Excerpt Reveal: Hate Notes by Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward

HATE NOTES – EXCERPT REVEAL

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A standalone romance novel published by Montlake Romance

By: New York Times Bestselling Authors Vi Keeland & Penelope Ward

Release Date: Tuesday, November 6, 2018

Add to Goodreads ➜ http://smarturl.it/xys920
Amazon ebook➜ https://amzn.to/2Q1U6xa
Amazon Print (Currently on sale!) ➜ http://smarturl.it/x5h99h
Amazon Audio ➜ https://amzn.to/2zR81AE
Amazon print UK (Currently on sale) ➜http://hyperurl.co/32k3q7 

Please Note: Because Hate Notes is published by Montlake Romance, a division of Amazon, the ebook and paperback will only be available on Amazon. If you are an Amazon Prime or Kindle Unlimted member, you should NOT pre-order the eBook. The Hate Notes ebook will be free for both Prime and KU members on release day!

Hate Notes coming November 6th

Grabbing my laptop, I searched my history and called up the last website I’d visited. Eastwood Properties is one of the largest independent brokerage firms in the world. We connect the most prestigious and exclusive properties with qualified buyers, assuring the utmost privacy for both parties. Whether you’re in the market for a luxury New York City penthouse with a view of the park, a waterfront Hampton estate, or an enchanting chateau escape in the mountains, or you’re ready for your own private island, Eastwood is where your dreams begin.

There was a link to search properties, so I typed in the name of the place the woman had mentioned in the voice mail: Millennium Tower. Sure enough, the penthouse popped up for sale. For only twelve million dollars, I could own an apartment on Columbus Avenue with sweeping views of Central Park. Let me write you a check.

After drooling through a video and two dozen photos, I clicked on the button to make an appointment to view the property. An application popped up, the top of which read: For the privacy and safety of our sellers, all prospective buyers are required to complete an application to view properties. Only buyers that meet our stringent prequalification criteria will be contacted.

I snorted. Great prequalification criteria you have there, Eastwood. I wasn’t sure I had enough money to take the train uptown to get to that swanky place, much less buy it. God knows what I’d written that had qualified me.

I closed the website and was just about to shut my laptop and go back to bed again when I decided to take one more peek at Mr. Romantic on Facebook.

God, he was gorgeous.

What if . . .

I shouldn’t.

No good ever came out of ideas formulated while drunk.

I couldn’t.

But . . .

That face . . .

And that note.

So romantic. So beautiful.

Sign up for Penelope & Vi’s mailing list now and be the first one notified when it goes live!

➜ https://www.subscribepage.com/Vi&Penelope

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Fate. Hate. Love. Lies.

Which four letter word will change their lives forever?

Four Letter Word by J. Daniels is  NOW AVAILABLE!

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2bY1bzY

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2c4NCLh

iBooks: http://apple.co/2bYdUQw

Nook: http://bit.ly/2bTdJCF

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2cBTjmq

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Blurb

Sydney Paige was never so mortified to hear the words “wrong number” in her life. She meant to tell off the guy who broke her best friend’s heart, but unleashed her anger on a perfect stranger instead. And now her world is turned upside down by the captivating man who wants to keep her on the line.

Brian Savage is living a life he’s quickly come to hate-until Sydney’s wild rant has him hooked and hungry for more. Soon the sexy woman on the phone becomes the lover in his bed. But Brian has secrets, and the closer he lets Syd get, the harder it is to shield her from the devastating mistakes of his past . . .

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Excerpt

The sun burned across a cloudless sky. I felt the intensity of it bake into the skin of my bare shoulders.

Waves crashed against the shore, some carrying surfers with them in the distance. A few feet ahead of me, a small child kicked a sand castle and giggled with his father.

I sat down on a step and slipped my sandals off.

The sand was warm underneath my feet as I dug my toes into it, staring out at the world in front of me. I rubbed a shell between my fingers as I watched a couple walk hand-in-hand toward the pier.

They looked happy. I tried to remember the last time Marcus held my hand, or even reached for it.

My chest burned when I couldn’t conjure up an image in my mind.

I looked down at the faint line marking my left ring finger. The token I was left with now that I no longer wore my ring. It was subtle, thanks to my naturally pale skin, but to me it stood out like embers glowing in the dark.

