Thursday, April 30, 2015

Cover Reveal: No Limit by L. P. Dover

No Limit by L.P. Dover
(Armed and Dangerous, #1)
Publication date: June 1st 2015
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense

Murder. Lies. Betrayal.

I deal with those things every day. My name is Jason Avery, one of the best undercover agents in the country. I have yet to fail on a mission, which is why I’ve been sent to Vegas. Countless women have been abducted, tortured, only to show up dead in the middle of the night. It’s my job to find out which sick fuck is responsible. Unfortunately, every lead sends me to a dead end; at least, until Aylee McFadden shows up at my door.

Aylee is a stubborn, headstrong FBI agent and also one of the sexiest women I’ve ever seen with a gun. In joining me, it gives us the leverage we need to get on the inside. She fights me at every turn, but soon realizes there’s more to me than tattoos and a dirty mouth. I can’t get enough of her. Now that we’re in the game, we’re one step closer to solving the crime. However, gambling with money isn’t what the big boys want. They want the one thing I’m not willing to give.

It’s a no limit game, and if I back down I lose everything. I will lose her.

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, L.P. Dover, is a southern belle residing in North Carolina along with her husband and two beautiful girls. Before she even began her literary journey she worked in Periodontics enjoying the wonderment of dental surgeries.

Not only does she love to write, but she loves to play tennis, go on mountain hikes, white water rafting, and you can’t forget the passion for singing. Her two number one fans expect a concert each and every night before bedtime and those songs usually consist of Christmas carols.

Aside from being a wife and mother, L.P. Dover has written over nine novels including her Forever Fae series, the Second Chances series, and her standalone novel, Love, Lies, and Deception. Her favorite genre to read is romantic suspense and she also loves writing it. However, if she had to choose a setting to live in it would have to be with her faeries in the Land of the Fae.

L.P. Dover is represented by Marisa Corvisiero of Corvisiero Literary Agency.


Book Blitz + Teasers and Giveaway: Adrenaline by Sunniva Dee

Adrenaline by Sunniva Dee
Publication date: April 30th 2015
Genres: New Adult, Romance



Life’s the shit!

Chicks squeal over how wild and yummy I am, play their silly games trying to tie me down. But I’m free as a bird, doing what makes life life: kicking extreme-sport-ass!
I base jump, snowboard, bungee jump. I do anything for the rush.
Then, Ingela blows into town for college—a cool Swedish blast of trouble. Foulmouthed and runway-gorgeous, the girl seeps in like poison and melts the freaking brain.
To Ingela I am what chicks were to me: pastime, leisure, entertainment, pleasure. She’s killing me, and I’m digging it. There’s a new rush in town! Yeah, I hunt down my highs, and now the chase is on. I’ll catch her soon enough, just, what’s the deal with her ex?

With Ingela, sex is a dance. A slow tango where skin flows over skin. It is slick readiness, a quiet welcome. It’s smooth, warm, right, and all wrong.
On and off. On and off. Again, she’s wrecked with grief. It’s a reminder of how I destroy her, how crushed relationships shouldn’t be revived.
We’ve done this for years, now, but clearly we’re in for more.

Originally from Norway, I moved to the United States twelve years ago. I hold a Master’s degree in languages and taught Spanish at college level before settling in at the Savannah College of Art and Design as an adviser.

I write New Adult fiction, sometimes with a paranormal twist—like in “Shattering Halos,” published by The Wild Rose Press in February 24th 2014 and in “Stargazer,” released November 2014. The first book I’ve self-published was the New Adult Contemporary novel “Pandora Wild Child,” which made me a proud indie author in October 28th 2014.

I specialize in impulsive heroines, bad-boys, and good-boys running amok. Then, there’s the intense love, physical and emotional attraction beyond reason—sensory overload for the reader as well as for the characters. Like in real life, I hope you’re unable to predict what comes next in my stories.

Yes, so I write what I love to read, and depending on the reader, you’ll find my books to be a fast-paced emotional roller-coaster—or disturbing because the struggles of love aren’t your thing. Here’s to hoping you have the same reading vice as me!



