Wednesday, October 2, 2024

WHERE THE STARS CROSS by Dottie Sines #Historical #Romance #Giveawy

 


BLURB:

 

In the depths of the Great Depression, Ellie suffers another crash—that of her marriage. She’s left struggling to restore her shattered life, feeling as damaged as the stained-glass panels she refurbishes for Chicago’s historic structures. While visiting her aunt in Marietta, Ohio, a charming river town, Ellie encounters towboat captain Wyatt and feels a searing attraction to him. But thanks to past and subsequent wounds, her attempts at opening herself to love seem futile. Her hope for love and her determination to find the place she belongs are further complicated by her tendency to make impulsive decisions. In her journey, Ellie draws on an unrealized level of courage and learns she must identify her brightest passions in charting her course.



Excerpt 

 

Once the world creaked back to a tentative rotation and time again began ticking away, Ellie salvaged the remnants of herself and hobbled to her feet. She shoved her hair from her face and brushed away the bits of grass pasted to her arms. How long had she lain there, on this deserted patch of ground? Long enough for the world to have revolved away from the sun. Long enough, apparently, for Earth’s gravity to pull the life from her, because the only thing she felt or thought or knew was the faint echo of a crippled heartbeat.

 

Ellie hugged her arms and looked to the darkening sky. She’d fallen asleep, obviously, but for all this time? Even amid all the darkness, the stars still twinkled. Damned stars. She’d taken Aunt Lillian’s little fable about finding one’s place according to where their three stars crossed too seriously. It had been intended simply as inspiration. Wyatt was gone, so he obviously hadn’t been some fairytale second star. And she never had figured out what her would-be third star was.

 

Time to get her heart out of the stars and her head out of her behind. She’d been selfish. What about all the other people suffering in the wake of the devastating flood? What about all those who had it much worse than she during this never-ending Depression? Those were the people she needed to look to the stars for, not her own self-serving wants, so she closed her eyes and made a wish for everyone but herself.

 

 


 

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

 

Dottie scratched out her first fiction as a little kid transfixed by the books she read all those lazy summer days on the front porch swing. Two of her short stories have been published in The Ernest Hemingway Foundation of Oak Park’s literary journal, Hemingway Shorts, having placed among the top ten entries in its annual short story contests.

 

Where the Stars Cross, Dottie’s first novel, is available for purchase at:

 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Where-Stars-Cross-Dottie-Sines/dp/1509257373/ref=sr_1_1

(where it’s on the Hot New Releases list for 20th century historical romance!)

 

Website: https://www.dottiesines.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61555443236996

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dottie_sines_author/

 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER 

 

The author will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner. 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday, September 25, 2024

gHost by Jonathan Wright #cyberpunk #BDSM @changelingpress

 

Cyberpunk, BDSM

Date Published: September 27, 2024


 

In the 23rd century you can jack into the web, shop at a mall floating half a mile above the street, kill yourself with the drug of the week, and wake up in a new body.

The rich can have what they want -- and they want immortality. What they get is gHost, generic Host Somnambulant Transfer. The dead become re-animated hosts for the living. The trade is controlled by megacorps and is highly regulated. Getting on the list is the perk for any corporate ladder-climber. But the price is steep.

Brady Woods is a smart-ass hacker fighting to survive in the dim streets at the bottom of the canyons between two-hundred-story buildings, where smog and anti-grav shopping malls block out the sun and predators prowl the shadowed alleys.

Brady has talent. He can fix anything. And he can surf the web like no one can. Code is his junk food; blind killers and security bots are his nemeses; information is his currency and his rush.

Sleen's girl Deel has eyes for Brady; a battered cat knows its own. Brady knows what he wants, and he wants Deel. Problem. Sleen thinks he owns Deel, and he's not about to give her up. In a barter economy Deel's up for grabs -- for the right price. But can she be trusted? And how far will Brady go to make her his own?

 



EXCERPT


Following Brady as they shouldered through the crowd in the free market at Temple Square, Jongo asked, "That guy from gHost been around again?"

"Yeah," said Brady absently.

Free market hawkers shouted lies and the booths were generally full of crap, but you could get warm beer and stale burgers for a decent price. If you had a job. Large people with long arms and heavy truncheons roamed the crowd. A few stood by jewelry booths and the like, vendors who could afford the service and needed it.

