Acquistabile qui

La Guerra ci aveva strappato le nostre inutili certezze, la sua fame vorace non aveva fatto distinzioni. Ci aveva lasciati mozzi, inorriditi sulle macerie del nostro grande impero e tuttavia vittoriosi. Il mondo dorato in cui vivevo non era che un guscio inconsistente che svelava le sue crepe. Vedevo quelle persone in pezzi e sapevo come aggiustarle. Per Lord Nicolas Stanford, avevo un cervello fatto di viti e ingranaggi e forse lo era anche il mio cuore. Guardavo un oggetto inanimato e la mia mente era in grado di immaginare il meccanismo che l’avrebbe fatto muovere. Ero un’inventrice sul libro paga del signor Holmberg, l’uomo che aveva inventato le macchine in grado di sconfiggere i nostri invasori e vincere la Guerra. Egli sembrava comprendermi come nessuno al mondo e guardava con orgoglio al mio lavoro e alle mie aspirazioni. Lui e Nicolas erano come il giorno e la notte ma io sapevo che avevano un segreto. Erano legati da una passione indicibile. L’avevo vista bruciare e quel fuoco sembrava lambirmi con le sue dita seducenti. Presa in quel vortice non mi restava che cercare di non cadere come una falena sulla fiamma. Per quanto mi dibattessi e lottassi, le pareti della mia gabbia dorata erano sempre pronte a chiudersi. Non l’avrei permesso. Avevo uno scopo, ero pronta per il futuro.

Le mie creazioni mi rappresentavano. Erano il modo che avevo di valere qualcosa oltre il mio aspetto e ciò che potevo generare nel ventre.

Minerve ha un talento: riesce a comprendere alla perfezione i meccanismi e gli ingranaggi, riesce a dare movimento a oggetti inanimati e creare arti meccanici perfetti per le persone che li hanno perduti in guerra o a causa di incidenti. Ma è una donna e da lei ci si aspetta altro, ci aspetta che sorrida, che prenda il tè, che partecipi alle feste, non certo che lavori in una fucina, magari indossando dei pantaloni. Minerve, però, non è facile da fermare: decisa, ironica, anticonformista, sa cosa vuole dalla sua vita e sa soprattutto cosa non vuole. Essere la moglie perfetta da mostrare in società di un nobile è quello che non vuole, e il suo comportamento pur rimanendo nei limiti dell’accettabile, mira a tenere lontano ogni possibile pretendente. La sua vita, fatta di odiati bustini che a malapena contengono il suo corpo prosperoso e di amati ingranaggi, prende una svolta inaspettata quando incontra una bambina alla quale hanno amputato entrambe le mani. Generosa quanto coraggiosa, non può evitare di indagare sull’accaduto, infilandosi in più guai di quanto non si aspetterebbe.

Il mondo dorato in cui vivevo non era che un guscio inconsistente che svelava le sue crepe. Vedevo quelle persone in pezzi e sapevo come aggiustarle.

Ho amato la protagonista, la sua spontaneità, la sua autoironia, la sua passione e il suo cuore, che lei finge essere disinteressato all’amore. Ho amato come ogni progetto per lei sia degno di tutta la sua attenzione e ci si immerga anima e corpo.

Grazie alla scrittura dell’autrice, brillante e ricca di sfumature, frutto di una sensibilità e un’attenzione ai dettagli fuori dal comune, sono rimasta catturata dalla narrazione del romanzo, ho vissuto ogni scena al suo fianco, sia nelle case nobiliari sia nei bassifondi, in mezzo alla vita ‘finta’ fatta soprattutto di apparenze e alla dura vita reale delle persone meno fortunate. E ovviamente sono rimasta travolta dalla sua passione quando l’amore rompe gli argini e finalmente Minerve vede quello che cercava di nascondere a se stessa da sempre.

Crollai seduta sul letto, mi guardai in grembo stupita di tenere un libro tra le mani. Lo posai sul copriletto e continuai a fissare il vuoto. Le gambe tremavano, la bocca pulsava trattenendo il ricordo di un bacio che continuava a bruciare nonostante il gelo delle parole che restavano sospese nel silenzio. Nicolas mi desiderava. Holmberg mi desiderava.

Quando la passione supera le sue barriere, Minerve deve evolvere e la vediamo cambiare senza perdersi, senza snaturarsi, in una parte centrale del romanzo che farà molto felici le più romantiche.

«Non vi credo un’inetta, Minerve. Voglio solo che siate al sicuro.» Era la prima volta che lo sentivo dire il mio nome e trovai la cosa fin troppo intrigante. Decisamente troppo intima. Il suo accento leggermente gutturale sembrava ingoiare le sillabe delicate del mio nome.

Qui, però, c’è l’unico appunto che devo fare a un ottimo romanzo: la parte della coppia è fondamentale nel rendere il personaggio di Minerve a tutto tondo, ma in quel momento si smarrisce un po’ la rotta della parte investigativa che ci ha incuriosito fin dall’inizio, per arrivare a un finale dell’indagine che risulta un po’ affrettato e con un cattivo con poco spessore. Mantenere alta la curiosità del lettore anche durante la giusta parte di coppia, e il necessario rallentamento di ritmo, secondo il mio parere avrebbe dato una marcia in più a una storia che già comunque è originale e accattivante, che richiama mille atmosfere, ottocentesche, gotiche, fantascientifiche, ma non ne copia nessuna e che fa anche un tributo non tanto celato a Dracula (ma no, il Conte non compare…) trascinata da un personaggio che non si può non amare e una penna frizzante che non annoia.

Minerve è da conoscere, quindi. Cosa state aspettando?

Recensione a cura di:

Editing a cura di:

Better than your reality…

A Caribbean island. A rich CEO. A woman thrown overboard. A delicious one-night stand. Want to know what happens next?

Find all the answers and more between the pages of this sizzling standalone romance—Mr. Fantasy.

Mr. Fantasy is a standalone contemporary romance novel and contains an HEA.