Release Blitz + Teasers: Fall for Me by J. C. Emery

Melanie Kincaid is a trust-fund baby with a knack for sassycomebacks and unnecessarily complicating her privileged life. So, of course shewould have to fall in love with a man she can't have.


on Hayes is a NYC firefighter for Manhattan’s oldestladder company with big shoes to fill and a city to protect. He’s strong, sexy,and not looking for the complications Melanie brings. But he can't stay awayfrom her either. The attraction between them is immediate and the pull betweenthem is crazy powerful. But she's only home for the summer and long-distancerelationships never work.

Unfortunately, Melanie’s beauty and smart mouth are a lethalcombination and Jameson isn't the only Hayes who's interested. As if hisbrother isn't enough to compete with, now the city's most famous arsonist wantsto claim her as his next prize. Jameson can't stand to watch Melanie get hurtand she can't seem to keep herself out of trouble.

Fall for Me is the first Ladder Company novel, a stand-alonecompanion series about New York's most elite firefighting family with hot alphaheroes, snarky heroines, and an arsonist hell-bent on destruction.

“Mom!” I move through the foyer and into the open great room— a large, open living/kitchen combo— where I leave my suitcase and kick off my flats before I hit the carpet. What the hell is she doing with gas? That stuff is toxic.

“Well?” Mom says, appearing at the edge of the hall on the other side of the kitchen. She has a hand towel around her neck and one of her many yoga-specific exercise outfits on. This one is a light blue and she’s barefoot. Monica Kincaid is dedicated to many things in life— her husband Christian, her daughters (the youngest, especially), and her charity projects— but yoga is the one out of all of it that I don’t understand. It puts her at peace, she says.

“Well?” I ask and drape the dress bag over the island counter top in the kitchen and move around to prop myself up on one of the bar stools. God, that gasoline smell is driving me mad.

“Are we planning a spring wedding yet or what?” Mom says with a grin. Her nose wrinkles, catching the scent of the gasoline, I’m sure. “Janet and I have been taking bets.”

“God, Mom,” I say and place my head in my hands.

“No really,” she says, “Tell me.”

“Nothing happened,” I say. Verbalizing it is even more disappointing than it probably should be. Apparently, Mom and Dad were also in on Jameson and Royal’s surprise trip. It took all of an hour after they landed for Janet Hayes to text me telling me she wishes she could have been there. It was sweet, but then she suggested she needed to leave me alone so I could spend as much time as possible with Jameson. And that we shouldn’t be disturbed. While the level of investment our mothers have in our has-yet-to-happen relationship is borderline creepy, the support is pretty awesome. It’s a rarity to find a woman as kind and loving as Janet Hayes is. Even if she doesn’t really know appropriate boundaries and likes to talk about when her sons were starting puberty… in all the gory details. I know more about Jameson’s solo activities whenhe was a kid more than I care to.

“You must be joking,” she says and heads to the fridge where she pulls out a single-serve cup of yogurt. “That man flew down to that god-awful place—,”

As a child, JC was fascinated by things that went bump inthe night. As they say, some things never change. Now, as an adult, she dividesher time between the sexy law men, mythical creatures, and kick-ass heroinesthat live inside her head and pursuing her bachelor's degree in English. JC isa San Francisco Bay Area native, but has also called both Texas and Louisianahome. These days she rocks her flip flops year round in Northern California andcan't imagine a climate more beautiful.

JC writes adult, new adult, and young adult fiction. She dabbles in manydifferent genres including science fiction, horror, chick lit, and murdermysteries, yet she is most enthralled by supernatural stories-- and everythinghas at least a splash of romance.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Blog Tour + Excerpt and Giveaway: Secret Somethings by Amber Kay

Romantic Suspense / Satire 
Date Published - February 15, 2015

Marriage is bliss for newlywed Jude Clayton. Lord knows she could use it. After years of battling a destructive mental disorder, she’s hungry for some sense of normalcy. Little does she know, she will find the complete opposite with her new husband Bryce. On the surface, Bryce Clayton is every woman’s dream—make no mistake about it. Handsome, intelligent, wealthy and accomplished, Bryce only has one problem. An obsession.
Poor fragile Jude knows nothing about her husband’s “extracurricular activities.” What she’ll discover about herself in the process is much scarier than anything either of them can imagine. Jude, with her grotesque sense of humor and her many mental abnormalities, has developed an obsession of her own. 
As their unconventional “romance” blossoms into a toxic relationship, truth and lies clash. And some begin to wonder: Is Jude a helpless victim to her husband’s deceitful ways or is she a dutiful accomplice?