They headed for the Sky Mall at Nineteenth and Ash. Gravs slid through the canyons in a solid stream. The sun, where it could penetrate through the maze of skybridges, the sludge of traffic, the vertical walls of the superscrapers, and the thick drizzle-fog from the grav exhausts, fell faintly on the Certified Organic PermGrass. You could roll a P-5 battle tank over that stuff and every blade would spring right back.

At ground level, most of downtown was a meandering park, with low-light trees and flower gardens and wandering paths to soften the atmosphere of crumbling, graffiti covered tenements. Best thing about living here, if you ignored the fact that it looked like nineteenth century London at midnight, about which Brady was fairly certain Jongo didn't have a clue.

"You jacked in again?" asked Jongo, looking askance. Like most humans, Jongo practically lived to surf, but jacking scared him. "You're the only person I ever heard of can jack without an implant."

Brady thought Jongo sounded less envious than self pitying. Ordinary mortals needed an implant and a steady supply of nauseating drugs to make the necessary mental connection for real jacking.

The reward was the ability to be in the net, to swim with the sharks. The sort of thing high level corporate IT commandos got paid to do. The downside for plebes was two days retching your guts out when you checked back in from the ride. The corporate guys got the good stuff, no withdrawal, but the brain strain still sent three in ten to the psych ward.

Apparently I'm either immune or already insane.

Deep surfing demanded an out of body experience not compatible with walking, but Brady could cruise a little.

Ignoring Jongo, Brady chatted with Beezo, who Brady actually knew personally. Tall angular guy with shadowed eyes who spoke with deceptive softness and had no known address, or, for that matter, any obvious means of support. Beezo did mutter occasionally about overthrowing the establishment, whatever that meant, and was known to drive his environmentally devastating grav at speeds approaching escape velocity.

Beezo had planned one of his legendary, online/real-time parties, where he'd take over an entire lower level floor somewhere, spend thousands painting and decorating, invite three hundred total strangers, and provide food, beverages and drugs. Entertainment developed through spontaneous combustion.

Beezo mixed with a different crowd. Brady'd seen a society column online that had a picture of a big deal party out in the Hamptons and fuck if Beezo hadn't been in it. No explanation for that one but Brady always figured Beezo was some rich family's black sheep. Black demon sounds closer to it.

Brady had no idea where Beezo got the money, although the black demon analogy looked better all the time. There was always serious female talent, which appeared to be Beezo's primary interest, but just as frequently the parties attracted unwelcome legal attention, especially when someone inevitably jacked in and tried to crack a corporate firewall.

"You in?" Beezo asked by non-video voice link, meaning he was probably in a session with one or more girls. Brady could never tell anything by voice alone. Beezo seemed to have Herculean self-control.

Brady had no interest in Beezo's money or his drugs and he didn't want to take a chance on getting arrested, but before he could play the Elena card, Beezo said, "I can have two good people over there to look after Elena."

Brady trusted Beezo that way. "You're reading my mind. Thanks, but let me think about it."

"Way on." Beezo blinked out.

Beezo had no issue with Brady's noncommittal attitude, which Brady understood put him fairly high up the ladder of people Beezo liked. He liked Beezo in turn, but the party scene had soured for him before it started, in view of his current situation.

Freddy Lake pinged him, wanting to know who could reverse engineer a certain program that might perhaps be used to bypass the security system for a minor third world bank. If one were so inclined.

Brady dropped that one like a dirty bomb, referring Freddy to a vague acquaintance who had less regard for his own skin. Brady had helped Freddy out a few years ago with a similar technical issue, before he understood that Freddy's profession involved personal intrusion into other people's private property.

Rumor had Freddy living in a penthouse in Paris half the year, and an absolute zero mud hut on Frendel II out at the edge of the galaxy the other half. No one had any idea what Freddy looked like or where he actually lived. Brady figured he was a corporate AI construct, built to distract the masses from their prosaic woes when they weren't high on the drug of the week.

Hive flitted by, waving. She used a porn star avatar, totally nude and rendered in erotically charged detail. Hive liked bondage and D/s, which request Brady had occasionally obliged, although digital orgasms didn't do much for him.

If she actually jacked in we could trade sensory overlays. The idea appealed on a purely visceral level. But she wasn't having any, hangover aside. Sensory overlays were way too intimate for people who spent the majority of their lives connected to the net.