I hated it. I didn’t need a reminder of how I’d failed as a wife. Or how Marcus stopped seeing me as one.

Maybe I could coat my entire hand in sunblock except for that thin strip. Burn the memory away.

The idea seemed promising enough to consider.

From my back pocket, my cell beeped with an incoming message.

I wiped the tear from my cheek as I stood and palmed my phone, expecting to see Tori’s name lit up on my screen.

I froze on the step, my free hand on the railing as I stared curiously at the message and the number it was sent from.

Wild Girl. Eaten any innocent men alive today yet?

My lip twitched, the hint of a smile.

I sat back down, reading the message a second time as I remembered my conversation with this stranger yesterday.

My accidental verbal beat-down.

Jesus. I really let him have it.

I couldn’t think of the last time I was that embarrassed.

I told the guy to remove a dildo from his mouth, for Christ sakes.

All in all, whoever this was seemed to be a good sport about it. He could’ve laid into me and cussed me out. Made me feel even more like a complete shit for dialing the wrong number and not confirming the identity of my intended victim before I tore into him like he owed me money.

He was more than decent about the whole thing. Easily forgiving.

And now he was messaging me out of nowhere and striking up conversation.

Wild.

He wanted to talk to me.

Huh.

I tapped my thumb on the edge of the phone case, then hovered over the letters of my keypad as I stared at the message.

Did I even want to talk to this guy anymore? Wasn’t this weird? We didn’t know each other. Our encounter was a mistake. A one-time mishap, never to be repeated.

Right?

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Want more Dirty Deeds?

Hit the Spot releases on December 6th.

Pre-order NOW!

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2dRpsae

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Kobo: http://bit.ly/2dC1cpe

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Author Information

J. Daniels is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Sweet Addiction series, the Alabama Summer series, and the upcoming Dirty Deeds series.

She would rather bake than cook, she listens to music entirely too loud, and loves writing stories her children will never read. Her husband and children are her greatest loves, with cupcakes coming in at a close second.

J grew up in Baltimore and resides in Maryland with her family.

Stalk Her: Facebook | Twitter | Website |  Goodreads

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$25 Amazon Gift Card

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Excerpt Reveal: Watching the Sky by J.B. Hartnett

 

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Excerpt

I never really appreciated the businesses open 24/7 until I stopped going out when the sun was up. But I’d come to find this necessity such a relief, I was close to sending the good people at Thrifty Corporate offices a thank you note. I could leave my house at midnight and buy a big-ass bottle of quality gin, a pint of the best mint chocolate chip ice cream in the world, and a jumbo-sized bottle of weed killer.

The guy at the cash register made a point of eyeing my products. So much so, for a split second, I wondered if I’d forgotten to wear pants. He had an obnoxious, patronizing smirk plastered to his face when he asked, “Big night planned?”

His customer service skills left a lot to be desired, and I was in no mood to take shit from anyone. So, I gave it to him honestly.

“Oh yeah,” I enthused, trying to remember if I’d brushed my teeth that day. “First,” I said holding up a single finger, “I’m gonna get drunk. Second,” I continued with two fingers and noticed he was staring at my chest, “I’m gonna murder the plant my husband gave to me.” That’s about the time his eyes met mine again. “And for my big finale,” I patted the tub of ice-cream lovingly, “I’m gonna eat my feelings.”

He had no response, whatsoever, to my smartass comments or manner, so I took my items, leaned in on my elbows, and gave him some solid, retail advice. “You know, it’s just a normal Saturday night for any single girl. Put these three items on a primary end-cap and sales will soar.”

Again, he didn’t find me funny.

I thought I was fucking hilarious.

A few hours later, I was on my fourth homemade Grey Goose cocktail. This consisted of gin and Diet Coke, because these were the things I had in the house. Not to mention the jar of maraschino cherries, which made for a lovely garnish.

Sometime after my third drink, I’d gotten into Nick’s CDs. With cocktail number four in hand, I stood in my front yard, Don’t Stop Believing blaring through the open windows—on repeat—and looked at the mess I’d made. My previous plan for the night was to simply shut my broken heart up by drowning it in liquor, then drowning that plant with poison. I thought…if I killed the plant, I could somehow move on from the pain. But the closer I got to home, my plan morphed into something a little more…sinister. The gin helped, of course, but I had two years of livid, confused emotions I’d denied for far too long, chomping at the bit for release.