Purchase Links

July 21, 2009

The first thing I loved about him were his hands.

Bryce Clayton had talented hands—strong fingers, perfect knuckles—beautiful in every way. That man had an orgasmic touch. That’s what I’d like to remember forever, first and foremost. My husband had glorious hands, but they were also weapons. They were destructive beasts that destroyed everything they touched. Including me.

When they reveal the crime scene photos of his body, the only thing I can focus on are those infamous hands. Long broken fingers drenched in blood, tattered fingernails and gnarled knuckles. I can hardly stomach looking at them. I slump forward in the metal chair, clutching my stomach to quell the nausea.

Soft light spills from the florescent beams overhead, drawing beads of sweat from my scalp. Moisture drips like melting paint across my forehead, making me feel like I’ve been embedded in the sun. This is a side-effect of guilt.

“Mrs. Clayton?” the cop utters. “If you’ll work with me, we can get this over with and you can go home.”

Though my eyes lay fixed on the gruesome photos of my husband’s pale corpse, I nod. He proceeds, “Good. Now, we’ll be recording this interrogation for legal purposes, so I’ll need you to state your full name before we begin.”

He reaches across the table toward his recorder and presses a single button: PLAY. We settle in the silence for a moment and I feel his eyes on me, watching then judging. He has already made up his mind about me. Cops are designed to think the worst of everyone. I’d be offended if I didn’t agree with his assessment of me.

When he looks at me, I’m sure he’s sees the same thing every outsider sees. Stupid, homely, little suburban bitch. I’m a walking advertisement for everything that’s wrong with the twenty somethings of today. Spoiled brats with their heads lodged up their asses. Stupid bitch. I see it in his eyes. This man resents me.

“Go ahead, state your full name,” he orders.

I clear my throat, fidgeting with my fingers to distract my rampant thoughts. As I forge the courage to face him, my eyes are swollen with tears, but I’ve not cried a single tear yet and it scares me. What kind of woman doesn’t react to the death of her own husband? A woman like me? I didn’t think I could be so cold…until now.

“My name is Judith Lillian Clayton.”

“And why are you here today, Mrs. Clayton?”

“Your men arrested me. They say I've been a very bad girl,” I say and for some reason I expect him to laugh at my distasteful quip. Instead, I hear a light sigh as if he’s suddenly growing impatient with me. Guess I picked the wrong time to crack a joke.

“For better clarification, give me specifics. Why are you here?”

My heart, it chugs, coagulating blood in my chest cavity. It hurts. Everything hurts, even the strands of my hair. I’m a pulp of walking pain. Hollowed out like someone has eviscerated my insides with an ice cream scooper.

“I killed my husband,” I say.

“When did this incident occur?”

“July 20, 2009. The final day of our honeymoon.”

“I need you to tell me every single thing that happened on your honeymoon,” he says. “Starting with day one.”

“To understand, you’ll have to hear everything,” I say.

“Meaning what exactly?” he asks.

“My husband was a very complicated man, detective. He was absolutely brilliant, but he was also his own worst enemy. He was a bastard, a jackass and an unapologetic asshole, but against my better judgment…I loved him. To understand why he’s dead, you need to know our secrets.”

He pauses, but eventually replies, “Then give me the whole story.”

“You might not like me very much after I tell you this story. Sometimes I don’t even like myself when I think about it,” I say. “So I want you to listen because I won’t be repeating a thing.”

“Are you intentionally being vague, Mrs. Clayton?”