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Nora

“I can’t believe the week is almost over.” Val groaned, then consoled herself with a large gulp of the fruity cocktail sitting in front of her. I sighed sadly, silently agreeing with her. Spring break needed to be a lot longer than a week. Pretty soon, it would be back to work, back to classes… back to reality. Reality sucked. Especially when I gazed around this tropical resort and realized some people lived like this all the time. “One week in paradise just isn’t enough,” I said out loud, playing with the pink umbrella perched in the coconut drink I held. Rotating the barstool, I spun to face the turquoise water of the ocean and pure-white sand beneath it. Grass umbrellas dotted the beach, and under them, people lounged and played. Beyond the beach, people also played in the water, running around in skimpy bikinis and golden tans. The breeze off the ocean blew through the tangled strands of my blond hair, and sand clung between my toes. Focusing past the shoreline, I gazed across the water, past the floating cabanas, and out to a small island filled with palm trees. “I’d like to see the guy who owns that island just once while we’re here.” My voice was wistful as I plucked the cherry out of my drink and popped it into my mouth. Sweet juice from the fruit burst over my tongue as I stared. Val made a sound and slapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t even tell me that’s the reason you haven’t had a fling yet!” she practically yelled. Swiftly, I swung in her direction. “Shh! God, Valerie, don’t announce our sex life to the entire resort.” “At least I have a sex life,” she muttered, fitting her straw into her mouth. “That’s what spring break is for. Letting loose, having fun… no regrets.” “Hey, I’ve done that, too.” She made a rude sound. “You’ve turned down three guys since we got here.” I shrugged and looked back at the ocean. “I’m picky.” “You have to let him go, Nor,” Valerie said gently. Leaning in, she rested her cheek on my shoulder. “I know you loved him, but Alan wasn’t good enough. And he hurt you.” Yeah. Yeah, he did. I sucked on the straw until it made that annoying slurping sound because my alcohol had officially run out. “Having a fling is the best way to get him out of your system. Let someone rock your world for a night, and forget about him completely.” I smirked. “You think a one-night stand will erase a guy I dated for nearly a year?” Val sat up and wagged her eyebrows at me. “The right guy will.” I laughed, and she snagged the empty coconut out of my hand and held it over her head. “Bartender, another!” “Now, about that.” My best friend pointed out toward the distant island. “Please tell me you haven’t been holding out to see if Mr. Island shows up to rock your world.” I scoffed at her assumption. “I knew it!” she yelled. People around us turned to look at her. I smiled at them, “Sorry. She’s a bit extra.” “You’re still hung up on your cheating, scumbag ex, and now you’re hung up on some faceless guy who might not even exist?” Val dropped her forehead into her hand. “I’ve failed as a best friend.” I slipped an arm around her shoulders. “You have not.” A tap on my shoulder made me turn, my eyes colliding with a set of piercing green ones. “Oh,” I said, a little breathless. “Your drink is ready,” the bartender said, leaning over the bar, holding out my refill. “Oh!” I glanced down at the drink. “Thanks.” “Anytime, gorgeous,” he quipped and winked. I nearly spilled the drink in my lap right there. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and he had the bronze tan of a local with an accent to match. “You need anything else, just wave.” I nodded, unable to reply. “See!” Val said, putting her arm around me, bringing me back around. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You’re gorgeous. You could have any guy here you wanted. Even the bartender. Yet you’re busy mooning over some guy who’s probably old enough to be your grandpa.” “I am not mooning!” I insisted. Then I grimaced. “And ew… grandpa.” “You really expect some young, hot single to own that island over there?” I shook my head. “Not just the island… this entire resort.” Valerie moaned. “That’s just a sexy rumor the staff here likes to tell women like us. It makes us even more excited about this place.” “It could be true,” I murmured, staring out to sea. “He really could be some young, rich computer genius who sold off an app and bought this place.” “Uh-huh. And he has a hot body and the stamina to make you forget all about Awful Alan.” “Hey,” I accused, salty. “I didn’t judge you when your fantasy was to sleep with a yoga instructor to see if they really were more flexible than other guys.” Valerie giggled. “They are. They totally are.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re incorrigible.” “Hey, I’m young, single, and being safe. What’s wrong with a little fun?” I drank some of my cocktail. “Besides, at least my fantasy was attainable. Yours is practically from the pages of some cheesy romance novel.” “Whatever.” I sighed. This conversation was bringing down my buzz. “Finish your drink so we can go lay on the beach.” “Your time is running out.” She reminded me. “We’re going home tomorrow night. If you don’t have a fling soon, you’re never going to get over Alan.” I’d had enough of this conversation, and if she said my ex-boyfriend’s name one more time, I was going to scream. I jumped down off the barstool and tripped on my flip-flop, stumbling. “Whoa,” I stammered as I fumbled forward. Seconds later, I collided into the back of a chair, falling over the shoulder of whoever was sitting there and dumping my drink down their chest. The shoulder under my waist stiffened, and I scrambled to leap back. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” I exclaimed. Dumbly, I looked down at the drink in my hand. It was empty. Horrified, I skittered around the chair as the person sitting in it stood, pushing it out from beneath him. Our bodies collided and I tumbled back, but he caught my arm to keep me from falling. Another apology formed on my lips, but the second I looked up, it dissipated. He was tall. So tall I had to crane my neck back to look up at him. His shoulders were wide, and his jaw was chiseled. His skin had the same deep bronzed look as all the locals, and his hair was the color of midnight. I didn’t know if his mouth was just sexy as hell or if the way he pursed his lips as he regarded me made them look pouty, but the effect was still the same. Everything inside me tightened and then went liquid, as though he’d melted me with just one glance. My mouth moved, but no sounds came out. I was exceptionally aware of his large hand wrapped around my upper arm. Even though we were sitting in the shade, his hand felt warm like he’d been in the sun. Goose bumps erupted along my bare arms and legs, and my scalp prickled with awareness. Glancing down to where he held me, I couldn’t help but notice how his hand was so big it wrapped around my arm completely. Involuntarily, I shivered as I thought about what else his hands would completely cover. Embarrassed, I jerked away from his touch. His hand dropped beside him, and then I realized the entire front of his shirt was completely soaked with my drink. Gasping, I tossed aside the empty coconut and let my hands hover near him. “This is all my fault,” I exclaimed. “Can I get some napkins over here?” I yelled. “Valerie!” My best friend, who was standing there just as speechless as I was, burst into action and turned toward the bar. “I’m so clumsy,” I told the guy. “I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you a new shirt,” I offered. “And whatever you’re drinking today.” “No need,” he said. His voice was quiet but so commanding it didn’t need to be loud. “It’s just a shirt.” Glancing down at the ruined garment, I groaned again. It was blue silk. Probably cost more than I made in an entire week. And because of the material and the fact that it was soaked, it was plastered to his chest as if he’d been caught in the rain. He was thin… but imposing. Everything about him was. Val shoved a towel in front of my face, and I snatched it quickly. Rushing forward, I didn’t even think twice about reaching out to try and dry the shirt. The thin material was saturated, and it seemed no matter how much I patted and wiped, nothing helped. Above me, a throat cleared. “Are you done?” I froze, towel still pressed against his shirt, and looked up. His chin tilted down, and our eyes met, pure desire sliding through me. I jolted back, flushing. “Sorry, I was trying to…” What was I trying to do? He smiled, reached up, and unbuttoned the shirt to peel it off his body and drop it in the sand. “I’m pretty sure it’s not savable.” My mouth ran dry. I couldn’t look up from his tan, smooth chest. A second later, he snapped in front of my face, making me lift my eyes. “You might want to lay off the alcohol the rest of the day. I think you’ve had enough.” Dumbly, I nodded and held out the towel for him to take. He glanced between me and the offered towel, then smiled. “I’m good,” he replied, then turned around and walked away. I stared after him long after he was gone, still holding out the towel like a moron. Val jumped in front of me, eyes wide. “Oh my God!” she whispered. “That guy was hot!” The towel fell out of my hands, landing beside his forgotten shirt. “Hey!” Val yelled toward the bar. “Who was that guy?” “Never seen him before,” one of the bartenders called back. “Sucks,” she muttered, then grabbed my hand. “C’mon, let’s go get some vitamin sea.” “Wait!” I exclaimed, pulling back before she could drag me away. Bending down, I picked up the wet, sandy shirt he’d just discarded from his body. Val tsked and dragged me toward the beach. “First the island guy, and now this.” She sighed. “You’re completely hopeless, Nora. Hopeless.” As I stared down at the shirt clutched in my hand, I couldn’t help thinking she might be right.