A corporate cruiser swerved around a corner, riding low and slow, clearly on the hunt. Amber beams cut through the mist. Jongo stiffened and Brady knew he had Benedrene or Malzene on him again. The Legacy Corp decal shone bright yellow on the door of the cruiser. They both breathed out as the long blue shark glided off in search of other prey.

"Their CFO got iced a couple of days ago," muttered Brady by way of explanation, not that Jongo cared. "Probably Freeman Enterprises. I heard they were making a move on the North Jupiter mines. The guy who got it was jacked in at the time. Everybody's saying it was an inside job. Someone shorted his connection. Their whole online system collapsed, shut down the entire Jupiter operation for six days. Cost them a bundle."

Jongo screwed up his face. "Say what?"

"Nothing." Brady scowled.

Jongo grimaced. "Unassisted Jacking kills more people than smoking, Brady. Why the hell do you do it? And how do you do it without drugs?"

"How do you know I don't use?" muttered Brady, concentrating.

Jongo waved his hand. "Shit, man, you won't even blow a Wad. Besides, I heard it from the dealers... I mean, you know, people talk. They say you don't use. Think you're a loser." Then, "So why do you do it all the time, anyway? Jacking, I mean. You practically live there."

They stopped at Louie's Floating Food Kart. Jongo got a bowl of nut soup. Brady bought a soy burger.

"Just curious," Brady mumbled in reply as he wolfed down the tasteless, dripping mess.

"You're always curious," Jongo muttered.

Brady knew Jongo really didn't care.

"So what about the gHost guy?" Jongo asked between crunches. "You think he'll buy it?"

Brady shrugged as if he didn't much care, either. "The holo's pretty good. I jigged the program from a server uptown, jumped six links to do it."

Jongo scowled again like he thought that was crap. Even though he didn't say anything, Brady knew he was secretly awestruck. It didn't take much to impress Jongo. "Yeah, I wondered what the three alarm was all about last night."

Brady snorted at Jongo's attempt to sound like he understood one word of what Brady had said. "That was the Legacy whorehouse. I mean Sexual Therapy Clinic. Somebody torched the place. The Moral Mafia is taking credit." Brady shook his head in admiration. "Good old thermite. Nobody's used that since the War."

He'd have done it himself, but he had a strong suspicion somebody like Beezo had beat him to it. Or Freddy Lake, although Freddy was strongly rumored to have no ideology that did not involve money.

Only five years late, he thought.

"Shit, that's where your mom died, right? You glad it's gone?"

"It's not gone, just well scorched. Pretty hard to burn honeycrete and kelvic rebar. Somebody called in an alarm and they evacuated, ran the sniffers and found nothing, then they're walking back in and the place goes up. Security got some singed eyebrows is all." He smiled. Thanks, whoever.

They walked on, heading for the mall. Jongo wanted to look at stuff he couldn't buy. Brady went along for no particular reason. To get out for a while.

Brady saw Sleen and four of his ass lickers. Two were sizeable males of the species, Nix and Jawbone. Brady suspected they shared a single digit IQ but wasn't prepared to bet it was that high. The other two were females, one thin, the other not, neither of whom he knew.

Not-Thin-girl wasn't actually fat, being built more along the lines of a Roman Centurion, clad in retro-leather with fake metal patches that carried the Roman analogy even further. Her dark hair stood out in horizontal spikes and she had a razor chain wrapped around her left forearm. Brady thought she could probably run the hundred meters in ten flat with one of him under each arm. That and her possessive stance near the other girl tagged her as mistress or owner.

Following his brief cataloguing of the Centurion, Brady shifted his gaze and immediately forgot her.

Thin girl looked to be about a meter fifty if she stood straighter than she now did, might weigh forty-five kilos if she ate something. But thin is relative. Next to the Centurion she looked like a rod, but under her gray-black second-skin, which looked like it had been sprayed on, because it had, her ass looked firm and round and her tits stood out like melons, with spectacular nipples.

Her white-blonde hair had been buzzed. She had light chocolate skin and wore no makeup, which was clearly not an issue given her physical attributes. If she had been healthier her sharp face would have been elfin and intelligent instead of gaunt and flat-eyed.

She stood behind the others. Probably the group whore, but Brady didn't judge her. Neither, apparently, did Jongo, whose eyes clearly wished they were hands.

Sleen wore a jacket that appeared to be made from multi-hued feathers. A holographic tattoo on his bald head changed color and shape constantly, depending on his mood. Just now it was a snake swallowing a mouse. Brady watched the shimmering coils slither around the side of Sleen's head.