I walked into the shed and saw the area dedicated to the care of that plumeria. I filled the wheelbarrow with big sheers and a shovel. My intention to release the plant from the earth was foiled by rock-hard soil which required me to soften it up with a little water. While a shallow pond formed around my flip-flop clad feet, I gave the offensive blooms their last trim and final rites.

“Forever’s a long time, isn’t it, little flowers? I bet you thought that nice man would take care of you until the end of time?” Then I opened the bottle of weed killer and poured it on top of the neat pile of blooms. “Wrong, wrong, wrong!” I said, shaking my head as I bathed them in poison.

I don’t know which one of my concerned neighbors called the cops. But if it had been me, and I knew what happened to that poor woman in the blue house, even if it had been two whole years, I would have minded my own fucking business and hoped she only had one night of power ballads in her

But sadly, no such luck. The flash of blue and red lights in my periphery reminded me what I hated about my neighborhood: around here, no one wanted to get involved in anyone else’s business. No one warned you to move your car before you got that ticket on street sweeping day. Everyone seemed to be suspicious of everyone else. When I was growing up, my brother and I spent summers and some holidays at our aunt and uncle’s place outside of Guerneville. Even now, with Johnny-Law approaching, I recalled how my uncle left in the middle of dinner one night because the neighbor’s truck needed to be pulled from a ditch. He didn’t ask the guy if he’d called Triple A. He said, “Be right there, buddy.” That’s the kind of place I wanted to live. Somewhere with kind, considerate neighbors.

I wouldn’t even think of asking my neighbors for a cup of sugar. Not that they’d answer the door. But this was all good, because these seemingly-small things were the catalyst to change. It was that very moment when I realized I needed to move. Not just from the house, but from Southern California. As soon as the thought drifted into my head, I realized how relieved it would make my parents. They’d watched me go through the motions, but I couldn’t move on if I stayed here. Everywhere I went, everything I did, had some kind of connection to Nick and my life with him.

Finally, I was met with the phrase, “Ma’am, we’ve had some calls from your neighbors…”

After that, I tuned out and answered “yes” or “no” to their questions when it was warranted. As intoxicated as I was, I managed to rein in my gin-surliness in order to avoid incarceration. But there was a small crowd gathered on my sidewalk. These same people had likely watched from afar while my life fell apart and did not one thing to offer help.
When I looked at the older couple that lived next door, I moved closer, close enough they’d be able to hear me and anyone else nearby. I used to drop a plate of cookies on their doorstep every Christmas, but not once had they thanked me.

“You’ve seen the entire show, haven’t you?” I asked quietly, not wanting the officer to hear. But the old man just kept hold of his wife and stared beyond me. But I knew he was the “man,” the “husband,” the half-of-a-whole I’d never have again. “You watched from your porch while a black limousine parked in front of my house. You would’ve seen me collapse, wracked with so much pain, my dad and brother had to carry me to the car. I came home to an empty house, stopped answering the door, and never, not once, did you come to offer a kind word. You saw us together,” I whispered. “We should’ve been you…and lucky, you’ve had a lifetime together. Think about that the next time you rob a woman of her grief.”

“Ma’am,” the officer started behind me.

“Shame on you,” I said and walked away.

I went back to my house, ignoring the officer who followed, and walked inside. I turned off the stereo and closed the windows. Then I returned to the officer waiting on my front porch. “I just need to shut the water off, and I’m all done for the night.”

He didn’t seem at all satisfied with my cooperation. “Is there someone we can call for you?” He made a point of looking at my hand. “Your husband?”

Two years… two, and I still hadn’t taken off my wedding rings.

“I’ve gone back to my maiden name, Officer.” I hoped that would be explanation enough.

He looked to his partner and nodded. Whatever that was meant to convey, I had no idea.

But he handed me a business card. “If you need me, Miz…”

“Truscott. Rylie, Truscott.”

He closed the distance between us and warily glanced behind him. “If you need me,” he said quietly, “you give me a call. I’m only a few blocks away.”

“I assure you, I won’t have any reason to call.”

Then he stepped a little closer. “Please don’t do anything stupid.”

