My True Love Gave To Me Holiday Blitz & Giveaway!

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A Holiday Greeting From Kennedy Ryan….


Enjoy a bonus Christmas scene from Cam’s POV from book 1, When You Are Mine HERE!


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3 Bennetts

Book 1 – When You Are Mine

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Book 2 – Loving You Always

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Pre-Order Book 3 – Be Mine Forever *can be read as a standalone but the richest reading experience comes with reading all three in the series*

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Kennedy wants to reward readers who spread the word! We are building a team of readers who will shout about BE MINE FOREVER. In exchange for your voice, we’ll give ARCs of the book, gift cards and other prizes. Sign up HERE if you’d like more information or to be involved!

Kennedy Ryan writes contemporary romance and women’s fiction. She always give her characters their happily ever after, but loves to make them work for it! It’s a long road to love, so sit back and enjoy the ride. In an alternative universe and under her government issue name, Tina Dula, she is a wife to the love of her life, mom to a special, beautiful son, and a friend to those living with autism through her foundation Myles-A-Part, serving Georgia families.

Her writings on Autism have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul, and she has been featured on the Montel Williams Show, NPR, Headline News and others. She is donating a portion of her proceeds to her own foundation and to her charitable partner, Talk About Curing Autism (TACA).

Her interview series MOMMIES DO THE MOST AMAZING THINGS is featured each month in Modern Mom.

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DEVOTED TO HIM by Sofia Tate is HERE!!!


I am so grateful I met Sofia Tate. Yes, as a friend and publishing buddy, but also as a gifted writer who can burn up the very pages with the heat of her words, layering so much emotional intensity between every line. Do not miss DEVOTED TO HIM, the sequel to BREATHLESS FOR HIM, out today!!! Check out the excerpt for a spicy taste! :-)

Two months ago, Allegra Orsini nearly lost the man of her dreams. Thankfully Davison Cabot Berkeley, a powerful billionaire who always gets what he wants, had refused to allow anything-or anyone-to come between them. Now back in the arms of the man she loves, Allegra receives an incredible proposal. Allegra is invited to study under the opera world’s most legendary diva. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity . . . but it means moving to Italy for a month. Thirty days without Davison’s touch. Allegra isn’t sure she can survive it-especially when Davison begins pulling away for reasons she can’t figure out. Is the man who has given her more passion and pleasure than she has ever known about to break her heart? Soon Allegra starts to realize that Davison could be guarding a secret even more devastating . . .


Excellent Excerpt!

Tate_Devoted to Him_e-book

I take a few steps into the cabin, staring in awe. While the exterior of the plane may have been simple, the interior is the complete opposite. The leather seats and carpeting are in a soothing shade of cream, while the fixtures like the light switches and door handles are covered in gold. Couch pillows and a cashmere blanket in taupe cover a long sofa on one side of the cabin. Yet I don’t feel intimidated by the opulence of the space. It’s elegant yet comfortable. The entire plane signifies that someone of means and power owns it, but when you look inside, it’s calming and reassuring, just like Davison.

I sit in one of the single chairs by the window when I hear my phone ring. I almost forgot to turn it off.

When I check the caller ID, I smile.

“Hi, Harvard.”

“Hey, baby,” his deep voice greets me with that rumble I love. “You on the plane?”

“Yes, and it’s gorgeous. Thank you for doing this for me.”

“Always, Venus. Did Gerard give you the tour?”

“Um, no. I think he’s busy at the moment.”

“That’s all right. Even though I’m not there, I can do this for you over the phone. Did you know there’s a bedroom in the back?”

I never sleep well on planes, so the thought of having a decent rest before I get to Milan excites me to no end. “Really?”

“Of course. Why don’t you go check it out? It’s the door on the right.”

“Umm, okay. I guess I have time.”

I look up to the front of the plane to scan for Gerard, but he’s probably disappeared into the galley. I unbuckle my seat belt, walking slowly to the back. I turn the handle on the door to the right just like Davison instructed.

The door swings open, and I scream at the sight in front of me.

“Ready to fly my friendly skies, baby?” Davison asks me, a wicked smirk on his face, his eyes alive and shining and locked on mine.

I fly into his arms, coiling my legs around his waist. Grabbing his hair in my hands, I lock my mouth over his, kissing him furiously even though it’s been less than twelve hours since I last saw him.

When I can’t breathe anymore, I pull back to look at his beautiful face. “What are you doing here?”

He can’t stop smiling. “I thought I’d go with you as far as the airport in Milan, then fly up to London for some client meetings before going back to New York.”

I stroke his face with my right hand. “What a clever man you are, Davison Berkeley.”

“What can I say? I’m the king of multitasking.”

“That’s not the only thing you’re the king of.” I grin back at him.

“Damn right, Miss Orsini.”

I unwrap my legs as he puts me back down on the floor, where I can finally take a look at him and my surroundings. He looks so hot, his dark hair all rumpled thanks to my eager hands, dressed in a white button-down shirt, the pushed-up sleeves revealing his corded forearms, worn blue jeans, and the brown driving shoes I love on him. In the bedroom, the same color palette of cream and gold decorates the walls and fixtures, save for one thing—the double bed in the middle of the room that’s covered in a black cashmere duvet.

“Wow. That looks…comfortable,” I comment, envisioning the events to come later in the flight with great anticipation.