Sleen saw Jongo's look. He casually backhanded the girl, who turned her face away with practiced quickness and took the blow on her temple as she crumpled to the ground.

No one moved, including Brady. Sleen clamped one huge hand on Jongo's neck, squeezing lightly and making Jongo's eyes bulge.

"Forget about her, shitbird. She ain't for sale or rent and you got other business right now."

 


About the Author

By day, Jonathan Wright disguises himself as a retired insurance underwriter. His family believe him to be supremely cool, though slightly deranged. In pursuit of his career as a horror/romance/comedy writer, Jon strives to expand his experiences, in order to relate them to his readers with authenticity. Skulking through everyday life is not enough for Jon, no, he pushes the envelope (and everyone's buttons). He calls this "research."

The cats, who have unique and appropriate names, but do not answer to them, and are therefore both known simply as "Cat," could care less. His daughter generally forgives him, as long as he remembers to take out the trash and put the toilet seat down.

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 


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Tuesday, September 24, 2024

DEACON by Marteeka Karland #MCromance @changelingpress

 

Iron Tzars MC, Book 12

 

Motorcycle Club Romance, Suspense, Age Gap

Date Published: September 27, 2024


 

Apple -- I gave Deacon my heart, but he said I was too young. So he left. For over a year. Didn’t want me around. Hurt and humiliated, I left for Grim Road MC. If anyone will understand my need to hide and lick my wounds for a while, it’ll be my sister Lemon. Of course, Lemon’s also a royal bitch. When I get shot, first thing she does is call Deacon -- the last person I ever want to see again. Then she sicces him on the man who ordered the hit. Not sure who I’m gonna kill first -- Deacon, or Lemon.

Deacon -- All I ever wanted was to keep Apple safe. To protect her. Mostly from me. When my president sent me to infiltrate a trafficking ring, I gladly accepted the assignment. I thought once I was gone, Apple’d have time to grow up. Fall in love with someone her own age. Someone better. Then my enemies went after Apple. When Lemon tells me she’s been shot, her call pushes me over the edge. Now, I’m going to unleash hell. Maybe then, Apple will forgive me for pushing her away.




EXCERPT


“I don’t want to wait, Deacon,” I whispered. “Not anymore.”

“Me neither, baby. But I’ve gotta give you your property patch in front of the club. You also gotta get inked.”

“But --” He silenced me with a kiss before laying me down on the bed and covering me with his heavy body. His actions belied his words. I found the ridge of his cock and rubbed myself against him.

“No, Apple.” His tone was stern, but he continued to kiss me, nipping at my jaw and neck before placing a lingering kiss to the swell of my breast. He stood, reaching for me and pulling me to my feet. “Not until I give you the vest.” He grinned. “And not in the clubhouse. We’re goin’ home.” He cupped my face and kissed me once more before unlocking the door and pulling me after him back to the common room.

Deacon grinned, draping an arm over my shoulders possessively. He looked proud to have me with him. Several of the guys clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly and gave me respectful nods. The Iron Tzars might be as wild as any other MC, but they were respectful of their women. Besides, everyone knew Lemon would have their balls if they weren’t. Also, Wylde would likely have done his worst. Which, he might be the tech guy, but Wylde was more than what he showed on the surface.

“Deacon!” Roman called to him from across the room. The party had started, though the place was more sedate than I’d seen in the past. Especially since me and Lemon were the guests of honor, so to speak. I was sure that was why there were only a couple of club girls in the area, and they were there strictly to keep the food coming when Iris told them.

Deacon raised his hand to the enforcer. Instead of a welcoming smile, however, Roman looked serious. Like he was displeased in the extreme.

“Deacon? What’s wrong?” I gripped Deacon’s hand in both of mine, looking up at him. There was a look of dread briefly before his expression closed off. I glanced back at Roman who was giving Deacon a hard look in return.

“Nothin’, Applejack,” he murmured, leaning close to my ear. “I’ll be right back.” Deacon kissed my temple as he wrapped his arms around me in a fierce hug. He strode to Roman, who took him into Sting’s office and shut the door. It was over an hour before the three of them exited the room. Roman said something to Deacon, who nodded. Sting gripped Deacon’s shoulder, before slapping it in a show of solidarity and encouragement. Whatever had happened couldn’t be too bad. Right?