  2  

Carter I sat there listening to quite an amusing conversation going on behind me. One bad girl and one good… The bad trying to corrupt the good. I guess I could understand the appeal. The good ones were always the best at being bad. I never got involved in guest affairs, even though all these scantily clad women were ripe for the picking. It was too easy. Too boring. I liked a challenge. Like being able to erase a man from the mind of a woman who couldn’t let go. I wondered if the good girl behind me was as open to that kind of fling as she pretended to be or if she clung to the rumors about a man on an island because she knew he probably didn’t even exist. Sometimes holding on was easier than letting go because at least the pain of holding on was familiar. The second her drink spilled over my shoulder and across my chest, I wondered if it was my karma for listening to their conversation or if there was something else here at work. The sparks between us were practically visible, and the way she shivered beneath my touch excited me. Still, I pulled away, because sometimes being a mystery was better than being real. I felt her eyes against my back the entire time I walked away. I pondered if I would ever see her again, if I would be able to rise to her challenge. The way my life had turned out so far was all because of fate. So I decided to leave this up to fate, too.

Cambria has written within the young adult and new adult genres, penning many paranormal and contemporary titles. She has also written romantic suspense, science fiction, and male/male romance. Her favorite genre to read and write is contemporary romance. A few of her most recognized titles are: The Hashtag Series, GearShark Series, Text, Amnesia, and Butterfly.

Recent awards include: Author of the Year, Best Contemporary Series (The Hashtag Series), Best Contemporary Book of the Year, Best Book Trailer of the Year, Best Contemporary Lead, Best Contemporary Book Cover of the Year. In addition, her most recognized title, #Nerd, was listed at Buzzfeed.com as a top fifty summer romance read.

Cambria Hebert owns and operates Cambria Hebert Books, LLC. You can find out more about Cambria and her titles by visiting her website: http://www.cambriahebert.com. Please sign up for her newsletter to stay in the know about all her cover reveals, releases, and more: http://eepurl.com/bUL5_5. Text ‘Cambria’ to 7606703130 to sign up for new release alerts   Author Links

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And nothing will get in our way.

Then a tragic accident rewrites our love story. She is gone in the blink of an eye. But this mountain was made for miracles, and I’m fighting for ours.

I have faith in the impossible.

Faith in us.

Nothing will stop me from being the man she needs.

***

FAITHFUL: The Mountain Man’s Babies is book 10 in The Mountain Man’s Babies series and can be read as a standalone.

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Excerpt

As he waited for his breathing to calm, I took a moment to marvel in the bulk of the man lying on top of me. My fingers slid across golden skin colored with a collage of intricate pictures, symbols and words. My palm curved around strong deltoid muscles that were well-rounded and powerful. He was big. Strong. Lethal. And probably not interested in being the father of my baby.

The thought made me shift uneasily beneath him. I had to get out of there. I needed to be alone to collect my thoughts and find my senses. I wiggled and Caleb rolled off me. I thought he would let me go but he didn’t. Instead he turned my face towards him and kissed me hard on the mouth.

But I was leaving. I sat up and began looking for my panties on the floor. Finding them wedged under the corner of the bed, I slipped them on and began hunting for my skirt.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“I have to go.”

“Why are you always running away from me?” He said, an amused sparkle in his eyes. “Will I see you again?”