“Not intentionally, no, but I can only tell you what I remember. And that in itself might not be very credible,” I say. “You will have to fill in the rest of the pieces from there.”

“Just try your best. We have all day. Take your time.”

With a lump in my throat, I nod and say, “Yes sir.”

July 7, 2009

We were supposed to begin the day packing for the trip. Bryce insisted.

I, on the other hand, begin the day tending to my bruises. The restroom is where it often happens, behind closed doors so Bryce can’t see, but I know he can hear. I imagine him with his ear pressed against the door and his hand on the knob, debating whether or not to interrupt. He rarely does. So it remains, as always, my dirty little secret.

I sit in foamy bathwater scrubbing my skin raw. I never truly feel clean so I don’t stop scrubbing until I see bruises. Or blood. Each bruise of nasty purple blotches the inside of my thighs like splashes of paint. I pinch the discolored skin until it hurts and wince each time the euphoric burn returns. I pinch harder and harder until I’m numb. It feels too good to stop.

“Jude?” Bryce calls from outside the bathroom door. I dive beneath the bathwater to muffle his voice, in hopes that he’ll leave. But Bryce knows better than to leave me alone for too long. He isn’t going away.

“You’ve been in there for an hour,” he says. “I’m sure you’re clean enough by now.” He jingles the doorknob several times, realizing immediately that it’s locked. When I don’t answer, he knocks. “Jude? Judith!”

A couple more knocks and the door bursts open with Bryce on the other side drenched in a nervous sweat. I’d seen that face before. His bloodshot eyes fill with quiet panic. A perfect man doesn’t deserve an imperfect wife. In those eyes, I see the words: What did I do to deserve this? He wants to say it. For my sake, he doesn’t.

“Jude, didn’t you hear me knocking?” Upon inching closer to the tub, he notices with a relief two earphones crammed inside my ears. “Thank god,” he sighs.

With a manufactured smile that I’ve rehearsed hundreds of times before, I greet him like a wife should.

“Hey baby,” I say. “What’s wrong?”

Bryce remains where he is for three beats of prolonged silence as if he has no real answer to my question. By that fractured smile on his face, I know what he’s thinking. Poor Bryce just might have his hands full with me.

“Bryce, are you okay?” I ask after rising from a fetal position in the tub. Before anything else is said, his arms are around me, hugging me in a “thank-god-she’s-not-dead” kind of way. And I know from this alone that he’s thinking about…before.


“You didn’t answer me,” he says while unraveling himself from me.Those eyes lock with mine, bringing the world to a standstill the same way they had convinced me to marry him. This man has talent in those eyes.

“I was listening to some music,” I say. “I didn't hear you."

“I thought that…I don’t know…just don’t listen to those things in the bathtub. You know how dangerous that is?”

He plucks the earphones from my ears and tucks them inside his pants pocket as if for safekeeping. As if some small part of him fears the worst of what someone like me could do with an earphone cord. I’ll bet he imagines me fashioning a makeshift noose.

“Bryce, you’re much too overprotective,” I say. “It’s music, not cyanide.”

Bryce doesn’t smile at my joke, though I admit it’s mean-spirited. For someone like me, it’s downright cruel. I step out of the bathtub, neglecting to grab a towel as Bryce turns away to face the medicine cabinet mirror.

“It isn’t funny, Judith,” he mutters. “And you know it.”

I slink behind him, draping my arms around his neck while resting my chin atop his left shoulder. He kisses my forearm and clasps hold of it with his quivering hand. Through the mirror before us, I spot the wedding band reflection, hugging his ring finger. I allow myself to smile.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bryce Clayton,” he announces. “Can you believe it?”

“My parents sure didn’t,” I say.

“You told them?”


He sighs, realizing what the tone of my voice suggests. “Lydia didn’t approve?”

“Not because of you,” I assure him. “I promise.”

Bryce turns from the mirror, facing me. His hands clamp like talons around my bare hips, bony fingers pressed into my wet skin. I drip inside his arms, remembering now that I never bothered to dry or dress myself from the bath.

