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Tuesday, November 25, 2014

{Blitz} THE KING by Tiffany Reisz -- with giveaway



the king
Title: The King
Author: Tiffany Reisz
Date of Publication: November 25, 2014

Summary:

Cunning. Sex. Pure nerve. Only this potent threesome can raise him to his rightful place as ruler of Manhattan's kink kingdom.

Bouncing from bed to bed on the Upper East Side—handsomely paid in both bills and blackmail fodder—Kingsley Edge is brilliant, beautiful and utterly debauched. No carnal act or chemical compound can relieve his self-destructive apathy—only Søren, the one person he loves without limit or regret. A man he can never have, but in whose hands Kingsley is reborn to attain even greater heights of sin. He plans to open the ultimate BDSM club­: a dungeon playground for New York's A-list that'll change the scene forever.

The club becomes Kingsley's obsession—and he's enlisted some tough-as-nails help. His new assistant Sam is smart, secretive and totally immune to seduction (by men, at least). She and Kingsley make a wicked team. Still, their combined—and considerable—expertise in domination can't subdue the man who would kill their dream. The enigmatic Reverend Fuller won't rest until King's dream is destroyed. It's one man's sacred mission against another's….



Buy Links:

Amazon | BN
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About Tiffany Reisz:

Tiffany ReiszTiffany Reisz is the author of the internationally bestselling and award-winning Original Sinners series for Mira Books (Harlequin/Mills & Boon). Tiffany's books inhabit a sexy shadowy world where romance, erotica and literature meet and do immoral and possibly illegal things to each other. She describes her genre as "literary friction," a term she stole from her main character, who gets in trouble almost as often as the author herself.

She lives in Portland, Oregon. If she couldn't write, she would die.
Find Tiffany Online:
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads




Q/A with Tiffany

-Do you have a favorite book or author you like to recommend? Do you have a comfort read?

I have a set of books I regularly recommend to people. Want to read amazing literature? Read my favorite novel of all time All the King’s Men by Kentucky author Robert Penn Warren. Want to read the most moving love story I’ve ever read? Read The Vintner’s Luck by Elizabeth Knox. My comfort reads are Sherlock Holmes short stories and Agatha Christie’s Poirot novels.

-What is your guilty pleasure?

I’d need to feel guilt to have a guilty pleasure. Buying office supplies I don’t need is probably the closest I get to a guilty pleasure. I buy them and think about all the people out there who don’t have awesome office supplies like I do and I feel bad for them.

-Favorite Meal?

Coffee and an ice cream sandwich is my version of a “Power Lunch.” The combination of tastes is glorious.

-If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

My non-writer dream job is train engineer (what? I like trains). My realistic non-writer job would be working in a bookstore. That’s what I was doing when I started my writing career.



EXCERPT

“How much trouble am I in for getting out of the car without permission?” Kingsley asked.

“None,” Søren said, and Kingsley was wildly disappointed. “Let’s go. We can make it back to school by tonight.”

Kingsley followed him back to the car. The driver opened the door for them. When they were alone again, Kingsley said, “Or…”

“Or what?” Søren demanded.

“Or we could find a hotel and fuck in a real bed for once.”

“We’re not on a date. And here I was wondering where the real Kingsley had gone.”

“What do you mean?” he asked as the driver opened the car door for them. He slipped inside and Søren followed. They were on the road again before Søren answered.

“When you were with Claire—I wasn’t sure you were the same Kingsley I know and barely tolerate.”

“Why? Because I like kids?”

“You were good with her.”

“Kids are fun,” he said. What else was there to say?

“I never considered you would like children.”

“Well…I do. So what?”

“Nothing,” Søren said, laughing to himself. “Nothing at all.”

“I know you see me as some kind of pervert,” Kingsley said. “But believe or not, I am a human being. Yes, I like kids. I might want kids someday. I don’t have much of a family anymore. If I want a family I’ll have to make my own. Sometimes I have thoughts that don’t have anything to do with sex. I’m not just your toy, you know. I have feelings and—”

His impassioned “I have feelings” speech ended abruptly when Søren grabbed him hard by the back of the hair and brought his mouth down in a brutal kiss. Kingsley almost pulled away so he could finish his tirade before realizing he wanted the kiss so much more than the fight.