His words weren’t meant to insult me, in fact, they communicated genuine concern he seemed to feel for a fellow human, and for that, gratitude welled up in me and formed in my eyes.

“I won’t do anything stupid. I promise,” I said and looked at the house, “I’m done here.”
And I meant every word.

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New from J.B. Hartnett!

Watching the Sky Cry is an beautifully written,
emotional story releasing September 24th!

Add to your TBR at: http://bit.ly/2bCJnat

 

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Blurb

Ten years is a long time when you’re thirty-two. We’d seen our share of ups and downs, but I could honestly say, they were mostly up. That’s the thing about happiness though. It lulls you into a false sense of security.

Neither one of us ever thought we’d ever be touched by crippling loss or immeasurable grief. But not all stories have a happy ending, and I knew, better than anyone, that sometimes, one of you won’t make it till the end. One of you has to go first. And one of you will be left behind to pick up the pieces.

That one is me.

But starting over isn’t what I thought it would be. I need escape from the memories that plague me, remind me. So I went back to where it all began. To the town where I was born. To the place whose beauty could pierce my pain. Where I experienced my first kiss, where I fell in love, where a man was my earth. And I…

I was his sky.

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About the Author

hartnett

Julie is a southern California native, a fan of a really good story (preferably a romance with a happily ever after), really good pie (preferably pumpkin)and copious amounts of coffee (preferably Folgers).

She has always enjoyed writing and at one time thought she might be a singer/songwriter. The ‘writer’ part is that one that stuck.

Julie is obsessed with Pi…the equation and the food. She’s allergic to cats, cantaloupe and hates mushrooms. So if you ever want to give her a gift, those are out for sure.

She currently lives with her romance hero husband and two boys in Melbourne, Australia.

Website | Facebook Facebook Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

 

Blog Tour: Lies You Tell by LaQuette

Lies You Tell

by

LaQuette 

Blurb:

A mob boss finding his dead lover alive six years after her death, shocking.  Learning they’ve got a five-year-old son…deadly.

Six years ago Sanai Ward fled her life in Florida when her lover’s infidelity nearly brings her life to a fiery end.  Scared and devastated, Sanai starts over from nothing, determined to create a safe and happy life for the child she discovers she’s carrying.

Single parenthood isn’t easy. But the joy of watching her beloved Nazario thrive is more than enough motivation to ignore the ache in her heart for the man that shattered her soul.
Dante De Luca is a passionate man who’s had his life stolen from him.  Six years ago he was in love and happy, until his woman was killed in a fire. Sanai was gone.  There was nothing left in the ashes but the locket he’d placed around her neck.  Too angry to deal with his loss, Dante seeks to make the rest of the world pay for his broken heart by forming an unholy covenant with an unspeakable ally.  He knows he’ll live to regret it, but signing away your humanity to the devil seems meaningless when your soul is already gone.
When an accident involving a family member draws Dante to New York, and forces an unexpected meeting between he and Sanai, Dante has to decide what’s more important.  His rage and revenge, or the safety of the woman he once loved and the health of their son?
Just when Sanai’s deception is beginning to sting less, Dante is faced with the fallout of his own lies.  Will she forgive him?  Will they survive them, or will their lives become tragic casualties of the dangerous lies he told?

Excerpt:

She watched her son glance back and forth between the two men now sitting on either side of him. He was biting on his fingernails, a nervous habit he had developed when he began school. Sanai’s first instinct was to cross the room as quickly as she could and snatch her baby up.

