Chapter Reveal: Salt by Mara White

 

 

 

 

 

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Salana Livingston did everything right, from taking her multi-vitamin to kneeling before bed to say her prayers every night. She followed the path her parents had planned before she was born, never questioned the role until the day a bus-load of sweaty kids from the Bronx got dropped at her parent’s horse farm.

Tiago Alcazar knew a life of hard knocks. An incarcerated father, a missing and strung-out mother who left him to rely on his aged grandmother for most of his life.

Tiago runs the mean streets of the neighborhood that raised him, living hand-to-mouth, everyday a gift, if he can just make it.

Burdened by a world that only wants to see her as perfect, Salana finds her greatest confidant in a boy society has labeled as worthless. Their paths cross too many times for their stubborn hearts to deny the connection, but can the delinquent and the debutant defy the odds and overcome the social constructs that condemn them?

Tiago

“I’m telling you, homie! As soon as this bitch-ass arm heals we’re going back to Connecticut. You got the code for the garage, we roll out a Lamborghini and we’re set for life mother fucker!” They were sitting in Chico’s living room. The air was hot and sticky circulated by only a lazy ceiling fan that was covered in years of greasy dust and the dangling remnants of some bygone party streamers. They’d ordered a pizza and demolished the whole thing. Chico was only gaining more of gut rendered immobile by his collarbone break. He had pizza sauce on his tank top. A real gem. A catch—this kid. But the horse ranch trip, the fall, and Tiago’s ride home from the princess were still high on their list of the most exciting things to happen that summer. They rehashed it all, spilling the details to their friends.
“I don’t want to steal her car. I liked that chick,” Tiago said in weak protest. He flipped through the channels now that Chico’s mom had gone out to get groceries and relieved them from endless Telemundo. He left the television on a basketball game and did his best slam dunk swoosh leaping up from the couch.

“Mano, we won’t be stealing from her really if you think about it. That’s her parent’s car—not hers. And what the fuck would she care, she’s got so much money anyway? We’d be doing them a favor taking one of those off their hands.”

“That’s pushing it, Chico. Why don’t we just steal a different car from someone else in the same neighborhood?”

“Cause you got the code for her garage fuck face! Jesus Christ!” Chico hit his forehead exaggeratedly. “How many cars can one family even drive?”

“What you don’t have the guts to break in?”

“Neither do you, bitch. Can you help me take my shirt off so I can take a shower?”

“Fucking baby, you are on your own for that shit cause you stink. Check you later. I gotta go home and check on my Ma anyway.”

“I’d help you if it was the other way around!”

“Never will be, cause I ain’t fucking stupid, bro!” Tiago punched Chico hard in the arm that wasn’t in a sling. He got up and threw the remote at Chico’s belly. “I’ll fucking go if you park that shit downtown and the fuck away from my building. I’ll drive it, but I don’t want to sell it.”

“Deal!” Chico said, smiling triumphantly. Tiago wasn’t giving him a bath. He had to draw the line somewhere.

The tickets for the metro north just about cleaned them out. There must have been irony in the deal, spend all your money on transportation to go steal something that could help you get around and then sell it to make money. Tiago was so nervous his sweat stunk, Chico however, was riding on cloud nine, already ticking off the list of things he was going to buy in his head. Tiago would buy a washing machine for his grandmother, so she wouldn’t have to lug laundry down to the corner, or wash it in the tub with her arthritic hands like she sometimes did.

“’Mijo, there was no laundromat when I was growing up. My mother scrubbed the clothes on a board in the yard, hung it to dry on a line between two trees.”

“Look at your hands, Ma. You not even sixty but your hands are eighty. That’s why.” He kissed her on the cheek and grabbed his book bag off the back of the chair. “I’ll be home late, don’t wait up.”

Tiago had spent countless hours in school daydreaming about being able to provide for his grandmother. Visions of washing machines with a red bow on top, a new refrigerator that didn’t drip or smell. He never imagined what he’d get for himself, just fantasize about the amenities that would make her life easier.

“Shit, this train is huge. The seats look like couches!” Chico couldn’t play it cool to save his life. The kid was green as fuck, not a seasoned car thief. The only thing Chico was good at was remembering stats on baseball cards and eating everyone under the table.

“Bro, we’re trying to not call attention to ourselves, you hear me?” Tiago sat down by the window, the uneasy feeling creeping through his belly. They stuck out like sore thumbs with the evening commuters. Everyone in suits and blazers, reading newspapers, scrolling through stocks on their phones. How could they pull off a car theft with so many witnesses? Every single one of these jerks would remember them. Nobody who looked like them was on their way to Connecticut. Tiago’s gut felt heavier with each mile gained toward their destination. How fucked up was it that they were gonna go after the girl who’d been so kind to them? Rip her off in return? No wonder people branded them as thugs, maybe that’s what they were.