Kingsley returned the kiss with equal and greater passion. Søren yanked Kingsley’s jacket off him and threw it on the floorboard. Kingsley pulled his own shirt off and rolled on to his back on the bench seat. He’d remember the sensation of leather on his bare back all his life.

“Have you ever had sex in the back of a Rolls Royce?” Kingsley asked, trying not to rip Søren’s shirt in his rush to unbutton it. He needed Søren’s skin on his skin right now.

“No,” Søren said. “But ask me that question again in an hour.”

Before Kingsley could respond to that, Søren grabbed his wrists, pinned them over Kingsley’s head and kissed him again—deeper, slower, but no less punitive. Kingsley groaned, and Søren slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Quiet,” Søren said into Kingsley’s ear. “We aren’t alone, and I’ll gag you until you choke if I have to. Understand?”

Kingsley nodded against Søren’s hand. A curtain and partition separated them from the driver. He couldn’t see them, but if they were loud enough, he could hear them. He’d disobeyed Søren’s orders to stay in the car, he’d yelled at him and talked back. He was going to get it this time.

Good.

Søren kissed him again. Kingsley kept his sounds of pleasure to a minimum even when Søren reached between their bodies, unzipped Kingsley’s pants, and stroked him hard. Every muscle in Kingsley’s stomach tightened. He sucked in his breath sharply from the shock of pleasure. It took every bit of self-control not to moan audibly.

“You like this?” Søren asked.

“God, yes, so much,” Kingsley said, lifting his hips against Søren’s hand. He spoke in French and English. He was about to lose control of more than his language skills if Søren didn’t stop touching him like that.

“I think you like it too much.” Søren rose up on his knees and looked down at Kingsley.

“I don’t. I really don’t. I like it exactly as much as you want me to.”

“You’re pathetic when you’re turned on.”

“I am so pathetic right now.”
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Saturday, November 22, 2014

{Blog Tour} THE DREAMER OF DOWNING STREET by Roberta L Smith


Title: The Dreamer of Downing Street
Author: Roberta L. Smith
Series: The Mickey McCoy Series (Prequel)
Genre: Paranormal/Mystery/Romance/Historical
Publisher: Self Published
Release Date: Aug 23 2014
Edition/Formats Available In: eBook & Print
Blurb/Synopsis:
In 1944 Denver, twenty-six year-old Franklin Powell is doing what he does best, helping clients with his psychic gift. Then his brother causes the past to come crashing into the present and a memory Frank has kept buried since the age of six surfaces. Now his life is in an uproar. He must prove that what he remembers is true or his mother may spend the rest of her life in prison. But even if he succeeds, it appears there is a powerful someone behind the scenes who could care less if she is innocent. Why? Because of a seething hatred for Frank. To make matters worse, the woman he loves needs his help with a serious problem of her own—a problem that could get him killed. Frank can’t let that stop him. He dives right in and while his psychic gift doesn’t seem to be doing him any favors, it’s a good thing that a couple of newly-acquired ghosts appear to be on his side.

Book Links

Every author has a writing process. But what is your READING process? Favorite spot, must have a cup of tea or coffee or soda, or snack, or something? Please tell us your reading habit!



Mostly I read at night, in bed, before I go to sleep. If I start a book, I will do my best to finish it even if I’m not liking it all that much.  Often books start out slow and I end up getting into the characters and the story and I’m happy I continued to read.  If I don’t like a book at the outset, it may take me days and days to get into it.  If the writing is outright bad, I don’t continue, but I will know that in the first paragraph and don’t waste my time. Unfortunately, I’m a slow reader which means I can’t read as many books as I’d like.  If I love a book, however, I read for hours whenever and wherever.  I don’t need a favorite spot or cup of tea or coffee.  I just go for it.