I paused and looked at him over my shoulder. “Do you want to?”

He grinned and I was momentarily taken back by how beautiful it was.

How beautiful he was.

“Hell darlin’, I don’t want you to leave.”

I resumed looking for my skirt. “I have to leave. I have things to do.”

I found my skirt in a tangle with my shirt at the foot of the bed.

“At least let me give you a ride home.” He sat up.

“Its fine. I can call a cab.” I stood up and slipped my shirt on.

“I’m not letting you take a cab.”

“Really its fine.”

He climbed off the bed, unfazed by his nakedness, and began looking for his boxer shorts. I paused to drink in the fine display of his muscular body and his still swollen manhood swinging between his powerful thighs. It was obvious he took very good care of his body.

He slipped on his jeans and by the time I had buttoned my blouse and found my phone and shoes, he was fully dressed and securing his wallet chain to his jeans.

“Ready?” He asked.

There was no point arguing.

As he opened the bedroom door, I mentally braced myself. I wasn’t looking forward to the walk of shame through the clubhouse. But the hallway was quiet and the clubhouse was still. Sometime in the night the music had stopped and the party had wound down.

As soon as I entered the bar, the stench of last nights partying hit me like a bat to the face and I had to hold my breath.  The bar was littered with snoring bikers and the odd club girl asleep where they had passed out. Bottles lay scattered and spilled everywhere. Stale booze and body odor were ripe in the air. Caleb took my hand and led me through the mess, stepping over discarded bottles and sleeping bodies. Musty smoke glittered in the dusty rays of sunlight bursting into the room from a window above the jukebox.

Across the room, an older biker was quietly having sex with a large, partially dressed woman up against the pool table. His jeans were down around his ankles and his eyes were closed as he lazily rocked into her. The slap, slap of her large wobbly boobs against the pool table broke the stillness of the morning.

Further away, a naked woman lay slumped at the base of a stripper pole with everything open and on display. She hugged a half-spilled bourbon bottle and snored loudly. As we passed by her, Caleb shook his head and grabbed a discarded shirt from a nearby chair to cover her.

“Is she alright?” I whispered.

“Yeah, that’s Candy. It’s not the first time she’s passed out there and it won’t be the last.”

I glanced around me. This place. These people. This was Caleb’s world. And it reeked of bad choices. Nausea roiled in the pit of my stomach and I barely made it outside in time before losing the contents of my stomach.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Caleb asked, coming up behind me.

I gestured for him to give me a moment as another wave of nausea washed over me and I vomited again.

“You drink too much?” he asked when I finally straightened and walked over to him. “I don’t remember you being drunk.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t drink a thing.”

He handed me a helmet. “Are you okay to ride? Or do you need a minute?”

“I’ll be okay.”

He led me over to a row of motorcycles parked alongside the clubhouse. His was a big black beast with lots of chrome gleaming in the early morning light.

Before he climbed on, he touched my hand. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

I smiled brightly but it was fake because I felt weird. Out of place. I didn’t belong there.

“Yes. I’m fine.” I said, very aware that I needed to get out of there. I did up my helmet and climbed onto the back of his bike. “Lets ride.”

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Author Bio

What a woman like Juliana ever saw in a dirty roughneck Marine like me I’ll never understand. But I’m a man who knows what he wants, and I wanted her. I stole her heart, made her my wife, and saw the rest of my life with her.

…And then, I died.

At least, that’s what the man who left me for dead told her while I sat in chains, forgotten in a Taliban prison for five damn years.

Five years in a pit in the desert does something to a man. It’s made me hardened, feral, and wild. It’s made me hungry for the one woman I ever wanted, and driven to the brink of madness to have her soft curves in my rough hands again. Five years in hell have made me ready to move heaven and earth to get my bride back in my arms.

My enemy tried to bury me and take what’s mine. Except, he didn’t dig deep enough. Because I just broke out of my prison, and now?

Now I’m coming back to reclaim what’s mine.

Five years ago, Juliana thought she lost me. A week ago, I came back from the dead. Tonight, I’m stealing her back.

‘Til death do us part?

Oh, it’s going to take a lot more than that…

USA Today and #1 bestselling contemporary romance author Madison Faye is the dirty alter ego of the very wholesome, very normal suburban housewife behind the stories. While she might be a wife, mom, and PTA organizer on the outside, there’s nothing but hot, steamy, and raunchy fantasies brewing right beneath the surface!

Tired of keeping them hidden inside or only having them come out in the bedroom, they’re all here in the form of some wickedly hot stories. Single-minded alpha hero, sinfully taboo relationships, and wildly over-the-top scenarios. If you love it extra dirty, extra hot, and extra naughty, this is the place for you! (Just don’t tell the other PTA members you saw her here…)

Join the newsletter reader group for author updates, special prices, and two FREE books! http://www.madisonfayeromance.com/newsletter

Release Day June 11th

I’m kind of a lady, but definitely more of a weirdo.

Hearing the woman at the table behind him say that to her friend should’ve turned Logan Gibbs off.

It doesn’t. In all honesty, it only makes him listen harder.

He’s had enough weird in his life to last a lifetime. The last thing his complicated life needs is a woman in it who has no clue what color you get when you mix yellow and blue together.

Yet, her obvious blonde moments aren’t enough to deter him. Nor is her lack of finger-painting skills.

I’m a cop, not a miracle worker.

Hearing the man in the group behind her say that should’ve had Katy Roberts running away as fast as her feet would carry her. Katy’s father’s a cop, and it’s hard enough to live her life with Daddy trying to dictate her every move. She needs another cop in her life like she needs yet another thing to go wrong.

To add onto that, she can’t find a job, has no love life to speak of, and has to be the oldest known virgin in Kilgore, Texas.

Yet, when she sees his painting—a painting that resembles a piece of the male anatomy more than the lighthouse they were supposed to be painting—she knows that she has to give him a chance.