Old Judith would surely blush at the thought, cringe at the mere mention of intimacy. She’d fall repressed and rush for a bathrobe to shield her nakedness from the presence of any man. Bryce has triggered something that Old Judith wouldn’t allow new me to do. Old Judith was a skittish kitten. New Judith will be something different.

“How did Lydia take the news?” he asks in a voice of worrywart Bryce. This Bryce is much too anxious.

“Naturally, she’s upset that we eloped without telling her,” I say. “You know my mother. She wanted some massive monstrosity of a wedding for both of her kids. After what happened with Cadence’s wedding, I knew to avoid Lydia Kirby’s maternal wrath.”

“Anything else?” he asks in a leading voice as if he knows I’ve left something out. I know what he’s implying. I also know where it’ll lead if I let myself entertain it. Bryce knows the one button not to press with me. Yet, he often insists on pressing it as hard as he can at all the wrong times.

“I don’t want to talk about my mother,” I say.

“This isn’t just about your mother,” he replies. “Now what else did she say?”

He puts on a face that only my father can mimic. These parental eyes belong to my mother’s husband. I lean forward, standing on my tiptoes to silence him with a smothering kiss. It works…for a moment.

My lips are his candy. He sucks and breathes them in like cherry bubblegum. His grasp tightens around my waist. My hold lures him in and I’m sure I’ve gotten his mind off the subject of my mother.

“Jude, stop it,” Bryce moans while attempting to nudge me away, but his mouth says one thing as his body says another. “Judith, you aren’t going to get out of this conversation by distracting me.”

“Are you sure about that?” I whisper... “Then you should consult with the rest of your anatomy if you’d really like to get your point across.”

“Judith, I mean it!” At once he pulls back, gripping my wrists to restrain my perverse hands. I stand startled before him, wincing at the feel of his rough grip. We, like two opposing boxers, acknowledge the impasse in silence until Bryce releases my arms.

“Don’t do that,” he warns. “Don't try to seduce your way out of talking to me.”

I swallow the hostile words that linger in the back of my throat because I don’t like upsetting my Bryce.

“I’m sorry,” I say in my most apologetic voice. “You forgive me?”

He takes one look at me and sighs. He knows I’ve won. My lips aren’t the only things he can’t resist.

“It’s getting late,” he says. “We’ll miss our plane.”

He releases my wrists and turns toward the door. I grip his hand, entwining our fingers to force him to face me.

“Bryce, you’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Not mad. Just worried.”

“You’re always worried,” I tease.

“You never give me a reason not to,” he says before leaving the bathroom. I know he’s right. I have never disputed his insight on most things concerning me or how my mind works. I am walking chaos. A mental bundle of misshapen nerves. 

Amber has been writing for as long as she can remember. Yes, she knows how awful her fifth grade plays were, but she didn't care as long as she had to the power to explore her imagination in the darkest ways possible. She grew up in the south where she ate a lot of BBQ and spent too much time reading.
Some would argue that she was an odd child (and an even odder adult) With her morbid sense of humor, Amber has aimed to be as true to her writing as she can by exploring the darker sides of humankind. She loves psychological thrillers and offbeat plots. Her characters might be unlikeable. Her plots might take disturbing twists and turns, but she tries (as always) to explore the most tragic parts of life with as much humor as possible.
Her favorite authors are Gillian Flynn, Liane Moriarty, Tana French and Laura Lippman.
Her favorite movies are dark, suspenseful and (sometimes) romantic. Though she hates most romantic comedies, she absolutely loves (500) Days Of Summer, The Spectacular Now and The Fault In Our Stars.


Announcement: All Closed Off by Cora Carmack


Fans of Cora Carmack’s Rusk University, we have a SUPER exciting announcement:

ALL CLOSED OFF Coming 2016

ALL CLOSED OFF, Book 4 in the Rusk University Series, is coming!!!

Check out this message from Cora!

*WARNING: This letter contains spoilers for All Broke Down. If you haven't yet read that book, read at your own peril. SECOND WARNING: this letter talks about fictional characters as if they are real people. Sorry I'm not sorry. THIRD WARNING: The letter below broaches a serious topic that could be a trigger for some people*

Hello beloved readers!