They filed off the train with a million commuters, it was nearing dark when they arrived and everyone rushed to the park and ride lot to get home to their families. Must be nice, Tiago thought. A house and a car, back yard and people acting happy you came home, a jumping dog, kids with spelling tests to show you. Probably a fucking pool to swim in. He’d seen it in the movies and on TV. That wasn’t what happened in his neighborhood. Broken families were the norm, functional ones, the exception. At least half of his friends were being raised by their grandparents. A parent in jail, addicted to drugs, never made it to the States, was plain old down-on-their-luck, were the stories he heard on his block. Domestic violence, child abuse, neglect—those were the cuts that tore families apart.

The park and ride lot emptied just as fast as the train to leave Tiago and Chico standing under the bright sweep of street light looking caught in the headlights. Tiago started walking toward the street and Chico followed him. He had a good sense of direction and he knew Salana’s house, her estate, was walking distance from the train station. Walking distance in a town where nobody walked. Again they stuck out like strobe lights ambling along the side of a residential street with no fucking sidewalk.

“These people probably gonna call the police on us just because of how we look. Probably got cameras set up.”

They walked for twenty minutes, the houses bordering the streets becoming more and more opulent, the gates taller, the security tighter. Tiago recognized Salana’s house as soon as they neared. Not because he’d cased the place to steal, but because he’d wanted to see her again, to return to the spot under different circumstances. He’d imagined himself as her boyfriend countless times in his head.

“It’s this one up here with the all the lights on. How we gonna stay hidden when they got that place lit up like a stadium?”

“We crawl on the border and then stand up and sprint to get to the garage.” Chico flicked his cigarette and the cherry bounced on the street and spewed sparks. The kid had watched too many action flicks.

“Bet the fucking gate is wired,” Tiago said. He was getting cold feet.

“We move fast. That way if we trigger the gate, by the time they get there to check it out, we’re basically already in the garage with our pick of cars.” Tiago thought Chico was being unrealistically optimistic. Grand Theft Auto had inflated his ego to carjacker extraordinaire, when in reality the most he’d ever stolen was a handful of cash out of the collection plate at church. Their luck peaked in the unexpected arrival of a car, it’s lights looming larger out of the darkness. The driver signaled and pulled into Salana’s driveway. A young man stuck his head out and said something into the intercom. He smiled like a million bucks and Tiago already hated him. Fucking Hitler haircut, first car—a Tesla. But what really made him want to smash the guy’s head in was the idea of him touching Salana, her laughing at his jokes. Tiago would fight with bloody fists for her, that douche would throw his money in the air as a distraction and start crying before someone even hit him.

The boys crouched and ran, slipped through the gates right before they closed. As they approached the house, it became apparent they’d crashed some kind of party. The half-moon driveway was crowded with parked cars, not a Ford or a Toyota in sight. The sickest cars Tiago and Chico had ever seen. They stared openly, the lighted up mansion, the driveway turned car showroom. Drake was sounding from a top of the line stereo reverberating through the walls and bursting forth into the still night and the silence of the suburbs. They were slow to process that this was real life. Sure they’d seen it in music videos and placed themselves in the role of protagonist in plenty of daydreams, why not? Honey’s with string bikinis, pouring out label Champagne into the hot tub, the ice and gold, the cars, the clothes, the sunglasses that cost as much as their family’s annual food budget. But that was fantasy and this was someone’s real life.

“Salt is a fucking pimp, bro. She’s straight up balling that bitch,” Chico said, jaw on the floor.

“Good. They won’t even miss the car,” Tiago said. His voice was full of rancor. He felt jealously swim in his bloodstream—toxic—like the sewage that overflowed into the Hudson during a rainstorm. He strutted across the brightly lit, meticulously manicured lawns like a boss, pimp limp fired, repping the dignity of who he was in the face of this great wealth.

“Yo, Tiago, wait up!” Chico yelled. Chico’s ambling limp was real on account of his one arm still braced in a sling and useless. They were a ramshackle crew. No guns, knives or experience, just hood attitude bolstered by the accomplishment of seeing the task this far through—they’d made it to Connecticut, it was worth something.

