coppers didn’t want the hassle, and integrity – in a perverted way – could be maintained between both parties. Not once had they heard him raise his voice. Some prisoners fought, defecated, and hurled abuse at the coppers, but Jacob never saw the point of it.
So, when he arrived at Curtis Buckley’s house, they both knew a binding agreement was being struck.
Buckley put on a pot of coffee before cutting large slices of white bread and even larger slabs of ham. He covered the bread with mayonnaise and mustard as Jacob observed two magpies perched on a tree in Buckley’s back garden. They both ate in silence as Jacob devoured the small meal. Buckley cut another generous helping and passed it over to his guest, and Jacob thanked him with a nod.
Buckley let the silence linger for a second too long before he spoke. ‘Jacob, I know you’d never intentionally harm a man’s family. You are what you are, but know this, if you ever come within twenty feet of my family or my family home again, I’ll put a bullet in your heart. That’s a cast-iron promise.’
‘Understood,’ replied Jacob. ‘My options were limited.’


In the aftermath of Ireland’s most deadly gang war, Dublin’s ruling family has scattered to the wind.

Into the void steps a criminal genius known only as The Black Hand. His organisation’s powerful grip is ruthless, bloody and barbaric.

With Europe’s biggest crime in play, The Devil needs a distraction. And The Black Hand needs Jacob Boylan to return to Irish shores. He will stop at nothing to provoke Dublin’s most lethal criminal out of hiding.

But has the wily genius misstepped? As all eyes are on Jacob, the Dublin exile carefully plans a gangland wipeout, for he is nobody’s pawn.
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Author Bio
Jonathan Dunne is a native of Dublin’s north inner city. The Black Hand is his second novel in the crime genre. The Takeover – his first crime novel went on to wide acclaim and regularly featured in Amazon’s bestseller lists.

He is also an avid MMA journalist who has penned articles for some of Ireland’s biggest publications. He holds a Degree from the Dublin Institute of Technology and is a strong advocate of lifelong learning and education. After returning to complete his leaving certificate as an adult in Jonathan has went on to have four novels published.


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Monday, June 11, 2018

Introducing Debut Novel Gumshoe Girl by Andi Ramos (@andiramosauthor) #Mystery

Sheagan OHare got more than she bargained for when her newly inherited detective agency lands its first case; a missing person, embezzlement, and murder. Sheagans out to prove she can hang with the pro's, despite the constant reminder of her amateur status from an annoyingly attractive FBI agent, Colin 'Mac' MacEvine, whos forced himself into her life.

How does she feel when an old high school friend hopes to ignite a new romance?

Will she be able to discover if detective work and love can mingle before someone gets hurt?

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Sheagan blinked back the sting in her eyes as sweat drizzled from her forehead. Her shoulders and forearms cried out as determination inched her body forward through the tin walls that framed her slender figure. The narrow shaft rendered her legs useless as they dragged behind her like dead weight. She made a vow to start working out as she approached her destination, the metal grate that looked down into the sweetheart suite of the Eliot Hotel.
She shimmied her binoculars out of her bag and clutched them in her sweaty palms as she readied herself to delve into the world of private investigating. The friction of her movements caused her mahogany mane to cling to all the surfaces of her temporary confinement. Perched behind the filigree frame, peering like a caged animal, she was a mere 20 feet from her target. Her target? The Rat Bastard, who up until this very moment shed called boyfriend.
She wasnt there to kill him, even though the thought had crossed her mind; no, she was there to catch him in the act. She suspected he had been cheating on her for some time, so proof would end her suspicion or the relationship. Spying on her significant other through an air-vent of a swanky hotel room was hardly a promising start to her so-called glamorous career as a private detective. But it snapped her back into the reality that her new chosen profession would often be messy and difficult.
She peered through the grate and envied the spacious room below, but her viewing angle was no good for the task at hand. She could feel the heat in her cheeks rise along with her anger as she scanned the room and soaked in the extravagance–the hardwood tables, the Italian marble fireplace, the opulent sheen of the fabric on the overstuffed furniture that glimmered in the soft candlelight. The Rat Bastard was not known to overindulge on frivolous expenses, unless it was on her dime. Thoughts of killing him resurfaced.
What is wrong with me? Why did I wait so long?
She immediately regretted the fleeting question. She knew why. The answer brought back the pain and significance of her fathers sudden death. He had been the only family she had left, and he was gone. All that was left behind was his detective agency. She had thought about giving it up, but she couldnt; it was her only connection to him, to her family.
She closed her eyes briefly, realizing that now she was facing more loss–even if he was a lying, cheating Rat Bastard.
No! Its better this way, stay focused.
She choked in a breath and turned her attention back to the room. His secret love nest was finished with soothing tones on the walls and thick, plush carpeting.
What is that on the end table?
Her gaze was drawn to the bottle label as it bobbed upside down in the melting ice. She sharpened the focus of her binoculars, and her eyes widened in recognition.
Her cheeks flushed. Cristal, she scoffed. Who is this Bimbo, anyway?
As if she had room to criticize this girls intelligence, when Sheagan was the one sweating her makeup off in a four-by-four-foot air-duct.
Yeah, whos the stupid one?
She heard passionate sounds coming from the right of the room and recognized his tone. Leaning sideways, Sheagan pressed her face to the grate, but her limited
view revealed only a portion of the bed and unable to make out major details, like faces.
Crap, I cant see anything. Damn! She needed to get a better look
As she shifted her weight, the metal walls started to reverberate and Sheagan stifled a gasp, willing the rumbling to cease. Her breathing became labored as the musty air stole the aroma of the sweet perfume wafting up waft from the suite below. She stilled her movements and did the only thing she could think of... nothing. Nothing but stare at the heap of blankets and wait.
Come on, bimbo, come up for air. I know he doesnt last that long.
Her discomfort increased as the noise from their passion became more intense. Ugh, thats it, Ive had it!
She mashed her cheek and upper body against the grate.
I just need a peek to confirm.
She pressed harder, ogling the bed. Finally, she caught a tiny glimpse.
Just a little further.
She pushed and heard a chirring sound, then a scraping. She froze in place, but
the grate gave way with a creaking groan and crashed to the ground. Time stood still as Sheagan realized there was nothing between her and the floor except air.

Author Bio: 
Andi Ramos is a debut author from central Massachusetts where she lives with her family, goat, and Boston Terriers. Her love for reading grew into a passion for writing. She dabbled with pen and paper for a long time and eventually stopped pushing her amusements aside and started developing those stories into novels. One of her favorite things to do is to hop into her motorhome with her family and write while traveling down the road as they journey to various destinations.

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.