“Oh, it is, my love. Very comfortable,” he assures me slyly, planting a kiss on my hand before taking it in his, leading me out the door. “Come on. It’s almost time to take off.”

“So, wait. I’m guessing that I was the last to know that you were planning this, judging by the mischievous looks that Charles and Gerard were giving me.”

Davison sits me down in the seat next to his. “Pretty much,” he confirms as he’s locking his seat belt.

I give him a long stare. “Evil. Pure evil.”

He takes my hand again, stroking it with his thumb in that way of his that always arouses me. “But you love it, baby.”

TateBREATHLESSFORHIMSofiaSofia Tate grew up in Maplewood, NJ, the oldest of three children in a bilingual family. She was raised on 70s disaster films and 80s British New Wave music and classic tv miniseries. Her love for reading started when she received a set of Judy Blume books from her aunt when she was ten. She discovered erotic romance thanks to Charlotte Featherstone. She loves both writing and reading erotic romance. She graduated from Marymount College in Tarrytown, NY, with a degree in International Studies and a minor in Italian. She also holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Adelphi University. She has lived in London and Prague. Sofia currently resides in New York City.






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INSIDE OUT by Lia Riley is HERE!!!


I’ve met some truly remarkable folks so far on this writing journey. One of my absolute HEARTBEAT girls is Lia Riley. Her Australia-set OFF THE MAP series is getting rave reviews because her writing is fresh and her voice is so distinct. When I read anything she’s written, it is apparent immediately that it is HERS! She leaves her mark on every sentence! You’ll see in the nifty excerpt I’m sharing with you. All the dets are below.

Don’t sleep on this one! Congratulations on a series well done, Lia! :-)





Who was I when I first fell in love with Bran?

A person who had courage to stare down an unfeasible situation and say, Sure, I’m up for the challenge.

Who was I when Bran threw himself at me like a wounded animal, all claws, abandonment fear, spit, and fang?

A person who accepted that the moon has two sides, light and dark.

Who am I now?

I feel like a lost soul rocking in the corner, fresh out of ideas.

Bran pushes me through the long line until it’s our turn at the passport desk.

“How long do you plan to stay in the United States?” The customs official glances from Bran’s face to his passport photo and back again.

My stomach squirms like a writhing snake. We’ve avoided any discussion about future plans, focused instead on the short term. I had to accept the reality that I couldn’t return to the Peace Corps, even with the medical separation. I was too sick, too shattered. Our discussions about the logistics of leaving Africa were easier to concentrate on than the looming issue of what we were going to do with each other. I treated the topic like an abandoned lot, filled with weeds and rusting cars, a subject to walk past and pretend to ignore.

Now a stranger is forcing the issue.

“Until this one gets better.” Bran cocks his head in my direction.

The woman scoots forward, peers at me with a faint frown. “May I see proof of a return ticket, sir?”

Bran digs out the photocopy of his itinerary. When we bought the tickets, he had to borrow money from his dad. He hasn’t said much, but I know the fact must eat at him. Add another bitter drop to my guilt bucket—soon it’s going to overflow.

“You’re on a temporary tourist visa.” The customs agent flips the passport to a blank page and stamps with obvious relish. “You have three months, starting now.”

Here we go again.

Visa issues.

Ticking clocks.

People imagine international romance is excitement, hot accents, and adventure. They don’t want to hear about the bureaucratic drudgery that threatens to harden the arteries of even the most passionate hearts.

I thought I was going somewhere.


I am an idiot Icarus who flew too close to the sun.

Bran leans forward, his lips hover an inch from my ear, his breath a hot caress on my cool skin. “You okay, Captain?”


“What are you thinking, thinker?”

“I’m just sitting here, a sitter.”

We roll past an American flag overhanging a framed photo of the president. His smile seems smug, as if to say, You really thought you’d get away?

Yes, sir. I kind of did.

“We’re up next.” Bran hands a final customs form to yet another officer who waves us toward big silver doors that open and shut like gnashing teeth. On the other side is California. I can’t shake the disorienting sense we’re heading in the wrong direction.



Bran crossed an ocean for me. I have to find the way out of this black swamp, but I’m manacled to an island of self-doubt, and the tide is rising.



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Lia Riley_Photo Credit Kitti Homme Lia Riley writes offbeat New Adult and Contemporary Adult Romance. After studying at the University of Montana-Missoula, she scoured the world armed only with a backpack, overconfidence and a terrible sense of direction. She counts shooting vodka with a Ukranian mechanic in Antarctica, sipping yerba mate with gauchos in Chile and swilling fourex with stationhands in Outback Australia among her accomplishments.

A British literature fanatic at heart, Lia considers Mr. Darcy and Edward Rochester as her fictional boyfriends. Her very patient husband doesn’t mind. Much. When not torturing heroes (because c’mon, who doesn’t love a good tortured hero?), Lia herds unruly chickens, camps, beach combs, daydreams about as-of-yet unwritten books, wades through a mile-high TBR pile and schemes yet another trip. Right now, Icelandic hot springs and Scottish castles sound mighty fine. She and her family live mostly in Northern California.

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10 Fascinating Facts from Alyssa Alexander’s IN BED WITH A SPY!