Deacon scanned the room until he found me. He flashed a tight smile before heading in my direction. Once he reached me, he pulled me back into his arms and hugged me tightly for several long seconds.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain in a minute. Let’s go home first.”

“Right now? The party’s just started.” I grinned up at him. Unease had settled in my belly. I knew something was wrong and wasn’t sure I wanted to go with him right now. The longer I put off leaving, the longer I had this one night with him. Because I knew something was about to happen I wouldn’t like.

“I’m sorry, honey. This can’t wait.” He gave me a sad, gentle look, but I could see the truth in his eyes.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to, Deacon.”

He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Gripping my hand firmly, he tugged me after him. When we got to the parking lot, he led me to his bike and climbed on. “Ride with me, Applejack.” He held out his hand for me to grip for balance if I wanted to climb on. He almost willed me to take his hand.

As if I could deny him anything. I loved Deacon.

He rode me around the property for a while. I always loved the feeling of the wind in my hair as he sped over the hard paths. It felt like I was flying. The one time I’d been on the open road with Deacon especially. Even with a helmet, I’d never felt more free in my life.

All too soon the ride ended and Deacon pulled up outside the little house we’d been given. I should have been excited. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. To be at the house with the intention of having sex with Deacon. Only, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. He hadn’t given me his property cut. So, whatever was about to happen wasn’t going to be welcomed.

He helped me remove my helmet and lashed it to the back of his bike. Then he took my hand and we went inside. Deacon locked the door but stood with his hands on the door, his forehead against the wood.

Carefully, I placed a hand on his back. “What’s about to happen, Deacon?” My voice was so soft I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me, but after letting out a deep breath, Deacon turned to face me.

“You know I love you, right, Apple?”

I nodded. “Yes. I know.”

“Then I need you to trust me. I’m going to have to wait to give you your property cut.”

“Why?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I was very near tears. “This was the plan. We were going to be together.”

“We will be, Apple. I just need a year. One year. Use it to spend time with your sister doing stuff young women your age normally do.”

“What is this, Deacon? I don’t want to go on trips or to parties unless it’s with you.”

“Honey, there is something I have to take care of. It’s going to require I be gone a lot over the next several months. I don’t think it’s fair to ask you to wait for me.”

“Wait… “ Dread washed through me and I shook my head. “Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

“One year, Apple. Give me a year. If you haven’t found someone you want more than me, I’ll be home and I’ll beg you to take me back.”

“Are you going to be with other women?”

“Honey, I swear to you, I’ve not been with another woman since I made a commitment to you. Not in the whole three years since I’ve known you. That’s not going to change. Not as long as you’re not in a relationship.”

I watched him for a long time, studying his expression. His eyes. Looking for anything that might give me some hint as to what was going on. I found nothing.

With a sigh, I nodded. “I’ll be waiting on you when you come home. I don’t want this to be the end.”

He gave me a gentle smile. “It won’t. I promise.”

“Why did you want us to come here? If you’re not giving me your cut yet, are we still, uh, are we going to sleep together?”

“We’re not going to have sex tonight, honey. But I want to spend the night with you. I want to hold you all night while you sleep.”

“We can still make love, Deacon. I want you.”

“I want you too, honey. But I have to leave in the morning. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, and even when I am, I might not be able to stay long. I’m not using this as an excuse to take what I want without committing to you.” He cupped my face in both his hands, leaning over to brush a tender kiss over my lips. “I’m going to hold you while you sleep. You’re going to give me this one night. After I leave, we’ll revisit us in a year.”

“I’ll wait, Deacon. Just… try to talk to me as much as you can? Make sure to see me whenever possible?”

He smiled reassuringly at me. “I promise to do everything possible to stay in contact with you, Applejack.”

I took him at his word. He held me all night long. With Deacon wrapped around me, I’d never slept so well as I did that night. Sure, I woke occasionally, but only to shift my position. Always, Deacon whispered softly to me until I dozed back off. It was paradise.

* * *

The next few months, Deacon called me at least once a week. Then it backed off to once every other week. By the time our year was up, I hadn’t talked to him the entire last two months before he’d promised he’d be home.

It was another two months before he finally came back to Iron Tzars MC. When he did, Deacon wasn’t the same person he’d been when he’d left.