 Roberta L. Smith was born and raised in Southern California.  She is a graduate of the University of Redlands and lives in the High Desert with her husband.  She is an active member of the High Desert Branch of the California Writers Club.  Roberta had always been intrigued by the unexplained.  Her favorite stories growing up involved ghosts and sometimes the macabre. As a child, she wrote a letter to Boris Karloff telling him she knew he didn’t mean to kill the little girl in “Frankenstein,” so it’s no surprise that the four novels she has published thus far are in the paranormal genre.
Author Links

Authors Other Works

The Mickey McCoy Paranormal Mystery Series
One of Life’s Distorted Moments
In His Shoes and The Miracle #2 & #3 {2 in 1 Book}
Stand Alones




Excerpt
PROLOGUE
Leadville, Colorado - 1924

I COULD FEEL Mother’s anxiety the moment she took my hand to pull me out of the canvas top touring car. I landed with a squishy sound as my boots hit the sloshy ground and I righted myself. The sight before me was forlorn to say the least: a couple of cabins―shacks really―a privy, shed and the hoist frame of a mine shaft no longer in use, all dusted with snow. It was spring, but just barely. And it was cold.
“You’ll be all right with the boy,” our driver called to my mother from his seat inside the car, arm outside the window, finger pointed. “Just remember what I told you. Call her Mrs. Tabor. She don’t like when people address her as Baby Doe. Show her respect. If she opens the door with a shotgun in her hand, just talk real nice. She guards the Matchless like a rabid dog and don’t trust people much. I ain’t sayin’ I blame her, just that’s how she be.”
Mother nodded and started toward one of the cabins, my hand in hers. I nearly cried out that she was hurting me, her grip was that tight. But I thought better of it. A tongue lashing would most likely result and that would be more painful. I stuck my free hand in the right-hand pocket of my coat and grabbed hold of one of the toy cars I kept there.
My heart beat rapidly. I was anxious, too. Not because of where we were or who we were about to meet. I was concerned for Mother because I’d never seen her in such a state. She paused for a moment and took several deep breaths as she stared at the small, one-room shack ahead of us. It cast a friendless feel out here on the hill amid the other wooden structures that were all part of the derelict mine. Constructed of planks that had weathered many winters, it wasn’t exactly ramshackle, but it was close. Not that I would have thought of that word at the time. I was six.
After a few more steps, my anxiety left me and the happiness I felt at being on a trip with Mother—just me, not my older brother Bobby nor my older sister Jane, just me—took hold. My siblings got most of Mother’s attention at home. With only me in tow, I would be foremost in her mind.
I looked at the front door of the cabin and “knowings” hopped into my head. Back then, that’s what I called the psychic thoughts that came to me. I knew we were about to meet an old woman who had been beautiful at one time. So beautiful that other people had been jealous. I knew that she was hated and that she lived alone.
I will just have a talk with that woman. So what if she’s peculiar, if they say she’s lost her marbles . . .
I glanced up at Mother. “Here, Mama,” I said, offering her a fistful of aggies and cat’s-eyes I kept stashed in my pocket along with the cars.
“What?” Her brows knit together as she looked at the contents of my hand.
“You said she lost her marbles. She can have these.”
Immediately my mother’s face turned to granite. I’d responded to something I thought she’d said aloud. “Why do you like to torment me?” There was a frantic undercurrent to her tone and the lines around her mouth deepened.
My heart seemed to freeze as it always did when I said something wrong and she glared at me with disapproval. La-la-la-laa. La. La . . . I sang in my head to block any more of her self-talk.
Mother took another step and the front door creaked open a few inches.
“Stop!” a sharp, clear voice rang out. “What do you want? Who’s that boy with you?”
Mother stalled. The word “ostracized” came to me. My brain changed the word to “ostrich-size” which made me think the woman we were about to meet was big like an ostrich.
Mother’s voice cracked when she spoke. “This is my son, Franklin.”
The door opened farther and my jaw dropped. We were in the presence of the old woman I had seen last night amid one of the strangest experiences that had ever happened to me.





Thursday, November 20, 2014

{Blog Tour} HENGE by Realm Lovejoy -- with review and giveaway!



candance_blog_tour_banner_HENGE
Henge by Realm Lovejoy is a YA Fantasy that is a modern spin-off of the Arthurian legends featuring Morgan Le Fay as the protagonist. This tour will consist of reviews, interviews & guest posts. Check out the full schedule for more information.