What a treat I have for you today! I typically feature contemporary writer friends of mine. I am DELIGHTED to draw your attention to a fresh, outstanding voice on the historical fiction scene. Alyssa Alexander, an incredibly gifted writer, garnered praise from critics and readers alike with her debut THE SMUGGLER WORE SILK. She has come back even stronger with book two of her A Spy In The Ton series, IN BED WITH A SPY.  Both books are RT Top picks. Alyssa is my agent buddy and someone I have loved getting to know. Why don’t you get to know her right now? :-)




Thank you, Kennedy, for having me! I’m excited to share my next book with everyone, and even more thrilled to be here today.

Writing a book is both a joy and a labor of love: details to keep straight, writing when my fingers can’t move quickly enough to keep up with my brain, and writing when my muse is being stubborn. And sometimes I write in the strangest places, such as on the back of an envelope at a gas station because it’s the only piece of paper in my purse. But it’s always, always, a dream come true. For me, that dream continues tomorrow (!), when my second book in the A Spy In The Ton series, IN BED WITH A SPY, hits the shelves.


There are also funny moments and inspirational moments when writing a book, and times where I simply put my head in my hands and realize I’m crazy. Here are a few of those moments during the writing of IN BED WITH A SPY.

  1. I wrote almost the entire first draft of IN BED WITH A SPY in the coffee shop across the road from my day job. I think I lived on tall skim chai lattes for a good six months.
  2.  In one scene, I state the number of seconds in an hour…and I miscalculated. Thank you to the copyeditor who noticed I’m really bad at math!
  3.  I listened to the theme from Mission Impossible while writing the action scenes. I may, or may not, have acted out a few of those scenes in my home office as well. I promise the curtains were closed, however, so my neighbors didn’t run away screaming.
  4.  Come Away With Me by Norah Jones is the inspiration for the emotional sex scenes because, first, there is song-writing in this book, and second, it’s all about lies. And if only Angel and Lilias could leave all the lies behind, life and love would be a lot simpler.
  5.  I spent hours researching the color of British heavy and light cavalry officer uniforms (scarlet and blue, respectively) and whether they used swords or sabres (again, respectively), and I still got it wrong and had to change it during the edits. In fact, despite the hours of research, I even had to double check it for this post.
  6.  I tossed out and completely rewrote the last 100 pages…about six weeks before my deadline. But, oh, is the ending better for it!
  7.  I spent at least two hours researching carriage lamps, what they were made of, and whether they were actually invented or something I’d conjured in my imagination—and finally came across a patent for them a few years before the book took place. Turns out, they’re real. Yay!
  8.  The hero, Angel, has a crooked nose because it was broken, which, as our heroine Lilias noted, saves him from the burden of perfection. You’ll have to read the end of book #1 in the series, THE SMUGGLER WORE SILK, to find out how it happened.
  9.  I spent hours and hours and hours—weeks, really—researching violins, what they were made of, how one played them, and how to keep them in good working order. I also spent a lot of time on YouTube watching violin videos…There is a very, very good-looking model who is an amazing violinist as well.
  10.  Last but not least, the working title was Deception. I’m very, very glad it was renamed IN BED WITH A SPY! Enjoy!

Thanks again for having me, Kennedy, and I hope everyone has a glimpse into not only some fun facts about IN BED WITH A SPY, but the writing process as well. Since I’ve teased you with some details, here is the prologue of IN BED WITH A SPY. (And now you know why I had to research British uniforms and weapons!)


June 18, 1815

On a bloody field near Waterloo

 The woman shouldn’t have been in the thick of battle. But she rose out of the acrid smoke, perched high atop a chestnut horse and wearing the blue coat of a light cavalry officer.

The Marquess of Angelstone staggered through rows of trampled corn, shock rippling through him as the woman’s sabre flashed. A shrill whistle sounded overhead. Instinctively, Angel ducked as cannon artillery pounded into the ranks, blasting into the earth and showering him with dirt and black powder.

The woman on horseback didn’t flinch.

He staggered forward, coughing, ears ringing, as soldiers around him fell or scattered. Pressing a hand to his jacket pocket, Angel fingered the square shape of the letter he carried there. He hadn’t known he’d have to fight his way to Wellington to deliver it.

The horse turned a tight circle, one of the woman’s hands gripping the reins while the other brandished a cavalry sabre. Her grip on the blade was untrained, her movements awkward.

But fury and hate blazed from her eyes and fueled her sabre as it sliced across the chest of a French soldier. The man collapsed, shrieking and clutching at welling blood.

The woman turned away, already arcing her sabre toward another enemy soldier, and Angel lost sight of her.

Reflex sent Angel’s bayonet plunging as a Frenchman reared up in front of him, face contorted by fear. When the man screamed, regret shot through Angel before he forced it away. It was kill or be killed. There was no time for regret.

He surged forward with the ranks of foot soldiers, compelled to look for the woman. The muddied ground sucked at his feet, threatening to pull him beneath thundering hooves and panicked soldiers. Broken cornstalks slashed at his face. The sulfur smell of black powder burned his nose, mixing with the scent of men’s fear.

He fought past a charging enemy soldier, spun away from another and saw her again.

Soot streaked her grim face. She grinned at the enemy standing before her—and the smile was terrible. The man paled, but aimed his rifle at her. He was not fast enough to beat her sword.

When that soldier, too, fell under her sabre, she looked up. Over the dead soldier and through the swirling gray smoke, Angel met her eyes. They were a chilling, pale blue and held only one thing.


She pulled on the reins and her horse reared up, hooves pawing at the air. Angel planted his feet and braced for impact. But the hooves never struck. The woman kept her seat, her jaw clenched, and continued to hold his gaze.