The very last thing the two of them expect is for her father and his boss to force them to marry after an eensy-weensy accident. An accident that, surprisingly, both of them want.

Amazon IT: https://amzn.to/2HvO0DR

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iTunes: coming soon

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Lani Lynn Vale is a USA Today Bestselling Author of over thirty titles. She is married with three children, two dogs, two cats, a donkey, and a couple (a couple also meaning over twenty) chickens.

When she’s not writing, you can find her curled up in her favorite chair reading.

Lani is married with three children and lives in the Great State of Texas.

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Available March 19, 2019

In her YA debut, New York Times bestselling author Carrie Ann Ryan dives into a world with magic and sacrifice with the Elements of Five.

Five hundred years ago, the Maison Realm was shattered, divided into warring kingdoms of elemental Wielders with fate and truth shadowed and uncertain. Now, factions of both the light and dark venture into the human realm in search of the prophesied Spirit Priestess who is said to Wield the Elements of Five and bring the two fractured kingdoms together.

Lyric has no idea that there’s a realm outside the human one she lives in. When fate and circumstances are pulled from her hands after an accident, and she finds out that nothing is at it seems.

There is a war surrounding her and when Lyric realizes that they are searching for her, she must rely on those she once trusted: a boy who isn’t who she thought, and a new realm of warriors who have come to protect her as she trains.

For the darkness is coming, and the Queen of Obscurité wants to ensure that the King of Lumière can’t get his hands on Lyric. And the only way to ensure that is if Lyric herself is no more…no matter the cost to prophecy.

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Audio (Read by Bailey Carr):

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Add FROM BREATH AND RUIN to your Goodreads shelves!

Chapter 1

The dreams didn’t come often, but when they did, it usually took me far too long to realize I could find my way out of them. At least, most of the time, I could make my way out. Other times, no matter how hard I tried to shake myself awake or tear at the seams of what the dream could be, I was forced to live within them, in the nightmares that felt far too real.

My heartbeat thudded in my ears as I tried to get my bearings once again. The dreams were never the same in what happened or even where I was when they occurred, but there was a thread that seemed familiar, as if it were calling to me in a way I could never understand.

Sometimes, I was on the fringe, watching the court of royals dance and hide their daggers of both wit and steel. Then they’d bow and turn to smoke, the ashes of their lies and hidden admissions blowing away like dust in the wind.

Other times, I was in the middle of the action, hurtling from side to side as towers fell, and water rushed by. Air blew through my hair, whipping it into my face, the earth below me trembling as fire rained down on all of us.

Tonight, however, the visions weren’t either of those. Yes, I was in the present, the dream happening to me rather than me being a witness to an absolution I would never understand.

But I stood in a clearing, winter on my back, summer facing me down with wicked heat. Spring danced along my right side with a cool warmth that didn’t make sense, while fall brushed my left, its warming coolness confusing me even further.

There were two shadows in front of me, their arms outstretched, each calling my name in whispers. I could only hear their breaths, not their voices, so I had no idea who they were or what they represented in this dream that I knew would linger long after I woke.

“Lyric,” they called in unison.

“Lyric.”

And though that was my name, it still didn’t sound as if they were truly calling to me. Instead, it was as if they called to the person they needed me to be. I wasn’t that person, though. Wasn’t what they needed, and I knew I may not ever be.

And while I still had the same body shape as I did when I was awake—my slightly larger-than-average curves filling out my dress, and my height just below average so the bottom of my hem slid along the mud—I wasn’t truly me in the dream.

My blond hair blew in the wind, catching the light and making it look white at times, gold at others. The shade was always changing depending on how much sun I took in during the season, but in this dream, it changed with the direction I turned.

It isn’t truly me, I told myself again. This wasn’t my dress, this wasn’t my life.

Those shadows couldn’t actually call to me because I wasn’t me.

“Lyric,” the shadows called again.

“Wake up,” the one nearest the spring side demanded.

“It’s time,” the one closest to fall whispered.

And though they were both whispers, they sounded like screams in my ear.

I jolted awake, my sweat-slick skin clammy as I tried to catch my breath. My tank was soaked, sticking to my body, and my shorts had ridden up as if I’d thrashed in my sleep. Considering my comforter was on the floor, and my sheet was currently a knot at the end of my bed, I would say that was probably exactly what had happened.

I swallowed hard, narrowing my eyes at the clock, trying to see what time it was. The sun was already up, even though it wasn’t quite seven in the morning, but it was summer in Denver, Colorado, and that meant blue skies, bright sun, and the occasional rain that came out of nowhere.

I had my white curtains drawn, but they didn’t really block out the light, so I’d learned to sleep through the rays on my face long ago. I had to if I ever wanted to sleep in. And since I was also a teenager, sleeping in was part of life—especially during the summer.

I might be eighteen, out of high school and ready to start college in the fall, but I still felt like the teenager who wanted to sleep in and not have to wake up early for classes. It didn’t help that my walls were still a light lilac from when I’d been in my purple phase, and there was still lace on my curtains and the skirt of my bed.

My family made a decent income, but we were firmly in the middle of middle class, and these days, that meant there wasn’t money to update my bedroom to something a little less tween girl and a little more college-bound woman. I didn’t care too much, however. I wasn’t staying here long. Soon, I’d be in a dorm at the local university, an offshoot of the University of Colorado since there was no way I could afford Boulder’s campus. Plus, this way, I could still be close to home.

Because as much as I might think I was ready to start my new life and be an adult, the nightmares that had plagued me for as long as I could remember told me that I wasn’t as grown-up as I thought.

Honestly, what kind of teenager still needed a nightlight because she was scared of the shadows?

Me, apparently. Lyric Camaron, the walking embodiment of indecision and someone not quite ready for anything.

I ran a hand over my face, holding back a gag at how sweaty I was, and let out a sigh. The dreams hadn’t happened so often before, but now they came almost every other night, and I had no idea what they meant. I’d always had a vivid imagination, but my dreams took that to a whole new level.