Tiago’s hair stood on end and nerves seesawed in his stomach. He wasn’t afraid, but rather on high alert, excited, reckless and ruthless, ready to take someone down just for looking at him the wrong way. A car door slammed and Chico and Tiago both froze. A tall blond guy in a sweater vest looked at them inquisitively.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked. The guy threw his joint to the ground. Tiago could smell the sweet burn of weed, but to his seasoned nose he could also tell it wasn’t good. Not like the premium he could get these rich kids. Sell it for more, take them all for a ride and then roll around in cash like a dog in mud from the profits.

How the hell would they pull off taking a car now? Tiago didn’t even know what they were there for anymore. What if they missed the last train back to the city? Would they sleep in the station like bums? And what if they got arrested? His grandmother wasn’t capable of making a trip all the way to Connecticut to bail him out for trespassing.

“Salana around?” Tiago asked the guy staring them down. The way the words took a bite out of his heart made him realize stealing cars was pretense all along. He’d only wanted to see her, to stroke her blonde hair, to rub his nose against her little one and have his insides turned out. But if he had to break the law to see her, he would.

“It’s her fucking party. She know you’re coming?”

The guy was wearing loafers. He had to answer to a guy wearing loafers and a sweater vest. A fucking asshole Mr. Rogers was what he was.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Chico screeched at him. Tiago’s pants felt heavy, his kicks impossibly clunky, he couldn’t remember if he’s put on cologne or deodorant for that matter. His shirt was clean, but it was old and suddenly felt so cheap to have Billionaire Boy’s Club emblazoned across the front of his chest, when he was in the presence of the real Billionaire’s Club. It didn’t help that the guy stared at them like unsavory rats that had wandered across his clean pasture.

“Can you get Salana for us? Tell her we’re in the garage when she gets a chance?”

“Why don’t you wait here,” the guy said quickly texting on his phone. Tiago walked toward the garage anyway; he couldn’t stand to be scrutinized by the judgmental mother fucker anymore.

“Ti, bro. I swear to fucking God you lost your mind!” Chico said as Santiago disabled the alarm on the garage. There were cameras, two he could see plainly right over the door.

“Let’s bounce. This is crazy,” Chico said. He didn’t want to go to jail he liked his mother’s cooking too much. He loved sitting in the sun and playing basketball in the park for twenty-three hours a day as opposed to one. “I’m out!” Chico said, turned on a dime and ran.

“Ditch me, why don’t you, when the going gets tough?” Tiago wanted to scream, Unleash the hounds! But he wasn’t so mean he’d want his friend to pee his pants.

Tiago decided to go through the motions. He chose the Rover for the resale ease and value. It was unlocked and the door opened smooth like honey. All the keys were in the lockbox by the door, just as they had been when Salana did it all in front of him. Like a temptress, like an invitation to take one.

Here’s the big red juicy apple. I know you’re starving. Bite it!

There was something about the feel and smell of brand new that was extraordinarily pleasing, that gave an air of authority and power without doing a thing. Wealth and pipe dreams of attaining it could be as addictive as a drug and probably just as dangerous. He was about to slide into the driver’s seat when someone grabbed him from behind. He cursed, angry at himself for having let his guard down. One held him back against the car, while the other, the blond, knocked his fist into Tiago’s face, hitting him just below the nose. Not a trained fighter, just beginner’s luck that he made contact. It was a weak punch but it landed and stung like a bitch. Tiago heaved his shoulders forward to throw off the one he couldn’t see. The taste of blood in his mouth made him vicious and he landed a punch right in Vest and Loafer’s gut that promptly knocked the wind out of him. Tiago was used to fighting dirty and street. He’d been in scuffles on the corner since first grade. The boys in Connecticut had never taken a real beating.

“Call the police!” the guy shouted at his friend.

“Don’t fucking call the police!” Tiago responded almost casually. “Why call the cops? Because we hit each other? Come on! Don’t be a pussy.”

“Then get the fuck out of here right now! Leave!” Loafer’s feathers were ruffled, his face was red and his hair disheveled.

“Did you tell Salana like I told you too, bitch?”

“I’m right here,” she said. Salana walked into the garage and put her hand on Loafer’s arm.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” Tiago said. “Alone.”

He wiped his hand across his mouth, it felt warm and burned. There was blood on the back of his hand and he spat blood on the floor gaining a look of fury from the handsome boys.

“Brandt, just go. It’s fine, I know him.”

“If you fucking touch her, you’re a dead man,” Brandt pointed his finger at Santiago like his threat carried weight. Tiago spat again. “Piece of shit, thug,” Brandt muttered as he turned to go.

Once alone, the silence between them rose up and expanded like leavened bread in an oven, filling even the dark corners and the ceiling above them. They stood ten feet away from one another and took the other in. Tiago clenched his fists and Salana watched blood drip from his split lip. She cut across the space first and grabbed his chin so as to better inspect his face.