 Yeah, it was just hair, and it was already falling out from the chemotherapy, but her protective instincts weren’t exactly running off of logic.
This plan Dante had of cutting it all off sounded rational, but being rational wasn’t really high on her list of priorities. That was her baby, and if he wasn’t on board with the idea, she was shutting this entire plan down.
She moved to take a step in their direction, but Dante’s smile halted her. He wasn’t looking in her direction—probably had no idea she was watching him so intently. But the easy way he smiled at her son, the way Nazario mirrored Dante’s same crooked smile that spread slowly across his little mouth and lit up his entire face—the power of it held her in place.
Tony opened his bag. He pulled out a drape and shook out its folds. She saw Nazario stare at the drape with a bit of trepidation shaking his small frame. Tony lifted it in the air and placed it carefully around Dante’s neck.
Her eyes met Dante’s, silently asking for answers. Before she could form the words of her question, Tony turned on his clippers and took a quick pass up the side of Dante’s head. When he pulled the clippers back, she saw scalp, or more aptly described, scalp covered by a short fuzz.
She glanced back at her son. He  had a front-row seat of Dante getting his hair shaved off. Nazario stared at the man, his fear morphing into curiosity. Without so much as a word this man took the fear out of something for her child, making it something fun.
In a few minutes, those beautiful dark curls that were Dante’s signature were gone. When Tony was done with Dante, he cleaned him up, shook out the drape, and motioned for Naz to take Dante’s place.
The boy hesitated for just a minute and then settled into his chair. Tony secured the drape and turned the clippers on. Nazario jumped a little at the sound, but Dante calmed him down by leaning in front of him and giving him a thumbs-up. While Dante kept him distracted, Tony shaved the boy’s hair down to his scalp, and with what appeared to be practiced ease, he lined the boy’s edges up, making the haircut look less like they were attempting to cover up illness and more like a trendy haircut a young boy would wear.
Tony dusted off the excess hair from Naz and pulled off the drape. When those dark brown eyes she loved so much looked up with both excitement and approval, she pulled on a trembling smile. She walked up to him, running a gentle hand over his head.
“You look real good, Naz. Mr. Tony did a good job.” Her voice felt thick and heavy as she spoke. The little boy fell into her arms. She hugged him as tight as she could and lifted watery eyes to Dante and Tony. Too full to speak over the growing ball of emotion in her chest, she simply mouthed a silent thank you to them.
They each nodded, but it was the red rim around Dante’s eyes that pulled her attention. In their depths she found understanding. Her brain questioned briefly how Dante could know just how relieved she was to see a happy smile on her boy’s face.
It almost didn’t compute that someone else could fathom how much it would mean to her that her son looked less like a sick cancer patient and more like an average five-year-old. But when Dante’s watery gaze fastened on to hers, she realized something crucial. Dante was Nazario’s father. Not just in blood, but in every way possible.
Orchestrating this haircut to preempt the trauma of hair loss was something only a parent would recognize as necessary. Only a father would sacrifice his own healthy mane to make his son feel less afraid, less abnormal.
Sanai opened her free arm to Dante, inviting him into the embrace she and their son shared. He hesitated briefly, and she hated that he thought he had to. Truth was, there was no one else she could blame for that.
She’d done this. She kept her arm open, and he finally leaned in. He circled
them both with strong arms, and she lightly scraped her fingers against his
near-smooth scalp.
“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. He didn’t speak. If he was experiencing the same emotional overload, she understood why. He simply tightened his hold and squeezed Sanai and Nazario closer to him.
Her annoying mind kept trying to bully its way into the moment, but she refused to allow it. She wasn’t going to worry about how right it felt to be in Dante’s arms, how protected she felt with his arms surrounding them. She wasn’t going to listen to the fear screaming in the back of her mind that Dante was getting too close too soon. She simply burrowed into his embrace and let her battle shield fall.

 
 
 

Author Bio:

LaQuette is an erotic, multicultural romance author of M/F and
M/M love stories.  Her writing style brings intellect to the drama.
She often crafts emotionally epic, fantastical tales that are deeply pigmented by reality’s paintbrush. Her novels are filled with a unique mixture of savvy, sarcastic, brazen, and unapologetically sexy characters who are confident in their right to appear on the page.
This bestselling Erotic Romance Author is the 2016 Author of the
Year Golden Apple Award Winner, 2015 Swirl Awards Bronze Winner in Romantic Suspense, and 2015 Georgia Romance Writers Maggie Award Finalist in Erotic Romance. LaQuette—a native of Brooklyn, New York—spends her time catering to her three distinct personalities: Wife, Mother, and Educator.
Writing—her escape from everyday madness—has always been a friend and source of comfort. At the age of sixteen she read her first romance novel and realized the genre was missing something: people that looked and lived like her.  As a result, her characters and settings are always designed to provide positive representations of people of color and various marginalized communities.
She loves hearing from readers and discussing the crazy characters that are running
around in her head causing so much trouble.  Contact her on FacebookTwitter, her website, NovelsbyLaQuette.com, Amazon, her Facebook group, LaQuette’s Lounge, and via email at LaQuette@NovelsbyLaQuette.com.
 