I wasn’t a little girl anymore, and yet I still dreamed of princes and princesses, of magic and might. I dreamed of courts and pretty dresses, and flowers and rain. Still, I thought that was probably all just a front for what the dreams actually carried. A veil across the hate and lies and mystery of everything that came with them.

I’d always secretly wanted to write them down, to make them into a book or just a few stories, but for some reason, I’d held myself back. There was no use documenting what never made sense. The dreams scared me even when they shouldn’t, and writing them down would only make them more real.

And it wasn’t like writing would help me in my real life outside of the dreams. I needed to grow up, stop thinking about fairy tales that weren’t bright and shiny, and figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. Because I wasn’t a little kid anymore and, sadly, the time to make those choices had already started to pass me by, and I was struggling to keep up.

“Shut up, Lyric,” I mumbled to myself. It was far too early, and I still wasn’t awake enough for my mind to be going down that path. I’d likely be getting a very similar lecture from my parents over breakfast—and perhaps lunch and dinner—as it was.

They loved me, and I loved them.

And that meant I needed to be a better daughter.

The first step to doing that was getting out of bed and washing off the sweat that coated my skin. Then, I’d wash my sheets, air out my comforter, and maybe even go for a run so I could get the cobwebs out of my mind. I wasn’t a coffee fan since I tended to need far too much sugar to even like it, so I couldn’t have a cup of that to help. So, that meant chores and fresh air so I could get out of my funk, let the dreams lie where they needed to be—far from my reality—and get on with my day.

I could do that. Totally. If only I could get the images from the dream out of my mind.

Those two shadows had been in more than one of my nightmares, and I couldn’t help but think that they meant something. Who or what did they represent? Why were they important? I didn’t know if they were male or female or if they were truly people at all. If they were supposed to be love interests, then having them be either a man or a woman would only mean that my dream-self represented my real-self since I was attracted to both and had dated both in real life. But I still didn’t know what the dreams or the shadows in them really meant.

In a few, the apparitions had moved, and I could almost imagine them wanting to be even closer. They always held out their hands, as if I had to make a decision between them, to go to one or the other.

The seasons coming at me all at once seemed like another symbol for choice and change, as well. The same with the instances where I was covered in earth or water, air or flame. All of it indicated choice.

So maybe the dreams didn’t mean anything beyond what I already knew.

It was time for me to make a choice.

A choice regarding who I could be—who Lyric Camaron would be as an adult.

That choice seemed the hardest of all, and yet I knew it was important. All teenagers went through this, they all had to make decisions, no matter what course outside forces wanted them to take.

I knew there was a path laid out before me, one that would lead to a life not unlike the one I held now, one made of decisions that made practical sense. That was the one I knew I should take, the one that would be easier and yet far more thought-out.

And yet part of me wanted something different. I wanted to be a Lyric who wasn’t so middle-of-the-road as I currently was as a bisexual teenager living in Denver, Colorado.

There were choices I had to make. Clear-cut ones that had nothing to do with royals and elements, nothing to do with seasons and change.

I would make the right choice.

I had to.

And I would ignore the dreams and the idea that there could be something more for me. There hadn’t been before, and I wasn’t going to lie in wait for answers that scared me, translations of dreams that challenged me.

I would make my own way, make my own choices.

And they would be the right ones because they would be mine.

The dreams would go away eventually.

They would fade just like the young girl I used to be. In its place would be the future I needed, the one I craved.

I told myself I wouldn’t dream again. I couldn’t.

Because I didn’t want to know what those shadows meant. I didn’t want to know why they knew my name.

I didn’t want to know why it all felt so real. And, above all else, I didn’t want to know why I saw those same shadows when I was awake. Because those were the ones that scared me. The ones that were far too real.

I was Lyric, the girl with everything to look forward to. I wasn’t the girl who saw shadows, who had dreams.

I couldn’t be.

Chapter 2

After I’d put my sheets into the washer, I set the load, took a quick shower to rinse off, and headed out for my jog. I’d decided to go with long, black leggings, a hot pink sports bra under two black tanks, and a black jacket that had air holes all through it and thumb holes in the sleeves. It was my favorite jacket of all time, and I was seriously disappointed when I went to buy another one and found out that they were no longer making them. There were already frayed edges on the cuffs and, sometimes, the metal on my purse got caught in the mesh of the body, making me wince.

The fact that I had such an emotional attachment to my running gear told me I needed to get out of the house more—and not just for jogging around the neighborhood. I huffed a breath as I slowly ran up the steep hill at one of the entrances to the sub-division, cursing the fact that I lived in a mountainous city. Sure, once you got outside city lines to the east, it was all flat planes and easy walking, but within the city limits and west toward the Rockies? Hills galore that did nothing but make my side ache as I ran.

I’d always been a runner, but never in an organized way when it came to school. I hadn’t played sports or joined the cross-country team. While I played soccer and T-ball as a kid, I hadn’t been particularly good at it, not enough to focus so much of my time on it. I’d even tried gymnastics and ballet as a little girl like most kids did, but it wasn’t my thing. And while I enjoyed running—still do—doing it to compete took the fun out of it for me. I was always a little jealous of people who could put in that effort and still have fun, but for me, sports wasn’t where it was at. I did well in school, knowing I’d need any academic scholarship I could get so I could go to college, but I’d had to work at anything not English-related. Writing I could do. Writing, I loved to do.

Differentials? Not so much.

I held back a shiver at that thought and pushed myself into my second mile. I wasn’t going to do any more than that today since I wanted breakfast, and I figured that most of the strain from my dreams was now gone. But I thought I might go out again later in the day after the hottest part of the afternoon for another run. Increments worked best for me and my attention span.

I thought I caught a shadow out of the corner of my eye, but as I whipped my head to look at it, nearly tripping over my own feet as I did, I figured it was just my hair and a trick of the light. I wasn’t seeing shadows outside of dreams. I wasn’t.

I just needed to get those weird thoughts and remnants out of my head and start my day off better.