“You’re bleeding,” she said. “Come inside, we can put something on it.”

“Give me a minute to cool down so I don’t kill your friend, Salt.”

“Why did you come here, Tiago? You should have at least called.”

“To steal a car. You let me see that code. It was an invitation I couldn’t resist.”

She crossed her arms across her chest and looked relatively unaffected by what he said.

“Take one if you want, but I’m sure there will be repercussions.”

“Naw, when I got here, I realized what I really wanted was to steal you instead.”

He saw her pupils dilate. He heard how her breath caught in her chest. He felt tingly all over like he might pass the fuck out at her feet after one bitchass punch.

“Come on, let’s get your face cleaned up.” She took his hand and led him around the side of the huge estate.

“We’ll just go downstairs and that way we can avoid Brandt and the others.” Salana punched in another code and allowed Tiago to see it. He felt like he had to memorize those numbers because they were symbolic of her letting him in. Seeing those numbers meant something. Code for: trust. Cipher for: I accept you just as you are.

He followed her down a sweeping staircase and into what looked like a basement entertainment room. A pool table, leather couches, a full bar and a fireplace. Basically a space he and his friends would sacrifice their left nuts for. Salana flicked on stained-glass low hanging lights in the basement room which was bigger than his entire apartment.

“The bathroom is right there, I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

The lights rose by themselves as he stepped into the bathroom, a room so spotless and sparkling it nearly strained his eyes. Salana’s life looked like a Hollywood set whereas his looked like a public service announcement for the dangers of drug use. He ran his hand underwater to wash off the blood.

“Sit up here,” Salana said, patting the counter sink. She ran a white washcloth under warm water and brought it to his lip. “I’m sorry he punched you,” she whispered as she dapped at the gash.

“Probably deserved it,” he said through the towel. “What’s the occasion for the party?”
Salana squirted some ointment on her finger and brought it to his upper lip.

“Oh, my friend Justine’s birthday. She’s upstairs. My parents are in Europe so everyone decided to come here.” She tried to touch the bleeding gash and Tiago grabbed her wrist. She stopped and made eye contact.

“You’re so fucking fine, Salt. I can’t stop thinking about you. I wouldn’t steal from you. I just wanted to see you.” His grip on her wrist was tight, because his confession felt important. He usually let a girl know he was into her with body language, lingering hands and soft words in her ear, but with Salana he told her as if he were in the confessional. “I like you and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.”

Who knew honesty could feel like getting run over by a steam roller. Cracking your head open and letting the rabid butterflies escape to fly upwards in a swarm. It was almost too much for him. Butterflies? They were bats and he was a goner.

Her lips were parted and she stared intently at his face. Her blue eyes flared with emotion and his searched her face for even a hint of reciprocation. “I know it ain’t even possible. I just wanted to let you know how I felt, and shit.”
“I—” was all she could get out
“You can go back to your party, back to Branch. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
Salana blinked and her eyes were filling with tears. She closed them and leaned into Tiago. He caught her face in his hands and his lips found hers. The kiss was so soft and ghostly like a whisper—almost nothing—until it wasn’t and then, it was real, it was perfect, it was fucking everything.

She gasped when he took her whole mouth, prying open the seam of her lips with his tongue. Tiago kissed like a carnivore. Wolf-mouth. No rich-pansy orthodontist’s dream. He came from real life. His cut was the ghetto. He kissed projects and food stamps and lives that were cut short. He kissed give.it.all.to.me.now because punk-ass-bitches steal what doesn’t belong to them. His hands went to her hair, soft like silk and cool like the flip side of a pillow. He wanted to eat her, make a meal out of her flesh and touch the raw center of her heart after he’d consumed her.

“Fuck,” he whispered into her mouth. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

His dick was already hard, pressing against his jeans with an urgency that was painful. He’d blow his load from her tongue alone like a fucking kid looking at a Hustler under the covers with a flashlight.

“God, I want you so bad,” he lamented. Was he kissing for the first time? No, but it fucking felt like it.

His fingers speared through her hair cupping her ears and the back of her skull as he devoured her mouth and pulled her to him, registering nothing, only desperate for more. Tiago hopped down from the counter, scooped Salana up and placed her where he’d been. Jerking her forward by the hips he brought her flush with his erection. Salana opened her eyes wide suddenly, the blue piercing right through him. Her eye contact sent a surge of power to his groin. He leaned into her again and thumbed her nipples through her white cotton shirt. Salana tipped her head back and mewled. The heat coming from her center made him lose control. He couldn’t stand how erotic she looked, head thrown back, nipples tipped to the ceiling and her long hair almost touching the sink behind her. His blood smeared on her full lips made his stomach muscles clench with something forbidden and primal.