The battle faded away, booming cannons falling on his deaf ears. The gray, writhing smoke veiled every dying soldier, every hand-to-hand battle being waged around him.

He only saw her merciless eyes. Blood roared in his ears and the beat of his pulse became as loud as the cannons. A high, powerful note sang through him.

The woman’s horse whinnied as its hooves struck the earth again. Standing in the stirrups, she thrust her sword aloft and howled. The battle cry echoed over the field and carried with it the sting of rage and unfathomable grief. She wheeled the horse, spurred his sides and charged through battling soldiers, her blond hair streaming behind her.

And she was gone, obscured by clouds of dark smoke and the chaos of battle.


Alyssa AlexanderAlyssa Alexander is the author of THE SMUGGLER WORE SILK, which garnered 4.5 Stars and Top Pick from Romantic Times and has been nominated for 2014 Best First Historical by Romantic Times. Her second book, IN BED WITH A SPY, releases December 2, and received 4.5 Stars and Top Pick from Romantic Times as well as a Starred Review from Publisher’s Weekly. She is a Google-Fu aficionado, lives with entirely too many cats, and is grateful every day for the wonderful Mr. Alexander and her small boy-child, Biscuit, who often wears a knight-in-shining-armor costume. She also likes bacon, thunderstorms, very high heels and long naps.



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THANK YOU in Threes…or How Autism Keeps Me Grateful


Sometimes I get tired of saying my son has autism. It has taken so much from me and my family, and it can feel like it defines us too much. It pervades. It hovers. Sometimes it smothers. I do, think, however, especially around this time of year that there are things for which I’m grateful that I may otherwise have taken for granted.


My son is 13 years old. He doesn’t read. He rarely talks. He makes odd noises and has trouble controlling some of his body’s compulsions. And he is 100% awesome and untrade-able.


Sometimes I forget that.


When he does talk, it isn’t conversational. I would trade years of my life probably to have a conversation with my son. I pray that one day I will. Right now when he talks, it is often scripted or just quick commands/demands around his basic needs.


“Mommy, juice.”

“Mommy, eat.”

“Mommy, Cookie Monster.” (Yes, he still carries the blue stuffed one around. Don’t ask.)




But then he also gets “stuck” and repeats things.


“No school. No school. No school.”

“Noodles. Noodles. Noodles.”

“Bye Bye. Bye Bye. Bye Bye.” (for when he wants me to get off my butt and take him somewhere, which is often! LOL)


Last weekend, my husband and I led a getaway for married couples raising ASD kids that my foundation sponsors a few times a year. We were gone for two days, and when we got home, my son made sure we knew he didn’t want us to leave again anytime soon.


“Mommy. Daddy. Myles.”

“Mommy. Daddy. Myles.”

“Mommy. Daddy. Myles.”


ALL freaking week, he repeated that over and over and over and over. It may seem small in print for a few lines, but when it is said literally HUNDREDS of times a day, it becomes like a dripping faucet on your nerves.


At one point I snapped, “Would you just be quiet?!”


He doesn’t often look me right in the eye, but he did then and my heart withered. I recalled a dark, silent season. Myles lost speech around 18 months old. That was the last month I heard him say “Mommy” until he was five. I wasn’t sure that he ever would again, and when he said it out of the blue one day, I literally fell to my knees and wept holding him. It was awkward since he squirmed out of my arms, but I didn’t care! He called me Mommy, and I got at least that one word back!


This week, I found myself buried under a pile of applications from single parents raising children with autism. My foundation offers a holiday program for these parents, pairing them with community sponsors to ensure an awesome Christmas for their families. Seeing them providing for 3, 4, 5 children with so few resources, and managing autism alone, it humbled me. Their struggle was hidden in the details of their wish lists.


One mom requested adult diapers for her 18-year-old daughter who never potty trained.

One mom listed modest requests for the FOUR ASD children she is raising. None of whom are hers biologically.

One mom included notes from her 17-year-old son’s doctor to corroborate her requests. His multiple diagnoses: Autism, Cerebral palsy, severe seizure disorder. Non-verbal. Multiple hospitalizations. And the picture she included? A snapshot of her standing behind him in his wheelchair, the brightest, bravest smile on her face.


How dare I complain? I talk to myself when I sniff out self-pity or ingratitude.


“Who do you think you are? Have you forgotten the days when your child could not talk AT ALL? Do you see what these parents are managing ALONE?”


Don’t get me wrong. Pain is personal. Just because someone else hurts doesn’t mean you don’t, or that you feel your pain less deeply knowing someone else hurts more, but seeing circumstances harder than yours can provide perspective. And especially this time of year, I make sure to position myself around folks who remind me of how blessed I am, and compel me to bless someone else.


I picked Myles up from school that afternoon, after a day of those applications, and praying I would find the right sponsors for each family. Something had shifted inside of me. As soon as he got in the car, he started.


“Mommy. Daddy. Myles.”

“Mommy. Daddy. Myles.”

“Mommy. Daddy. Myles.”


If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. Every time he said it, I’d say under my breath, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”


It felt good. Maybe he’s on to something.


If you’re interested in information about the holiday program for single parents raising ASD children, click here.

FORGIVE ME Release Day!!!