My parents hadn’t been awake when I left for my jog, but thanks to the note I placed by the coffee machine, they’d know I was out of the house. I might be an adult, but I was still their child and living under their roof. There were rules to be followed, a curfew to be kept, and manners to be upheld. I didn’t know how I was going to handle living outside of their rules when I went to the dorms, but I also didn’t think I’d be the type to go crazy like so many of the stories I’d heard growing up. I didn’t want to flunk out of college when I hadn’t even chosen my major yet. And I sure as heck didn’t want to end up drinking the whole time and wind up with a minor in possession misdemeanor or something that would forever stain my record.

No, thank you, evil temptation and all.

By the time I got home, my parents were off to work, but I knew I’d see them for dinner. My best friend Braelynn, and my ex-girlfriend/friend Emory were coming over to eat with us, and I knew my parents were excited to see what the other two ladies planned for college. In Mom’s and Dad’s way of thinking, if I knew what others were doing, it would push me to make a decision. The problem was, the more they pressured me, the more I wanted to hide in my shell like a turtle and not make a choice at all.

The dream came back to me, and I tried not to frown as I poured myself some juice and put two slices of bread into the toaster. Just because I was once again having weird dreams that I tried to make sense of, didn’t mean they actually meant anything.

I had more to do today than think about nightmares that didn’t mean anything more than I needed to watch what I ate before bed. Sure, it was summer, and I was between jobs since the coffee shop I had been working at shut down unexpectedly, but I had other things in my life. Like that whole deciding what I wanted to do with my life thing.

But first, I would focus on my friends and the certain impending doom from the conversation that would surely happen over mashed potatoes and roasted chicken tonight.

Oddly enough, I wasn’t lulled into a sense of security once my parents came home and didn’t once mention school or my future. I knew the talk was coming, but they were giving me time to drop my defenses so they could pounce.

I didn’t know why I kept floundering whenever it came to making a decision about majors and life choices, but the enormity of it just seemed overwhelming. I was eighteen, an adult who could fight and die in wars, but I couldn’t drink. I could buy cigarettes and vote, but I was still technically a teenager.

Having to make a huge life choice when all I really wanted to do was explore and learn and find out what suited me felt so far out of my depth, it wasn’t funny. I knew thousands upon thousands of people did it every year, and many of them even went in not knowing exactly what they wanted to do—but they still had an idea.

Me? I knew what I loved, but I also knew that love wouldn’t pay the bills. At least that’s what I’d been told. And, frankly, I sort of believed it.

My mind had always been full of dreams and layers upon layers of vivid imagery my imagination would tumble over and over. I loved putting those visions into work, at least in my mind. Picking a major that worked with that, wasn’t something my parents were going to go for. The idea of doing it all on my own, or choosing a major and finding out that I wasn’t really good at it or didn’t like it anymore was just too much.

It was all too much.

I saw another shadow out of the corner of my eye, and I turned, trying to catch it, only to see my father staring at me instead. His eyes were wide since I’d moved so fast, clearly startled.

“Whoa there, Lyric. Didn’t mean to scare you.” I looked like a perfect mix of my parents, something that I’d never truly noticed until I got older. I had my mom’s blond hair and height, but my dad’s light brown eyes. Everything else was a complete mix of the two, and I’d always loved that I knew where I came from, despite not knowing where I was going.

Dad continued. “I was just wondering when Braelynn and Emory would be here.” Dad didn’t particularly like Emory. Not because she was gay, and I was bisexual—that part he was totally on board with, and I knew I had the best parents for that part of my life—no, he didn’t like her because she was my ex. He didn’t get how we could still be friends after she’d dumped me. Frankly, I didn’t understand it either. Sometimes, I felt like our friendship was fraying on the edges, but I didn’t think that had to do with our breakup. We were just finding out we were two different people, and everyone was moving on to college anyway. It sucked, and I didn’t know how I felt about it. I never did, really, when it came to Emory.

That explanation hadn’t been good enough for Dad. I still didn’t know how my mother felt about it since she was so good at hiding it, but she at least put on a better face.

“They’ll be here soon.” The doorbell rang, and I grinned. “And there they are.”

Dad nodded and moved out of the way so I could make it to the door before Mom did. My parents were great, but they were parents and liked to know exactly what my friends were doing at all times, even if it wasn’t their business. I was pretty sure all parents were wired that way, and I’d learned to deal with it.

Braelynn smiled widely at me, her shoulder-length black hair up in a ponytail so I could see the honey highlights she’d put in on the lower layers. Her moms hated it, and Emory called her a skunk, but I loved them.

“Yay for dinner. I brought rolls.” Braelynn held up a basket, and I moved back to let her in, knowing that Emory was right behind my friend.

“Yay rolls! I know Mom will be happy since you and your moms make like the best bread ever.”

“Totally true. I do have the best moms.” Braelynn winked and handed over the basket as Emory sauntered in. Why she had to saunter, I didn’t know, but whatever worked for her.

“I’m starving,” Emory said in way of greeting before leaning down to buss a kiss on my cheek. She’d done that before we began dating and hadn’t stopped. Since I didn’t care either way, I didn’t push her off. Once I started to care and put up those boundaries, she’d stop. That was who she was.

“I’m hungry, too,” I said. “Hi, Emory.”

Emory studied my face and frowned. “You didn’t sleep.”

I tried to school my features, but I knew I wasn’t good at it. “I’m fine. Let’s go finish setting the table.”

“Hmm.” That was all she said as she made her way into the dining room, saying hello to my parents as if she hadn’t broken part of my heart and left me wondering what I’d done.

And…I had no idea where that thought had come from. Maybe I really needed more sleep and fewer dreams about random shadows, seasons, and elements messing with my head.

By the time we were all seated at the table, Braelynn’s rolls like manna to us all, I was on edge since Emory kept studying me. I didn’t know why, and it bugged me because I knew this dinner would only get worse when my parents brought up the dreaded subject of majors.