 

 

About the Author

Marteeka Karland is an international bestselling author who leads a double life as an erotic romance author by evening and a semi-domesticated housewife by day. Known for her down and dirty MC romances, Marteeka takes pleasure in spinning tales of tenacious, protective heroes and spirited, vulnerable heroines. She staunchly advocates that every character deserves a blissful ending, even, sometimes, the villains in her narratives. Her writings are speckled with intense, raw elements resulting in page-turning delight entwined with seductive escapades leading up to gratifying conclusions that elicit a sigh from her readers.

Away from the pen, Marteeka finds joy in baking and supporting her husband with their gardening activities. The late summer season is set aside for preserving the delightful harvest that springs from their combined efforts (which is mostly his efforts, but you can count it). To stay updated with Marteeka's latest adventures and forthcoming books, make sure to visit her website. Don't forget to register for her newsletter which will pepper you with a potpourri of Teeka's beloved recipes, book suggestions, autograph events, and a plethora of interesting tidbits.

 

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

 

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Sunday, September 22, 2024

Release Blitz! Dead Calm by Bill Runner #Thriller

 

Axel Blaze Crime Action Thriller, Book 8

 

Action Thriller

Date Published: September 22, 2024


 

One man rises from the stillness, unleashing hell's fury. They call him Blaze.

 

Dead Calm takes readers into Blaze’s past as a US Army Ranger. In the harsh Afghan terrain, Captain Axel Blaze faces his toughest mission yet: honoring a dying friend’s plea to rescue his children from the Taliban's clutches.

Blaze infiltrates deep into enemy territory. He finds an ally in CIA Deputy Director Davis, whose daughter, Madison, has been taken hostage. As Blaze and his Rangers wreak hell on the Taliban, they uncover a drugs, arms and sex trafficking network with links to the Bulgarian mafia.

The hunt takes Blaze from the unforgiving Afghan terrain to the back alleys of Sofia, Bulgaria. Powerful people operating with impunity. Until they come in the crosshairs of a man called Blaze.


Page-turning thrillers in the lone ranger tradition of Jack Reacher, Mitch Rapp and The Gray Man novels. The fast-paced, brutal action in the Blaze series is attracting thriller readers worldwide.


About the Author

Bill Runner cut his teeth as an investigative journalist, plunging into the gritty underbelly of crime, before turning to writing edge-of-your-seat thrillers. Raised on a steady diet of westerns and lone ranger sagas, Bill’s real-life encounters with rogues and heroes shaped his electrifying protagonist, Axel Blaze. An adrenaline junkie at heart, Bill is a seasoned mountain climber and paraglider, and also a lifelong student of martial arts. Working the crime beat and studying the art of fighting honed his skills to craft pulse-pounding thrillers, renowned for their razor-sharp action sequences. You can find out more about Bill at his FB profile under the name Bill Runner Author.

 

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

 

Purchase Link

Amazon


RABT Book Tours & PR

Wednesday, September 18, 2024

Thief of Hearts by Gemma Woods #BDSM #Romance @changelingpress

 

BDSM Romance, Capture Fantasy

Date Published: September 20, 2024


 

They have nothing in common but a difficult past… and a taste for unusual pleasures...

 

Once a Thief

The good girl: A successful district attorney with a reputation to uphold, Katherine can’t afford to let go and indulge her secret desires.

The bad boy: Seeing Kate again makes Ex-con Jake Monroe want to live out every kinky fantasy he’s ever had -- with her. Jake’s determined to tear down Kate’s walls, to push her past her limits. But Kate takes him further than he ever imagined.

 

Still a Thief

Only Jake can scratch Kate’s secret itch for domination. But if she lets him take their bedroom play into the real world, it’s only a matter of time before her colleagues in the District Attorney’s office find out.

 

Three s Not a Crowd

It’s Halloween, and Kate’s about to learn that three s not a crowd, and if she’s good, maybe she’ll get a treat as well.

 



EXCERPT

 

Excerpt from Once a Thief

 

The door to Katherine’s office opened with a click. She looked up at a tall man -- tall, dark, and broad-shouldered, wearing a denim jacket over a white T-shirt and jeans.

Jake Monroe.

Great. Just what she needed., a reminder of her ghetto roots. A reminder of everything she’d worked so hard to leave behind.

He had the same curly black hair, cut short, and the same jutting angles to his face. Age had added deep lines to his cheeks and bitterness to his brown eyes.

And he looked much more dangerous than she remembered.

At least he didn’t give any hint of recognizing her. Maybe she could keep it that way.

“I’m John Monroe.”