FORGIVE ME by Eliza Freed
Freed_Forgive Me_E-Book
The thing he loves most in the world will kill him. It’s only a matter of time . . . “College student Charlotte O’Brien is lost and she can’t find her way home. Devastated by her parents’ tragic deaths, she aches for any kind of connection…and finds it in a man who is all wrong for her. Jason Leer is a rough-hewn steer wrestler from Oklahoma-and the hottest thing Charlotte has ever laid eyes on. Yet he has his own dark secrets…Burying herself in Jason, Charlotte soon discovers that life doesn’t have to be so painful. When they’re together their passion eclipses everything-and Charlotte can finally begin to see a way out of the darkness of her past. Fighting for a future with Jason won’t be easy, but for the first time since her parents’ deaths, this lost soul might have finally found a place that feels like home.


And so it goes. The days are blurs of Sean, Jenn, and Margo helping me with the administration of my life. There’s a will, a house, cars, belongings. Too much to comprehend. And my nights are Jason Leer.

He comes when the others leave; always here within minutes of loneliness setting in. He saves me from my thoughts and my memories. Two days ago I showed him the key under the turtle rock and now he no longer knocks. Knocking would imply asking permission to come in and he’s already here.

Something’s different about tonight, though. Sean and Michelle brought dinner over and drove Dad’s tractor back to their house. They left an hour ago, later than expected, and he’s still not here. I haven’t slept without him since the funeral and now that he’s absent, the depth to which I need him scares me.

I look in the mirror as I brush my teeth and my face is distraught. I refuse to let myself consider why. Too afraid it has more to do with Jason’s absence than with my parents. That’s impossible, though. Did he say he had something to do tonight? Did he say anything? Do we ever say anything? I thought I understood. Until tonight. Now that he’s not here the last week no longer makes sense.

I button the last button on my favorite nightshirt and climb into bed. It’s enormous and cold without him. The silent darkness allows the memories to seep in. The moonlight invades my room and everything is gray and sad. Why?

Why did you die?

Why aren’t you here?

Where the hell is Jason Leer?

Tears fill my eyes, and I roll onto my stomach and bury my face in my pillow. I can’t be without them. They have to come back. I hear the truck tires on the gravel of my driveway and hurry out of bed. His truck door moans as he closes it and I go to the back door to meet him. I open it just as he’s fitting the key into the lock.

His smile fades as the look on my face registers. He steps to me and wipes the tears from my face, which makes me cry a little more.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he whispers, so as to not disturb the quiet that’s descended on the house. He smells of cigarettes and dirt. Actual dirt. And I’m so thankful he’s here.

“I was worried.”

“Worried I wasn’t coming?” Jason moves closer to me and I lose my breath as he pins me up against the wall. I nod my head slowly, my eyes never leaving his.

“I came as soon as the rodeo ended.”

“The rodeo.”

“Did you forget the rodeo?”

“No. I know the rodeo is on Saturday.” Jason’s face turns to confusion. “I didn’t know today is Saturday,” I say, and my complete disconnection from the living makes me start to cry again. If my parents were alive, I would know what fucking day it is.

Jason pulls me close to him and kisses the side of my head as he runs his fingers through my hair.

“I need a shower,” he says, but I can’t be concerned with what he needs.

“I need you.”

I lay my soul bare; Jason’s, to do with what he wants because I can’t seem to care about it anymore. He forces me back to the wall and presses his body against mine until I can feel him. Until I can feel something.


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About the author:
Eliza FreedEliza Freed graduated from Rutgers University and returned to her hometown in rural South Jersey. Her mother encouraged her to take some time and find herself. After three months of searching, she began to bounce checks and her neighbors began to talk; her mother told her to find a job.She settled into Corporate America, learning systems and practices and the bureaucracy that slows them. Eliza quickly discovered her creativity and gift for story telling as a corporate trainer and spent years perfecting her presentation skills and studying diversity. It’s during this time she became an avid observer of the characters we meet and the heartaches we endure. Her years of study have taught her laughter is the key to survival, even when it’s completely inappropriate.She currently lives in New Jersey with her family and a misbehaving beagle named Odin. An avid swimmer, if Eliza is not with her family and friends, she’d rather be underwater. While she enjoys many genres, she has always been a sucker for a love story…the more screwed up the better.

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Ginger Scott Cover Reveal: You And Everything After!

For the record, I love everything about Ginger Scott.
Her ginormous heart. Her smart arse/wise crack humor. Her gorgeous writing.
If you haven’t encountered all three, you can delve into her back list while we wait for her new one, coming December 5.
Check it out!
We are so excited to share the cover for You and Everything After by Ginger
Scott! Take a look and be sure to let us know what you think.
Title: You and Everything After (Falling #2)
Author: Ginger Scott
Age: NA
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release date: December 5, 2014
that teenaged girl who has MS. You haven’t met me, but you’ve seen me around.
You probably know my sister. We’re twins, and she’s the pretty one. Maybe
you’ve heard about my reputation, how much I like to hook up at parties—how
easy it is to get me in bed, get what you want, and forget about me after.
Forget what you think you know. I’m leaving
that girl behind.
College is all about new beginnings. So from
now on—I’m just Cass. And the rest…it isn’t written yet. And no one else gets
to write my story for me.
——–“Tyson Preeter doesn’t do can’t.”That’s exactly what I want people to think
when they see me. I am strong, invincible, confident, intelligent—arrogant. I’m
the man who always finds a way around, over and through—until there’s nothing
left. Since losing my ability to walk six years ago, I’ve relearned life. I
don’t need sympathy. I don’t want charity. And I don’t do love.
It’s better this way, saves my disappointments
for me, and me alone, and it saves my strength for everything I want.
But Cass Owens is about to wreck everything.
She’s about to steal all of my strength away from me, because she needs it
more. She’s about to break all of my rules, and break down all of my walls.
She’s about to own me…completely.
And I’m about to let her.