“Stop,” she said still kissing him. “Stop!” she pushed at his chest this time and he backed all the way up to the wall.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Shit, Salana. I’m sorry, I lost control.” His longing was so fierce that kissing her felt like survival. He was the hunter, she was the doe. He didn’t want to kill her, but he wanted to make the damn shot even if it killed him in the process.
She shook her head and wiped at her mouth with her fingers.

His chest heaved like he’d been running, but he was standing there in her bathroom, palms upturned like a fucking idiot. That kiss meant the world to him.
“I’ll show myself out. I shouldn’t have come.”

 

 

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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.

 

Author Links

 

New Release: Salt by Mara White

 

 

 

 

 

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Salana Livingston did everything right, from taking her multi-vitamin to kneeling before bed to say her prayers every night. She followed the path her parents had planned before she was born, never questioned the role until the day a bus-load of sweaty kids from the Bronx got dropped at her parent’s horse farm.

Tiago Alcazar knew a life of hard knocks. An incarcerated father, a missing and strung-out mother who left him to rely on his aged grandmother for most of his life.

Tiago runs the mean streets of the neighborhood that raised him, living hand-to-mouth, everyday a gift, if he can just make it.

Burdened by a world that only wants to see her as perfect, Salana finds her greatest confidant in a boy society has labeled as worthless. Their paths cross too many times for their stubborn hearts to deny the connection, but can the delinquent and the debutant defy the odds and overcome the social constructs that condemn them?

 

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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.

 

Author Links

 

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Release Blitz: Malentendido (Misunderstood) by Mara White

Malentendido (Misunderstood)

by Mara White
Publication Date: July 22, 2017
Genres: Contemporary, Taboo, Romance

Purchase: Amazon

Whatever force made Lucky, either God or the Universe, wrapped him so tightly around my heart that sometimes I’m suffocating.

Biologically, we are made of too many similar parts, yet our chemistry is like a meteor shower, raining bright sparks of light into the dark night.

But it’s not our biology or chemistry that worries me the most, it’s the physics of our love that goes against the cosmos.

Maldeamores (Lovesick)

by Mara White
Publication Date: June 22, 2015
Genres: Contemporary, Taboo, Romance

Purchase: Amazon

Belén: I’ve loved Luciano ever since I can remember, desired him before I even knew what it meant. He’s always been the only man in my life—my constant protector, and his rejection only intensifies my need.

Luciano: I’ve never known a love more fierce than the one I feel for Belén. But I force myself to deny her no matter how much it hurts.

Our love is a sickness and both of us are infected.

Because there’s no cure for being from the same family.

About Mara White

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.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | Amazon | Bookbub

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Release Blitz: The Marriage Pact by K. Larsen & Mara White

3DTitle: The Marriage Pact

Author(s): K. Larsen & Mara White

Release Date: April 4, 2017

Genre: Contemporary Romance

 

Synopsis:

Ryan Walters and Jackie Bowen became instantaneous friends during their wild and free years of college. He, the rugged, yet all American football player from a stable family fell hard for Jackie, the exuberant, spontaneous girl from a broken home who lived and loved life to the fullest. Too young to commit and wary of damaging the unique bond they shared, the friends to lovers make a pact promising to find one another again at the age of thirty and marry—if not already committed.

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Years apart, after much growth and change, the two best friends seek one another out. In college, neither Jackie or Ryan could possibly know that every relationship to come would fall short of the one they’d shared together all those years ago.

When the two meet again, love and chemistry soar beyond their wildest dreams and they agree to make good on their promise. But a second chance at love can be fickle and fleeting.

The Marriage Pact is a story about letting go and loving with your whole heart no matter the circumstance—or how much it hurts.

The Marriage Pact, the second book in The Viral Series following Missed Connection, by romance authors K. Larsen and Mara White is based on a heartbreaking viral Reddit post. Each book is a stand alone novel.

Purchase Links

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2nOUZxD
B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-marriage-pact-k-larsen
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-marriage-pact-9
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-marriage-pact/id1220146402

 

tmpteaser (2)The Review

The Marriage Pact is one of those novels that will tear you up inside. This is the story of two people who are meant to be but fear of commitment and other issues always seem to get in the way. Jackie and Ryan, our couple in question, are not a love at first sight couple. This is more of an easing into love…at least for Ryan. They’re friends, they are also something more, though neither puts it into words at the beginning.  But Jackie plays too many games with Ryan in an attempt to hold him at arm’s length. So why is it called the Marriage Pact? The two made a pact that they’d marry one another if they hadn’t found the One by the time they turned thirty. And since we follow these two from their youth to adulthood, we have plenty of time to see the progression and the pitfalls of their relationship.