She closed his file and put it facedown on her desk. She wouldn’t want to see a man like him get angry. No need to let him know she’d been reading up on him -- worse, she’d been looking at his rap sheet. He’d done three years for his first offense. Armed robbery.

When he reached over her desk to shake her hand, she rose to greet him.

“Katherine Kern. I’m an assistant district attorney for the city.”

His big, calloused hand swallowed hers in a firm grip. “Congratulations,” he said dryly, with an ironic lift of one eyebrow. Still no glimmer of recognition, though. Maybe she hadn’t been that memorable.

Even leaning across her wide desk, he towered over her. And he didn’t release her hand after the perfunctory handshake. No, he held on while his gaze raked her breasts. Blatantly.

She pulled away and motioned to the chairs that faced her desk. “Have a seat.”

He did, leaning back and sprawling his legs in front of him as if he were lounging on a sofa watching Monday night football. Even as a punk teenager, he’d been muscular, but now… He’d really filled out, with broad shoulders, a solid chest, and bulging thighs that strained the denim of his jeans. Maybe he’d spent his time behind bars working out. Or maybe he’d filled out naturally in the ten years since she’d seen him.

Time had changed her, too. So much that he didn’t seem to recognize her. Maybe he never would. She’d kept away from his kind in high school. As tempting as the bad boys had been, she’d known better than to play with fire.

She still knew better. Unfortunately. No wonder she hadn’t had a man in years.

She sat down and folded her arms on the desk in front of her. “You know why you’re here, John?”

“Yeah.”

He sounded resentful, like one of the kids he was supposed to help. Why had he volunteered to be a mentor if he didn’t want to be here? Maybe he hadn’t volunteered. Maybe community service was a condition of his parole. “You’ll have to be a bit more communicative than that when you talk to your mentee. Have you prepared anything to say?”

“No.”

So much for communication.

After a long moment of studying his hands, he spoke. “I can ad lib just fine. I want to sound natural. Natural and honest.”

“Good. Kids can tell when you’re lying to them.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have anything to hide.”

He stared straight into her eyes, as if he was challenging her. Defensive -- typical for an ex-con. She’d worked with a lot of them. No reason to treat Jake Monroe any differently than the others, even if seeing him again brought back a stupid rush of adolescent hormones.

She grabbed the file folder labeled Scott Hopkins and slid it across the desk to him. “Here’s the boy you’ll be meeting tonight.”

He straightened up and took it, then slouched back again and opened the file. “Tell me about him.”

“He’s new to the program. His mom is in and out of rehab all the time. His older brother supposedly takes care of him when his mother isn’t home.”

“Is he in a gang?”

“No. He’s a loner.” At least he was curious. Maybe he’d do a good job after all. “He’s been convicted of multiple misdemeanors. Our goal is to prevent him from graduating to felonies.”

“Like I did.”

She might as well be frank. “Exactly.”

He looked amused by her agreement. Full lips tilted up at the corners in a little smile… almost a smirk.

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, you might as well leave right now. There’s no point in establishing a relationship with Scott if you’re going to flake on him.”

He frowned at that. “I’m not going to flake.”

“You clearly don’t want to be here.”

“You don’t have a clue what I want.” He gave her another long look, as if assessing her suit. Or the breasts beneath it. “How did you get stuck with this gig?”

“I volunteered. These kids need all the help they can get.”

“You’re a D. A., right?”

Where was he going with this? She nodded. “I’m an assistant D. A.”

“So it’s your job to prosecute criminals, not to help them.” He sounded like he thought she had the most immoral job in the world. “Seems strange for you to be running a prevention program.”

“I’d prefer it if the crime was never committed in the first place.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Then you’d be out of a job.”

She didn’t have to take this. “We have five minutes before the session begins. If you can’t be civil, you can wait in the hallway.” And take those broad shoulders with you.

“Don’t get pissed off, Kate.”

“It’s Katherine.” Wait a minute. She hadn’t gone by Kate in years.

His eyes gleamed. Now his lips wore a bona fide smirk. As if he recognized her for the scared, uptight girl she’d been all those years ago.

“So you do remember me.”

His smile didn’t fade. “And you remember me.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Why didn’t you?”



About the Author

Gemma Woods has no spouse, no children, and no pets. Her family is imaginary -- she writes them. Outside her imaginary world, she enjoys the typical author hobbies of reading, traveling, and fretting over her dying houseplants.

 

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

 

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