*This is book 2 in The Falling Series. This Is
Falling is available for review.



“So honestly, when do I get to kiss you again?” She laughs at my harsh left turn in our conversation. I love the way she laughs. There’s this rasping sound that comes from deep inside her that shows it’s genuine, and her smile creases deep into her cheeks.


She flops to her back, and I instantly kick myself for causing her to move away. “You’re really trying to wear me down, aren’t you?” she says, her hand running along the side of her face until she covers her eyes, peering at me through her barely spread fingers.
“Wow, well…I’ve never really had to wear anyone down before…” I say, shielding my slightly dented ego.
“And that’s precisely why we need to be friends, and why I can’t kiss you…” she starts, and I interrupt.
“Again,” I say.
“Right, again,” she whispers and moves her hand back to cover her eyes. I take this opportunity to roll onto my side and really look at her, the way her lips barely part when she breathes, the small twitches they make when she fights against her body’s urge to smile, the tiny movement of her tongue as it wets her lips. I have to kiss her again.
“But…and hear me out,” I say, startling her with how close I am. She uncovers her eyes and turns to face me, scooting back a few more inches just to maintain this new self-imposed “safety”distance.  “Maybe the fact that I am willing to work so hard just to get you to say yes makes you different.”
She stares into my eyes for several long seconds, her lips slightly parted as she considers this. “Am I? Different?” she asks.
“Now see, there’s the catch,” I say, running my thumb softly over the wrinkles in the sheet between us. “I can’t know for certain unless I kiss you again.”
“Oh really,” she says, smirking.
“Cross my heart,” I say, motioning my hand across my chest. “It’s in the handbook.”
“There’s a handbook,” she says.
“Uh, duh. There’s always a handbook,” I challenge back.
“And your handbook says you can’t tell if I’m worth your time without jamming your tongue down my throat?” she fires back.
“Wow. Again with the word slap,” I say, secretly loving this back-and-forth we’ve got going now.
“Word slap?” she questions.
“Yeah, like, you just bitch-slapped me in the face with your words. Word slap,” I say with a shrug. She holds my gaze after this and bites at the corner of her lip, her eyes squinting as she decides her next move.
“Okay, how’s this,” she says, leaning in a little closer, closing the gap in the invisible barrier she seems to have instituted when I started talking about kissing. “You can kiss me again…” I move toward her on instinct, but she’s quick to put her hand against my chest to stop me. I grip it, tight, and meet the dare in her eyes. “But not until you mean it.”
There’s a fire in her eyes when she says this, one that I don’t disrespect, and don’t dare cross. It’s not threatening, but it’s serious, and I have this feeling churning in my stomach that Cass Owens is what Nate and I like to call a game changer. Her words have my heart racing, my mind worried that I can’t mean it enough, at least not yet. All of our playfulness from seconds before has ceased with this line she’s drawn, and I will obey it.
Holding her gaze, I lift the hand I’ve trapped against my body to my mouth and press my lips to her open palm. I don’t speak, and I don’t break our line of sight. But I don’t kiss her, either.


Book one, This is Falling
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About Ginger Scott
Scott is a writer and journalist from Peoria, Arizona. She is the author of
four young and new adult romances, with her fifth title, This Is Falling, set
to release in late August 2014.

Scott has been writing and editing for
newspapers, magazines and blogs for more than 15 years. She has told the
stories of Olympians, politicians, actors, scientists, cowboys, criminals and
towns. For more on her and her work, visit her website at

When she’s not writing, the odds are high that
she’s somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son field pop
flies like Bryce Harper or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona
Diamondbacks. Scott is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU
(fork ‘em, Devils).

Website  |  Twitter  |  Facebook  |  GoodReads


Killer Queen Release!


Happy Release Day to L.H Cosway and her new book KILLER QUEEN!

I first encountered her paranormals years ago, and recognized a unique talent and singular voice. Painted Faces, her first contemporary romance I read, blew me away, upended my expectations and left me wondering why more writers didn’t take the kinds of risks that so elevated Cosway’s stories from mundane and predictable. Nicholas, the sexy, charming, cross-dressing cabaret singer hero, not only won the heroine Freda’s heart, but mine, too. In every way imaginable. One by one, he toppled every preconceived notion I’d held about what my hero should be.

When I heard Cosway had written a companion novel, Killer Queen, from Nicholas’ point of view, I knew it couldn’t help but be special and distinct. I was so right. Digging around in the catacombs of this man’s head, reading the diary of his horrific past, and settling into a front row seat for his broken present made for quite the ride. Nicholas was an enigma in so many ways, a gorgeous Rubik’s cube that with every twist, reveals a new pattern, scrambles all the colors. And yet, there was something so straightforward about him. His dirty candor. His unflinching self-examination. His bawdy humor at his expense and others’. So refreshing. Watching him fall for Fred, watching her love heal him, was a pleasure I would not have missed for anything. And neither should you! Make sure to read this one, and if you haven’t read Painted Faces yet…you’re welcome! :-)



Amazon | Amazon UK | B&N | Kobo | Smashwords | iTunes


Willkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome…

Come inside The Glamour Patch club to see the star of our show, Miss Vivica Blue.