I am a huge fan of Mara White’s writing, and I really enjoyed Missed Connection, her previous novel co-written with K. Larsen. This is an emotional rollercoaster of a read with the sort of flawed characters I love reading about and who may not always be likeable but whom you eventually come to love.

Highly recommended!

My rating?

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Belated Cover Reveal: Killing the Sun by K. Larsen & Mara White

In my absent-mindedness (caused mainly by too many things going in my life) I forgot to post K. Larsen and Mara White’s cover reveal for their serial novel, Killing the Sun. Sorry, chicas. It was not intentional. 😦 Posting now!

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Add to goodreads now.

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****WARNING****

 

KILLING THE SUN is a collaborative novel by K. Larsen and Mara White.

KTS is not a ROMANCE

KTS is not ROMANTIC

This book features a non-linear time line, some violence as well as graphic sex.

Do not read this book if you don’t like antiheroes.

Do not read this book if sexual sadism makes you uncomfortable.

Do not read this book if you don’t like dubious consent.

Do not read this book if you are looking for a traditional HEA.

Do not read this book if you like demure heroines and swashbuckling heroes.

KTS is a serial novel that will come in three novellas released in rapid succession.

If you choose to take this ride, please do so at your own risk.

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Prologue

Aimee

 

I was born backwards into this world.

Breeched.

You tore me, she said.

Those were words I remember my mother saying to me, as if I had done those things to her on purpose.

Back first I came, my spine convex, the points of my vertebrae stretching my skin to reveal a miniature Appalachia, peaks and dips, craggy, unmarked indentations that had never seen the sun. I automatically straighten my spine thinking about it, tell my legs to relax, my gut to unwind.

Now I am sun. So full of sun.

You were late.

You made me wait.

But there would never have been enough time. My mother knew the soft strokes of motherhood didn’t suit her hands well, that my brothers’ crying had already scratched and clawed at her nerves like an unwanted emergency, a constant state of distress. But I pleased her. Her only daughter. She liked it when I brushed her hair; she would always close her eyes and hum a haunting song.

I left him by the riverside,

then the sun set on both of us.

Oh, I left him by the riverside,

And no one came back to pick me up.

She liked to look at me, to study my face. Not so much with affection but with a real curiosity that seemed out of place. She was lazy and unenthusiastic about most things, but she looked at me with gusto, almost like I’d been gone for a long time or as if she were searching for someone else in my face. In turn, I searched hers for recognition, some twitch or tic that signaled I belonged.

Mom loved my twin brothers Storm and Farren as best she could. She doted on them the only way she knew how. Food was her most available medium and sugared cereal and boxed dinners were often forced upon them in place of hugs. Mom was big and her eyes an impossibly bright blue. Cotton candy blue, raspberry popsicle blue. Her clothes were twenty years out of date and her hair hung in the same two swooping hot dog curls she rolled daily, framing her round face. I saw the same two curls in her high school pictures, where she listed disco and the roller rink under hobbies. I liked to imagine her sailing quickly around a polished rink, her hands clasped behind her, one foot leisurely replacing the other while the snare beat of disco ticked out of the speakers. She’d have those two hot dog curls and electric blue laces in her skates. In my mind she’d be lighter on her feet and never once would she think she’d be confined to a trailer, her carefree youth whittled down to a sliver, like an old bar of soap in the dish by the tub. You scrub away that many layers and whatever’s left can barely get the job done. That soap’s no good for washing the dirt off. It’s not good for much at all.

Our dad was never around. He carried a gun. Beer cans rolled in symphony, the gasping crescendo against the occasional bottle of schnapps in the footwells of his Dodge Dart. And he was missing a tooth in front; it made him whistle ever so slightly when he’d talk.

“Come here, Aim-girl. Give your daddy a hug.”

It wasn’t often. He’d storm in, fight with Mom, then take off to the sedan. He’d always park on the grass, tearing up the sod and leaving tire tracks of mud. I spent a lot of time on the swing set that belonged to the Dobsons. I also rode the Dobson girl’s grape-purple big wheel after the county bus picked her up for school. If Dad came home at night, he’d always show up drunk, yelling, slurring, sputtering. Sometimes retching.