 

Lies You Tell

Book Trailer

by

LaQuette

Excerpt Reveal: 9 Letters by Blake Austin

 

 

9 letters excerpt reveal

 

Excerpt

As soon as the word left my mouth, Rae’s face opened up and she was smiling over at me and it was like I was falling in towards her. When she was happy, I got vertigo. All those happy brain chemicals just took over and I was lost in bliss.

“Get out of my rescue, Luke Cawley,” she said.

“Will do,” I replied, scooping up King’s leash and opening the door again. But before we stepped out, Rae’s voice came after me.

“Hey Luke, you want to hook up sometime?” she asked. I turned around, probably looked startled. Sometimes I’m smooth, sometimes I’m not. “I mean, I could help you with King. At the dog park or something. You get a dog tired enough, he won’t rip up the house.”

She smiled. Clearly this was a professional courtesy she was extending, right? But I still couldn’t help feeling like it might do me and King both some good to see Rae again.

“I uh, lost your number,” I said. Sounded a lot nicer than ‘I threw it away while I was cleaning my house.’ I took out my phone. “I’ll just put it into my phone this time. Rae, right? What’s your last name?” I made a new contact.

“Goode,” she said.

I’d remember that. I didn’t have the best memory, but I remember what’s important. I decided I couldn’t let it be a sign, though. It was just a last name. Totally wasn’t a sign. I’m too grown up to believe in things like that.

I tapped in her number, texted her so she had mine, then I reached down, pet King on the head once more, and left the shelter with my dog in tow, feeling pretty good after all was said and done.

 

9 letters coming soon

Meet Luke Crawley in Blake Austin’s debut novel of loss, redemption, and ever-enduring love releasing on February 24th!

Add to your TBR at: http://bit.ly/1ONI0Qf

9 letters coverBlurb

Luke Cawley is a broken man. After his wife’s tragic death, he lost everything that mattered in the world. Now, his life is filled with hard days, harder nights, and a steady stream of alcohol and the wrong kind of women. Nothing helps.

Until the letters arrive on Luke’s doorstep.

Nine envelopes. Nine messages. Nine chances to find his way back.

Rae Goode is looking for the real thing. After fighting her way out of a string of bad relationships, she’s ready for something different–something true.

She meets Luke while piecing her life together, and right away she can tell that he’s different. Drawn together by fate and the desire to heal, Rae and Luke discover new ways to mend their broken hearts–one letter at a time.

Discover Blake Austin’s debut novel of loss, redemption, and ever-enduring love.

For updates: Follow Blake Austin on Facebook here:  http://on.fb.me/1ZUj6sR

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Excerpt Reveal: The Baller by Vi Keeland

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(A standalone novel)

Release date 1/18/2016

A Contemporary Romance novel

New York Times & USA Today Bestseller

Vi Keeland

 

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the baller excerpt reveal (1)

Excerpt from THE BALLER

“You ready?” Nick slung his bag over his shoulder and lifted his camera. The reporter in front of us wrapped up his interview and shook hands with Easton.

As I’ll ever be. “Sure.”

I stepped forward and extended my hand. “I’m Delilah Maddox with WMBC Sports News.”

A slow grin spread across Easton’s face. He surprised me by leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. “Pleasure to meet you.”

I wasn’t sure if he was baiting me into an argument—expecting me to lash out at him for kissing me when he’d just shaken the last male reporter’s hand—or if he was trying to use his blatant sexuality to throw me off. Either way, I wasn’t playing his game. I cleared my throat and stood straighter, even though my knees felt a little wobbly.

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“Why else would you be in here?”

I ignored his sarcasm. He was still smiling at me. Actually, it was more like a smirk, and it made me feel like a toy he was about to play with. “You ready, Nick?” My cameraman finished setting up the lighting, then lifted the camera into position and gave me a hand signal.

“Congratulations on the win today, Brody. How is your knee feeling after your first game back?” I lifted my microphone high, knowing Nick was filming in close.  

“I feel . . . ” He nonchalantly reached to the towel wrapped around his waist and tugged at the corner. The towel fell to the ground. “Great. I feel great. And how about you? It’s your first trip into the locker room, isn’t it? Do you like what you see so far?” His lips curled up into a full-blown wicked smile.