Do you want to read my diary you nosy little devils? Have a glass of champagne (you’ll need it) and get comfortable because you’re in for some crazy shenanigans brought to you straight from the horse’s mouth.

I can be whatever you want me to be: boy, girl, a little bit of both.

If you have a problem with a man in a dress then best be off with you. If males in make-up give you the willies, then I’ll say au revoir and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

So, who are we left with? Ah, a fine collection of curious souls. I want to tell you a tale of love, because those are the most glorious kind. I want to tell you about real love, a love that transcends labels and gender stereotypes.

The moment I first laid eyes on my Freda I knew that we were kindred. Well okay, I also knew I wanted to get into her pants, but that’s beside the point. My world was a grey place. I was at my lowest ebb. Then she came along and patches of colour began to spring forth. One day the daffodils were yellow and before I knew it, colour was everywhere, lighting up my life.

Love is not about how we appear on the outside, it’s about the soul contained within.

Our story was not a conventional one, but it was ours, and that’s what made it shine.

Killer Queen is a companion novel to L.H. Cosway’s contemporary romance, Painted Faces. It contains scenes that take place before, during and after the original story. It can also be read as a standalone.

Cover Designed by: Letitia from Romantic Book Affairs



KQteaser-release day\



LH Cosway

L.H. Cosway has a BA in English Literature and Greek and Roman Civilisation, and an MA in Postcolonial Literature. She lives in Dublin city. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books.

Facebook | Twitter | Website | Goodreads

Painted Faces

painted faces
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a Rafflecopter giveaway


Special thanks to all the bloggers participating in the LOVING YOU ALWAYS Blog Tour! I really appreciate you getting the word out there. You are the engine for this here machine.

See below for all the places I will be over the next week!



October 7, 2014

Morning Books & Coffee

What I’m Reading

Jennifer Vido

Karen’s Book Haven

Mary Gramlich


October 8, 2014

Inner Goddess

Long & Short Reviews

Talk Books to Me

Lush Book Reviews

Claire Fully Reads


October 9, 2014

Bitten by Love Reviews

The Season

Paranormal Book Club

Cocktails & Books

Kate George

The Literary Gossip


October 10, 2014

Room with Books

Art, Books & Coffee

KT Book Reviews

Pretty Sassy Cool

Agents of Romance

Basement Level 5


October 11, 2014

Ramblings from this Chick

Must Read Books or Die

Romancing Rakes for the Love of Romance

A Bookish Escape

Abigail Books Addiction


October 12, 2014

Bookish Temptations

These Curves Talk

A Bluestocking’s Place

Reading Between the Wines


October 13, 2014

BestSellers & BestStellars

On My Bookshelf

A One Click Addict’s Book Blog

Chocolate Wasteland

Smut & Bon Bons


Sassy Savvy Fabulous PR Blog Tour – All Stops October 7!

Che’s Book Addiction

Cumberland University-Vise Library

BFD Book Blog

Undercover Book Reviews

Just Booked

Ramblings From Beneath The Sheets

Author Sandra Love

The Lusty Literate

Books, Books, Books

Biblipohile Mystery

Schmexy Girl Book Blog

Dirty Laundry Review

Kylie’s Fiction Addiction

Stephanie’s Book Reports

101 Ways to make love to a spoon

The Book Enthusiast

Reading In Black and White

Carefully Place Money Where Mouth Is – IT BEARS REPEATING!

My first book WHEN YOU ARE MINE, released June 17. I wrote the post below about my family’s journey with autism, and how the community of families and professionals have compelled me to give back at every opportunity as my dream of writing unfolds. As I prepare to release book 2 in the Bennetts series, LOVING YOU ALWAYS, I thought my passion and commitment to this very personal cause, bore repeating! The following post appeared originally on the eve of WYAM’s release. And I post it again on the eve of book 2 because it still perfectly articulates my heart! :-)

I’ve wanted to be a published writer since I was a little girl, and there are so many things about this process I am enjoying. You might be surprised by the thing that may be bringing me more joy than just about anything else. The chance to give back a sliver of the love and support a special community of folks demonstrated to me when I needed it most. I’ll explain.


My son was diagnosed with Autism when he was two years old. To say I was devastated would put it mildly. Maybe if you throw in confused, afraid, angry, frustrated – you might approach the tornado of feeling ripping through me that Thursday afternoon 11 years ago. All I knew was Rain Man. And the little bit of info my cousin had shared with me when she worked at a special needs camp during college. What she had shared terrified me. As the doctor’s words fell on my numb heart, and he literally told me I should grieve my notions of what motherhood would be (wow, thanks for that, by the way), I just kept thinking it was some kind of joke. Or a nightmare I would wake up from the next day. If anything, the next day took my little family further downhill. My husband came home from work and told me they were downsizing, and he would be in the group who would have to go.

I will never forget closing the bathroom door, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and crying til my stomach ached from gut wrenching sobs. One blow after another. Back to back. It was all so unfair. These were the early, naive days when I thought life owed me an easy ride with fewer bumps and potholes than other people had.

Okay. So my son has autism. My husband has lost his job. We are now a one-income family rocked with a diagnosis we have really no idea how to deal with. I considered myself a fighter, but I didn’t know where to swing. Who would I hit? The doctor? My husband’s boss? God? Felt like the only person getting their butt kicked was me. Things couldn’t get much worse, though, right? This felt like bottom my nails were scraping.