The first person who read one of my Rusk University books was my older sister. I gave her All Lined Up when I finished, and her first question was "Are Ryan and Stella going to be together?" At the time, I told her no. I had plans for both of them that included their own storylines. I thought they were too much alike. They'd make great friends. They might even hook-up, but in the end... I couldn't envision anything serious for them. So I actually rewrote some of their scenes trying to make that aspect of their connection more obvious. And still, when All Lined Up released, amidst the chatter about sweet Carson and sassy Dallas, I had people asking if Stella and Ryan were next. I denied it again (and again and again). But sometimes in writing, the stars align and a character will become bigger and more real than you could have possibly imagined. It's a wonderful experience, but in Stella's case it was also incredibly heartbreaking. While I was writing All Broke Down, the news was inundated with information about the Steubenville rape trial and other tragedies and injustices like it. Tragedies where women have been violated first by an attacker, then by judgmental and hateful people, and finally by a justice system that repeatedly fails survivors of sexual assault. Having grown up in Texas, where too often football stars are treated like gods and can get away with just about anything, it hit particularly close to home. And since All Broke Down featured a passionate activist heroine, I felt compelled to reference this chronic dark underbelly of elite sports. I can remember vividly sitting on my couch, brainstorming how I would incorporate such an event into the book. I had thought the assault would happen to an unknown character, and maybe I would focus on the way it divided the team and the school and the town. But like I said... Sometimes a character will become bigger and more human than I anticipated. And it sounds crazy, but in my mind, I felt Stella push her way forward and say, "Mine. This is my story." I immediately began to cry. Sob, really. Because I loved her as a character. She was hilarious and strong and didn't take crap from anyone. She was everything I always hope to be. And I didn't want her to go through that. Even as I cried, my brain began to tell me that it made sense. Stella was vibrant and enjoyed a wild party. She was not afraid of her sexuality, and she had no problem with casual sex. She was the kind of girl that probably had a reputation. The kind of girl who could be heinously and violently taken advantage of, and people would STILL blame her. Because she was in the wrong place, wearing the wrong clothes, behaving in the wrong way. But just because it COULD happen to her, didn't mean I wanted it to. But once again, Stella was there in my head saying, "Someone needs to tell this story. And I'm strong enough to do it. Let me." And when Stella chose her story, she also chose the man I'd been adamant wasn't right for her. Because as it turns out... Those two characters who I thought were too alike aren't so alike anymore. And Stella needs Ryan to help her hold on to that vibrant and strong girl she was before. So I let go of all the plans I had for her, and allowed her to tell me her story, which is about more than just sexual assault. It's about the aftermath. Depression. Shame. Guilt. Anger. Injustice. Victim-blaming. Slut-shaming. It's about the way that kind of event can change everything-- how you relate to people, how you think, how you dream, how you love. It's about the way the rest of the world moves on to the next big tragedy, and you're still left holding the broken pieces of who you used to be, with no idea how to put them together again or even if you want to. It will be the most difficult story I ever tell. And the most important. Because it’s a story that belongs not just to Stella, but to millions of people around the world. It’s a story that belongs to a new person every 107 seconds*. And that’s just in the United States. Think about that for a moment. 107 seconds. Stella’s story won’t be any easier to read than it will be to write. But I hope you’ll help me drag this story into the light. So now I’ll step off my soapbox and just tell you about the book… ALL CLOSED OFF: Stella Santos is fine. Maybe something terrible happened to her that she can’t even remember. And maybe it drives her crazy when her friends treat her like she’s on the verge of breaking because of it. Maybe it feels even worse when they do what she asks and pretend that it never happened at all. And maybe she’s been getting harassing emails and messages for months from people who don’t even know her, but hate her all the same. But none of that matters because she’s just fine. For Ryan Blake, Stella was always that girl. Vibrant and hilarious and beautiful. He wanted her as his best friend. His more than friends. His everything and anything that she would give him. Which these days is a whole lot of nothing. She gets angry when he’s there. Angry when he’s not there. Angry when he tries to talk and when he doesn’t. When Stella devises an unconventional art project for one of her classes all about exploring intimacy—between both friends and strangers—Ryan finds himself stepping in as guinea pig after one of her subjects bails. What was supposed to be an objective and artistic look at emotion and secrets and sex suddenly becomes much more personal. When he hits it off with another girl from the project, Stella will have to decide if she’s willing to do more than make art about intimacy. To keep him, she’ll have to open up and let herself be the one thing she swore she’d never be again. Vulnerable. ***** ALL CLOSED OFF will be releasing sometime in early 2016. I don't have a date yet for several reasons. The first and most important, is that I want to do this story justice. And as such, I have no intentions of rushing the process. Secondly, I'll be returning to indie publishing for the remainder of the Rusk series. As you can probably tell, this story means a great deal to me. And by having the ultimate control over everything from timing to editing to price, I'll be able to ensure that I'm able to create exactly the story I envision. Unfortunately, that means you won't be seeing the paperback of ALL CLOSED OFF on the shelves in most stores. Nor is it currently available for pre-order. But I hope you'll add the book on goodreads, follow me on social media, and/or join my newsletter. I promise to shout it all over the place when I have a set release date or pre-order links. Thank you for listening as I told you the evolution of Stella's story. When it's finished, I hope you will feel as passionately about it as I do.