Before I could catch myself, my eyes dropped to his naked lower half. Shit. He was dangling in the wind. I totally got distracted by just how low the thing dangled. It was probably a full minute before I responded to his question. A full minute of dead air time. Great. “Yes. Umm . . . the locker room is . . . ummm . . . nice.”

I sounded like a total ditz. On air.

The jackass continued interviewing me. “Is it as big as you thought it would be?”

“Ummm . . . it’s much bigger than I imagined.”

His smile grew even wider.  

Ugh.

I needed to get back on track or my first locker room interview would become a laughingstock blooper. Viewers had no idea he was naked from the waist down. “Do you think you were at one hundred percent today?”

His eyebrows jumped. “If you’re referring to today’s game, definitely. I had one hundred percent out there on the field. There’re some other areas where I have a lot of growth potential, but my knee felt one hundred percent today.”

His pale green eyes darkened, and I watched his long lashes lower. I followed his line of sight, and suddenly I was staring at his naked package. Again. Damn it. My eyes darted back up, but I felt my cheeks heating. I had to end this, or I was going to be beet red on air.

“Well, welcome back. And congratulations on today’s win.”

I waited until Nick lowered his camera and turned off the light. Then I looked right at Brody Easton’s smug face. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

His eyes sparkled. “I do.”

I heard the chuckles and high fives at my back as I stormed out of the locker room.

★★★★

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ballerBlurb

The first time I met Brody Easton was in the men’s locker room.   

It was my first interview as a professional sportscaster.

The famed quarterback decided to bare all.   

And by all, I don’t mean he told me any of his secrets.  

No.  The arrogant ass decided to drop his towel, just as I asked the first question.  On camera.   

The Super Bowl MVP quickly adopted a new hobby—screwing with me.

When I pushed back, he shifted from wanting to screw with me, to wanting to screw me.

But I don’t date players.  

And it’s not because I’m one of the few women working in the world of professional football.   

I’d date an athlete.   

It’s the other kind of player I don’t date.   

You know the type.  Good looking, strong, cocky, always looking to get laid.

Brody Easton was the ultimate player.

Every woman wanted to be the one to change him.

But the truth was, all he needed was a girl worth changing for.

Turned out, I was that girl.

Simple right?

Let’s face it.  It never is.

There’s a story between once upon a time and happily ever after…  

And this one is ours.

baller teaser 1

 

About the Author:

the baller banner 2

Vi Keeland is a native New Yorker with three children that occupy most of her free time, which she complains about often, but wouldn’t change for the world. She is a bookworm and has been known to read her kindle at stop lights, while styling her hair, cleaning, walking, during sporting events, and frequently while pretending to work.  She is a boring attorney by day, and an exciting smut author by night!

 

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Additional Books by Vi Keeland

Life on Stage series (2 standalone books)

Beat

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Throb

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MMA Fighter series (3 standalone books)

Worth the Fight (MMA Fighter Series, Book One)

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Worth The Chance (MMA Fighter Series, Book Two)

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Worth Forgiving (MMA Fighter Series, Book Three)

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The Cole Series (2 book serial)

Belong to You (Cole Series, Book One)

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Made for You (Cole Series, Book Two)

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Standalone novels

Left Behind (A Young Adult Novel)

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First Thing I See

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Guest Post: Excerpt Reveal – The Delivery by Mara White

EXCERTREVALMW

24606801
DS
Lana Finch is a twenty-five-year-old social worker. She believes wholeheartedly in saving the world—one broken kid at a time. Lana is headstrong, she’s righteous and she’ll let nothing stand in her way. Except for maybe her entire family that’s financially dependent on her.
Enter Mozey Cruz, the eighteen-year-old juvenile delinquent assigned to her charge. He’s an illusive artist, he’s misunderstood, and he’s a natural born troublemaker.
Their love is illegal, much like Mozey’s undocumented status in the States. So Lana lets him go even though it might be the worst mistake she’ll ever make.
But destiny has a way of catching up with us even when we run from it.
Los Angeles————
————Detroit
Tijuana————
————Mexico City
But first, Lana has to find him before she can deliver him…

DELIVERTYEXCERPT
I squeeze his hand again. I scrutinize every little point of contact between our two bodies. My ear on his shoulder, and my thigh flush with his. The length of my arm matching up with the length of Mozey’s, and my wrist, grazing lightly with his calf as we sit. My skin is pale, like the underbelly of a fish. His is warm, like hot chocolate with milk. I want to drink it, to swallow all of that velvet. I want it to melt on my tongue and warm me all the way up from the inside out.