Imagine my shock when Monday morning my insurance company told me they didn’t cover Autism. Was there anything else wrong with my son they could help me with? Um, no. Autism is quite enough, thank you. My research revealed more than $50,000 a year in out-of-pocket medical and therapy expenses we needed to help my son. We wouldn’t have been able to swing that with TWO jobs, much less my one average salary. Folks, I was floundering. I was sinking. I was drowning with no idea where to turn.
We were determined to get our son as much help as we could, so we used credit cards, robbed Peter to pay Paul. Did whatever we could, even though we were ruining our credit and barely paying our bills. I can still taste that desperation. Still remember my husband waking me up in the middle of the night because I was crying in my sleep. Still remember the depressing darkness that seemed to hover over every aspect of my life back then. Parenthood. My marriage. Our finances. Our friendships with people who just didn’t “get” what we were going through, and really didn’t know how to help or understand.


A turning point came when I sat down with an Autism mommy who had been at this for awhile. In an afternoon, she gave me hope. Not that everything would be better overnight, because it wasn’t. She gave me a different kind of hope. The kind that comes from knowing no matter how bad it gets, that you will not be alone. She introduced me to an autism support group, and that changed my life. I found my greatest resource to be these brave, brilliant warrior mothers and fathers who were further down this path than I was. They helped me find the right therapies, set me on the path to getting as much funding as I could, and gave me an outlet for all the emotional tumult I hadn’t known what to do with. I will never forget how that group, and others from the Autism community, befriended and guided me. It saved my family in more ways than one. I promised myself that any time I was ever in a position to do that for someone else, I would.

Fast forward a few years, and I started a foundation to do just that. A non-profit organization to provide financial and emotional support for families living with Autism in Georgia. The rush I got from helping others in this way; the incredible perspective it gave me – well, there’s nothing I can compare to it.

Fast forward six more years, about a year and a half ago. I had written a novel. It wasn’t easy. I worked a demanding full-time job, ran my foundation, raised my son, who is on the more severe end of the Autism spectrum, managed his services and the “industry” that is this kid’s life, and managed to keep my man happy. (Can’t leave that out! Holla!) But there was one thing I had always wanted to do that was just for me, and that was to become a published author. How my little story went from something languishing on my laptop to a 3-book deal with Grand Central Publishing in a year or so is another post for another day, but suffice it to say, it happened. The first thing I thought about was giving back to the people who had been so generous and supportive to my family when we were flailing and stumbling in the dark. Ask my agent. One of the first things I asked her was can I have money automatically donated to Autism from royalties without me ever even seeing it. That was how urgent it was to me. That was how eager I was to do my part, whatever that was.



And now it’s here. My book releases today, and it is time to carefully place my money where my mouth is. I am donating 25% of any royalties from this book to resourcing families living with Autism. My foundation, Myles-A-Part, will receive 10% for Georgia families, and Talk About Curing Autism (TACA), my national charitable partner, will receive the remaining 15%. I had the privilege of interviewing Lisa Ackerman, co-founder of TACA, awhile back for Modern Mom. Read my article HERE to see what an incredibly intelligent, passionate, vigilant woman stands behind the organization effectively and compassionately assisting families all over the WORLD. And it started in a living room!

I understand small beginnings. In many ways, this is one for me. I don’t know if I’ll sell a lot of books, or just a few. I’m not a big name, but I don’t want to wait until I have a surplus and say now’s the time to give. Start the way you mean to go, they always say. Well, I will always give back to the Autism community. I survived the hardest decade of my life because of other gracious, compassionate ASD families. I will not forget them now.

Why? Because I know what it’s like to stand in front of an empty pantry wondering how your family will eat, only to have someone show up with a bag of groceries. I know what it’s like to choose between that therapy bill or your car payment, and to wake up to an empty driveway. Only to have someone GIVE you a car free and clear.  And when that car breaks down and you take it to the mechanic and know you can’t afford the bill that’s coming, he tells you someone anonymously paid the bill. I know what it’s like to RECEIVE! And if you’ve ever been in that humbling position, one thing that motivates you to fight and survive is the promise of one day being able to give.

To whom much is given much is required. I am requiring this of myself. It is not a ploy to sell books. It is my privilege, my absolute pleasure to give back to the compassionate, generous community of warriors fighting not only for their kids, but for the families to the left and to the right in the trenches with them. And for the kids to come.

I don’t know who Autism thought it was messing with when it came to my house, but I didn’t get the woe is me memo. I didn’t buy into self-pity, or roll over and die. I learned to fight. I learned to thrive in the dark. I found joy and contentment when happiness was nowhere in sight. Experiences like that transform you. They deepen you. They have the power to make you better if you let them. And this person, this woman who sat on the edge of a bathtub and wondered if she would make it, survived. Thrived. Lived to tell it. Will always shout about the folks who helped me grow and survive. And for me, giving back is not an option. I’m simply putting the money where my mouth is, and I do it with a smile.



Click HERE for all the e-tailers selling WHEN YOU ARE MINE & LOVING YOU ALWAYS!

We’re celebrating LOVING YOU ALWAYS in a week-long book party! Grand prize is a $100 VISA Gift Card. The party will also feature guest author appearances, daily giveaways and book discussion! Starts October 13. Join the fun HERE!

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