They always did, and I knew there was nothing I could do about it other than choose a freaking major. But I didn’t want to make the wrong choice.

I couldn’t make the wrong choice.

“So, Emory, what did you decide to study again?” Mom asked, not even trying to be subtle.

Here we go.

Emory shrugged. “Photography with a minor in history. I want to work for the AP or something, going around the world, taking photos of the people left behind in war and strife.”

My parents nodded as if they totally understood and not just because they were happy Emory had chosen a direction for her life. It didn’t matter that it was dangerous and could end up being a career that didn’t keep her financially set, Emory wasn’t their daughter.

“And, Braelynn?”

My best friend smiled sweetly. She was always so sweet, so gentle. I loved her to the end of the world and back and knew I’d chosen well on that first day of preschool when we shared our blocks.

“Vet school, eventually. I know it’s going to be hard, but it’s my passion.”

I winced at that word. Passion.

I didn’t have that, not that I could tell anyway. How was I supposed to know what to do when I still had so much to learn? I tried not to let any of those thoughts cross my face, however, because my parents turned to me, expectant looks on their faces.

They loved me. They truly did.

But they didn’t understand me.

And the thing was, I wasn’t so sure I understood myself.

One thousand years ago, there was one realm of magic. The Maison Realm. It held five kingdoms with five kings or queens, who worked together to keep the Maison people safe and ensure the balance of magic. Over the last five hundred years following the Fall, the great war that began the fracture, many of the kingdoms’ inhabitants intermated, and the magics soon became tied to one another in pairs. Except for the Spirit Wielders. The two remaining kingdoms are now converging, and the veil between the two is fading. Only the human realm lies between the two, and no one there knows there is a war surrounding them.

Over time, certain children of the Fall began to leave their respective kingdoms to venture into the human realm in search of the prophesied Spirit Priestess who is said to wield the Elements of Five and bring the two fractured kingdoms together. For the realms are dying without their sister magics. And soon, there will be no more power left to rule the kingdoms, for there will be no more kingdoms left to rule.

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 3.0 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.

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Against all odds, the bartender gets the girl…

Heather The term friends to lovers never ends well, as a publicist, I know it’s a walking headline of a disaster. So when things shift with my long-time friend from college, I’m torn between what feels right and the inevitable fallout. I’ve given up on finding “Mr. Right,” but Wyatt won’t give up on me; and I don’t know why. Despite knowing better, I find myself falling for him. The gorgeous bartender who’s off limits.

Wyatt I pour drinks, while other people pour out their hearts. I’m great at giving advice, but following it… not so much. The last time I listened to my heart it didn’t work out so well. I chased it and nearly destroyed my friendship with the girl of my dreams. I can’t keep bottling up my feelings and I know Heather feels the same, but I know I don’t deserve her I know my time to be with her is limited, but I’m ready to take another shot at love. With her.

 

 

Esther has only craved to be loved by one man, the Wolfe who hides behind his broken ice blue eyes.

Unfortunately, the wild man she craves has desires that she doesn’t feel able to fill. These desires will destroy her if she allows them.

Wolfe, the road captain for the Savage Beast MC, is known for his ruthlessness. The forty-year-old has demons that haunt the beast inside of him.

He cannot be the man who deserves to love her. He knows it’s wrong. He knows it will break her, but he cannot help himself. She wants a wild man. He is as wild as they come.

Two souls searching for a way to find acceptance, love, and healing in physical pleasures. Both lost. One the devil. One a fallen angel. When they finally give in to their lust, their love blossoms like neither imagined possible.

It feels like this is a make or break moment. If I take his hand, I’ll be following him toward something that I can never take back. This isn’t just some wild oat sowing. This isn’t some one-time experiment. I can see it in his hungry gaze, this is something he wants, something he will always want. This isn’t just a birthday gift, this is going to open the door and I’m not sure I want what’s waiting on the other side.

I reach for him, my fingers touching his and I take one step toward him before my legs lock, refusing to move any farther. He frowns slightly, tugging me gently toward him, but I don’t budge, I can’t. I shake my head, almost violently.

“Esther,” Raff growls. “Don’t do this. I won’t do anything you won’t like,” he promises.

My eyes focus on his and I shake my head. “I love you, Raff.”

Turning from him, I run back to my car. With tears streaming down my face I shift the car into reverse and I drive away from him.

He doesn’t follow.

He doesn’t chase after me or try to bring me back to the party.

He lets me go.

He just lets me drive away.

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.

Enter Hayley’s Giveaway:

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Stay With Me by K. L. Grayson

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: April 23rd

Cover Designer: Perfect Pear Creative Cover

Photographer: Rafa G Catala

Model: Fabian Castro

Stay with me.

Three simple words.

One impossible request.

I’ve loved Allie McCallister for as long as I can remember. Her happiness and well-being mean more to me than anything else, which is why when the opportunity of a lifetime presented itself, I had to take it. Three months was such a short amount of time to be apart to provide the financial stability we needed to start our lives.

It wasn’t supposed to catapult my band to stardom, and it sure as hell wasn’t supposed to set off the chain of events that pushed my relationship with Allie to the brink. Our hearts were shattered, our love tested, and when everything fell apart she begged me to leave.

Eight years ago, tragedy broke us. Now we’re back in the same little town where we once dreamed of building our future.

She’s a divorced, single mom.

I’m a damaged country music star.

There are a hundred reasons for us to stay apart.

But all it takes is one look, one touch, one kiss to know our story isn’t over. Now I have to convince her to let me stay.

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K.L. Grayson resides in a small town outside of St. Louis, MO. She is entertained

daily by her extraordinary husband, who will forever inspire every good quality she

writes in a man. Her entire life rests in the palms of six dirty little hands, and when the

day is over and those pint-sized cherubs have been washed and tucked into bed, you can find her typing away furiously on her computer. She has a love for alpha-males,

brownies, reading, tattoos, sunglasses, and happy endings…and not particularly in that

order.

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