 All my best, Cora Carmack
*Statistic from RAINN (Rape, Abuse, Incest National Network)

 #WhenitHappened banner

And an opportunity to add your voice to Stella’s…

Stella’s experience is only one story of many. She was with someone she trusted when it happened, and the only memories she has are pieced together from her own blurred recollections and the things people have told her. Not everyone’s experience with sexual assault is the same. Each person reacts, copes, and overcomes differently. And while this book is about one specific character’s journey, I would like to tell as many sides of this story as possible. As Stella grapples with her thoughts and emotions she’ll be searching for advice, for comfort, for a place where people understand her and can identify with what she’s experiencing. There will be room for truth within the fiction, and if you’d like that truth to be yours, this is your chance. If you have a story like Stella’s, and you want your voice to be heard…. If there’s something you wish more people understood about what you’ve gone through…. If there’s something you’d like to tell people struggling with a story like yours… I’d like to give you the opportunity to add your voice to Stella’s. Use the hashtag #WhenItHappened and let your voice be heard on your own by posting on your own social media, or if you’d rather I share your words fill out this google document and tell me your story. You can fill out this form anonymously or not. I’d like to begin this discussion now because April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. But my hope is to include as many stories as possible within the book itself. So many have stories of #WhenItHappened. Your voice and your story deserve to be heard. I’m listening. #WhenItHappened Google Form:

HeadshotABOUT Cora Carmack:
Cora Carmack is a twenty-something New York Times bestselling author who likes to write about twenty-something characters. She's done a multitude of things in her life-- boring jobs (like working retail), Fun jobs (like working in a theatre), stressful jobs (like teaching), and dream jobs (like writing). She now splits her time between Austin, TX and New York City and spends her days writing, traveling, and spending way too much time on the internet. In her books, you can expect to find humor, heart, and a whole lot of awkward. Because let’s face it . . . awkward people need love, too.      

Website ** Twitter ** Facebook **Newsletter **Author Goodreads

  z-InkSlinger Blogger

Release Blitz: Best I Never Had by Loni Flowers

Enter to Win Gift Pack Including: 
a wooden bookmark with a quote,  a silver bracelet with a "read more books" charm, 
a sticky note gift set, and a signed copy of THE BEST I NEVER HAD

DeVine Winery #1
Loni Flowers
Releasing May 5th, 2015

New job, new town, new people— new life.

That’s what Olivia Langston needed. At twenty eight, she was given a rare opportunity at an internship in the rolling valleys of Crystal Falls in California wine country, far away from her small town roots in North Carolina. It was an unexpected journey she desperately needed after her ex-husband crushed her.