Then they’re gone, the door is closed, and my arms cross across my chest. Mozey has one hand in the pocket of his jeans the other palm flat against the back of the door. Those two boys were my protection. My buffers. I feel naked without them. Suddenly, Mozey, looms larger. Almost larger than life.

“Are you hungry?” he asks me.

I couldn’t be more satisfied. I can’t believe I found you. That you’re standing here in front of me.

I shake my head at him as he saunters over to me. I remember that he’s confident, that he’s sexual, that he probably knows more than me.

“We can take it slow, Lana. We don’t have to fuck.”

It’s a jolt when he says it, a live thrash of wire. Saying it, it means he’s thinking about it. I know that I am. Maybe he thinks it’s what I want to do. Or he thinks I don’t so he feels he has to clear the air by saying it out loud.

Sex. I’ve been thinking about it since the minute I met you—whenever I’m around you. Thinking dirty thoughts when I was supposed to be protecting you. My face falls, and my shoulders slump. All of the vixen has run out of me.

“Or we can if you want.” It’s his smile that gets me, so warm and inviting. He’s confident with either choice, whether we do or we don’t. He’s enjoying teasing me, and he knows how hard I’ve been looking for him.

“Come here,” he says and pulls my elbows apart, inserting his body in the space that I was trying to protect—my chest, my breasts, the area surrounding my heart.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful, Lana. But you never wanted to hear it,” he says, his nose tickling my ear. He pulls my arms around him and sets them at his waist. I am a robot. I can’t speak. I have no feelings.

“Maybe you should sleep on the couch,” I say, stepping out of his hold.

If magic were a good thing, then we would all be able to wield it against the one we love.

Hypnotize with eye contact, unravel with a stare. But instead, magic is dangerous, it makes us see what isn’t there. It makes us believe in illusions and in fleeting apparitions that will never be concrete. I need something that can last, not something that will disappear into thin air.

I loved you because I wanted to save you. And I thought if I saved everyone, then it said something about me. I wanted to be worthy. I didn’t want to be bad. I always felt that badness was an inextricable part of me. I became a social worker to try to exorcise the ugly part of me.

Of course I don’t say this out loud. I explain myself to myself in my head. Like an idiot. Like the insecure, crazy girl that I am.

Mozey runs his hands through his hair and looks sadly at me. He nods his head and massages his chin with his thumb and forefinger then looks down at the floor.

“There’s not one single part of me that isn’t complicated—that’s easy to love,” I blurt out, trying to explain away being so difficult. This is the one thing I can’t fuck up and live to regret it.

“I already know that. I want every part of you.”

If there is something I need to hear, well, Mozey just said it. But I’ll still always be a disappointment. I will never be perfect, and for some reason, what I really want to bring to this is perfection.

“I feel like you’re going to keep pushing me away, even if it hurts you. Should I give up? You want me to stop trying?”

I nod my head “yes,” like the fucking liar that I am. I’m nodding and nodding while every inch of my flesh is screaming, “See through me, don’t believe me, please know that I want you, don’t believe anything that she says.”

Mozey yanks his t-shirt up over his head. Two long silver chains clang together as they bounce on his chest. There he is in all of his perfection, his chest tight with emotion, his arm muscles flexed in defensiveness, his brow furrowed in confusion. I’m shaking, with trembles running up and down my spine, splaying out through my limbs into my hands and my feet. What I want is right in front of me but somehow it seems even further out of reach.

DB
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DA
Mara White is a contemporary romance and erotica writer who laces forbidden love stories with hard issues, such as race, gender and inequality. She holds an Ivy League degree but has also worked in more strip clubs than even she can remember. She is not a former Mexican telenovela star contrary to what the tabloids might say, but she is a former ballerina and will always remain one in her heart. She lives in NYC with her husband and two children and yes, when she’s not writing you can find her on the playground.

PAPERBACK: http://amzn.to/18X3SuG
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