Mom would disengage even more. She’d sit at the card table and butter slice after slice of white bread, chew through them with the steadfastness of a monk. She could eat a whole loaf like that, staring at the wall. Sometimes I would think she was crying, that I could hear her sobs through the thin trailer walls. But if I’d ever go and check, she’d be glassy-eyed, far removed but never undone.

The only time I saw her cry was at trial, when my brothers were both sentenced to life for capital murder. Storm and Farren—the little tow-headed boys my mom had dreamed would become professional wrestlers—they sealed their own fate because they’d had enough. I can’t help but believe my mom put them up to it. Dad was good for nothing but the worst he ever did was come home too drunk and knock us around; sometimes Mom would get hit bad. He’d yell, warble, then pass out in a lump on the carpet or in a chair by the TV.

Storm and Farren burned his body in a fire pit twenty miles into the woods straight off of the highway juncture where I-35 crosses with Route Seven. I walked out of the courtroom when they hashed out the details. The gory bits about bone fragments and ashes and the stubborn threads from his tattered flannel. How sisal rope had cut into his flesh. They didn’t find the rope, but they did find bloody fibers. The binding was so tight it cut through the skin, leaving the faintest spatter of blood points against the blue tarp that they buried right on the border of Texas. A stupid shallow grave where they shoved in his beer cans and cigarette butts. They sunk the Dart in Veteran’s Lake by Sulphur. I know, I saw it all on 48 Hours.

Those boys never did wash up well before dinner, and in the end, it cost them a bunch. I like to think that I loved them, but they had each other and I was always an afterthought. Born eight years too late to make it to the party. But it kept me out of trouble and ultimately, it kept me out of jail.

So my brothers grew up with a mother they would kill for and I slipped through childhood without much commotion. I spent a lot of time playing by myself. Conquering the dirt mountains out behind Arbuckle Lake. There were days I walked for miles dragging a stick and spitting into the dust until my sneakers turned almost red with dirt. I patched up my own scrapes with Band-Aids I swiped from Wal-Mart. And it’s not like my life was devoid of comfort; I was bussed into Sulphur for school and I thrived there. God knows I wasn’t the only kid surviving off of stained and pilled-up hand-me-downs, a grade D smorgasbord of free school lunch. My grades earned me the affection of all of my teachers. I was the only one in my family to graduate from high school. Aimee Olsen, high school graduate. Moving on up.

And I made sure I had the kind of portfolio that could get me into college. I never once wasted my teenage years fooling around with boyfriends. I didn’t go to the drive-in to practice getting to all of the bases with boys who wore braces and were covered in pimples. I saved myself for something bigger, something grand that the kids in my town would only ever dream of.

Some girls in my class wanted nothing more than to get married and start having babies. A trailer was enough for them; a split-style ranch would make them the envy of Sulphur. I wanted to get the hell out of Oklahoma. So I moved to New York City with a one-way Greyhound bus ticket and Storm’s old gym bag stuffed with my scrappy clothes and a clean set of sheets. I never expected to get much out of life. But I got more than I bargained for.

I got Danny.

 

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K. Larsen

I am an avid reader, coffee drinker, and chocolate eater who loves writing. I received my B.A. from Simmons College-a while ago. I currently live with my daughter in Maine.
I’m working on my sixth novel out later this year. I’ve published Tug Of War, Objective, Resistance, Saving Caroline, 30 Days, Committed and Dating Delaney. Enjoy!

I love hearing from you so please feel free to contact me!

Author links

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Mara White

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.

 

 Author Links

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My 10 fave books of 2015 and 5 I’m anxiously awaiting in 2016

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Heaven is a stack of good books! And a glass of wine!

 

Some people get excited about new handbags or shoes or guys with tattoos. I am such a book nerd. I get more excited about books. Though if you give me a hottie lumbersexual reading Garcia Marquez or some novel that I am also reading, well, I might get excited about that.

Anyway, I read a little over 50 books in 2015, so I thought I’d share with you ten of them that resonated with me.

  1. Haunted by Christina C. Jones
  2. Addicted Allison by Noelle Black
  3. Kilted for Pleasure by Melissa Blue
  4. Maldeamores by Mara White
  5. Love Is by Tia Kelly
  6. Falling Stars by Xio Axelrod
  7. Ivy’s League by Nia Forrester
  8. Coming Down by Carrie Elks
  9. Brunch at Ruby’s by D.L. White
  10. In the Nothing by Nia Forrester
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Yes, I am just as excited as this little cutie! Photo credit: forharriet.com

And which titles am I anxiously awaiting? You know there are more than five I can’t wait to read, but these are five that I am super excited about. 🙂

  1. Starlight by Xio Axelrod
  2. When I Was Invisible by Dorothy Koomson
  3. City of Mirrors by Justin Cronin
  4. Lily in the Middle by Nina Perez
  5. Getting Schooled by Christina C. Jones

So tell me: which titles are you anxiously awaiting in 2016? And which were your favorites of 2015?

Book Review: Maldeamores (Lovesick) by Mara White

Screen Shot 2015-06-23 at 21.45.57One word describes Mara White’s Maldeamores (Lovesick): heartbreaking. Lucky and Bey’s story pulls at you–challenging you because their love is forbidden, yet making you empathise with them because their love is like an addiction, an illness they can never overcome. So why is their love forbidden? Luciano (also known as Lucky) and Belén (AKA Bey) are cousins, growing up together in the Heights. What starts as familial love becomes romantic love, even when both know that nothing can ever come of it…

Mara White never disappoints–she takes on controversial subjects (this time: incest) and weaves wonderfully written stories that smoulder and pull at your emotions. This is an emotionally-driven story that’s tight, erotic and challenging. A tightly written page turner, you’ll get sucked into this story and it won’t let you go until the very end. As much as I knew Lucky and Bey’s love would tear them apart, I longed for them to find happiness. It’s the sort of love story that leave you ragged, that makes you want what you know you cannot have…

This is not a book for everyone–but if you’re willing to give yourself over to Mara White’s sensational storytelling, you won’t regret the experience. Maldeamores (Lovesick) challenges what is love, what is acceptable in society, and how love can destroy you…

And I loved every minute of it.

My rating?

5_Star

Note: I received an ARC from the author in exchange for a fair and honest review.

Release Day Blitz: Maldeamores (Lovesick) by Mara White

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“Exquisitely sensual, Maldeamores is the most unforgettable forbidden romance I have ever read.” Katy Evans, New York Times Bestselling Author of the REAL Series.

“Refreshingly ‘taboo’ – in a community where we’re inundated by novels claiming this title, it’s wonderful to finally find a book that not only truly lives up to the word, but is also well written, moving, and beautiful in its prose.” Stylo Fantome, Best Selling Author of the Kane Trilogy.

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Belén: I’ve loved Luciano ever since I can remember, desired him before I even knew what it meant. He’s always been the only man in my life—my constant protector, and his rejection only intensifies my need.
Luciano: I’ve never known a love more fierce than the one I feel for Belén. But I force myself to deny her no matter how much it hurts.
Our love is a sickness and both of us are infected.
Because there’s no cure for being from the same family.
***Warning***
This novel contains graphic sex scenes, including: incest, F/F, and ménage, M/M/F. Some drug use and violence.

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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.

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Guest Post: Excerpt Reveal – The Delivery by Mara White

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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
PAPERBACK: http://amzn.to/18X3SuG
AMAZON US: http://amzn.to/1aQ6ds9
AMAZON UK: http://amzn.to/1wLJqI1

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
AMAZON US: http://amzn.to/1aQ6ds9
AMAZON UK: http://amzn.to/1wLJqI1

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Making my winter reading list

It’s November–which means NaNoWriMo month for me. I’ll be writing like crazy (and posting chapters on my author site), but I’ll also be getting cozy and reading. So what will I be reading? I am so glad you asked! Since we’re creeping closer and closer to the Christmas season (yes, I am well aware that it was *just* Halloween a few days–but it will soon be Thanksgiving and First Advent and you know how the days fly by), I’ve made a list of what I’ll be reading to get in the holly-jolly spirit *and* what I’ll be reading for the sheer pleasure of it. So here goes…

Holiday Reads

Secret SantaSecret Santa – Scarlett Bailey

A Christmas to Remember – Jenny Hale

The French for Christmas – Fiona Valpy

Screen Shot 2014-11-03 at 09.28.09Snow Angels, Secrets & Christmas Cake – Sue Watson

The Reluctant Elf – Michele Gorman

Sweet Christmas Kisses: Fourteen Sweet Christmas Romances – Beate Boeker, Donna Fasano and a host of other writers

 

On My Kindle Now

Screen Shot 2014-11-03 at 09.32.29Didn’t Mean to Love You – Christina C. Jones

Fear of Heights – Mara White

The Secret Place – Tana French

 

On My Preorder List

Screen Shot 2014-11-03 at 09.34.13Chasing Moments – Tia Kelly

It’s Not Me, It’s You – Mhairi McFarlane

Winter’s Tale – Mark Helprin

 

That’s it for today–there will probably be more books added to my Winter Reading List, so  check back often!

Happy reading! 🙂