At DeVine Winery, she expected a fresh start in a new environment to help let go of her past. Instead, she found Daniel Black and a hell of a lot of sexual tension she wasn’t prepared for. He was gorgeous, modestly wealthy, irresistible, and just happened to be part owner of DeVine, one of the largest vineyards in the country.

If only she knew that before she kissed him her first night in town.



Residing in Eastern North Carolina with her husband, 2 girls, and couch-potato dogs, Loni works a full-time professional job during the day and writes in her free time. She never thought it was possible to have a satisfying writing career, but with the love and support of her family, she's made it part of her life.

Loni searches for the tiniest speck of romance in any story and is a firm believer in the happily-ever-after’s. She thrives off the sexual tension, and gets a kick out of taking her characters on a roller-coaster ride of drama-filled emotions. A romance that can soothe the soul is her number one priority.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Blog Tour + Excerpt: The Dead Room by Stephanie Erickson

Post Apocalyptic 
Date Published: March 11, 2015

322 years after the apocalypse, the world has changed, but her people have not. Secrets, lies, and manipulations endure among a small group of survivors taking refuge on an island in the Northern Pacific.   

 No one knows what claimed so many lives over three centuries ago, and no one asks, except Ashley Wortham. She can feel the secrets all around her, begging to be uncovered.   

But the nine elders who govern the island guard their secrets jealously. They believe the islanders know what they need to, and they hide their secrets behind a ruse of peace. But when Ashley, and her best friend Mason, go down the rabbit hole, no one is prepared for truths they uncover. What will they do when they discover the downfall of humanity lies within their own island, deep inside the dead room?

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The body lay on a two-piece metal pyre in the center of the clearing. Nothing more than the skeleton of a table, the pyre was simply used for the display and transport of the bodies. Burning the dead was a custom from the time before.

The corpse’s blue cotton, long-sleeved shirt was buttoned all the way to the top to hide his injuries, and the matching navy slacks had recently been pressed. With his hands folded over his abdomen, Wesley looked rather dashing. Ashley wished her match had actually been dashing in life.

She wondered who would wear that outfit next. Nothing was ever wasted on the island.Not even the clothes of a dead man. She herself had worn the clothes off a dead woman’s back. Squeamishness was a luxury no one could afford.

Although “new” clothes were made on the island, from animal skins and the cotton grown in the farmlands, they were typically reserved for the higher ups—elders,doctors, and the like. Cotton was difficult to grow in the cold climate,and the clothes were made entirely by hand. Once it had been worn and patched a few times by those with power, new clothing was eventually passed down to the lower branches of society.

But, it wasn’t just clothing that moved on after an islander died. All of their belongings were redistributed among those in need. The dead’s family wasn’t allowed to keep anything they didn’t need. Sentimentality was a lost emotion to the islanders. Reusing everything was essential, even if the previous owner was a dead man.

It had only bothered her once—the first time she’d seen one of her father’s outfits on another man. Even then, at the tender age of ten, she’d understood it was bound to happen eventually. She just hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. Only a week after his funeral, she’d spotted one of her neighbors walking down the road in her father’s clothes. She ran to him, hoping her father’s scent might still linger on his shirt. But the man neither embraced her nor offered her any sympathy. He only looked at her with wide eyes,the horror and disgust plain on his face.

Death on the island was such a strange thing. She’d lost track of how many funerals she’d been to in her lifetime—at least one a month. Unexpected deaths, like that of her match, added to the average.

Only three of the losses had actually meant something to her—her mother,her father,and now Wesley. Her father’s funeral was, of course, devastating, made more so by the fact that they’d shared the same first name. Everything the elders said about him could have also been applied to her. How they were thankful for “Ashley’s life,” how they wished “Ashley peace.” It sent shivers down her spine.

Once, she’d asked him why they shared a name. His mother’s name had been Ashley, he’d explained, as had her mother, and her father before that. On and on, down the line,the name had traveled, until it had reached Ashley. And one day, as was their tradition, it would go to her own child.

The funeral for her mother, who had been taken by a simple cold that escalated into something much worse, was nothing more than a hazy memory. Still, Ashley missed her mother terribly and felt incomplete without her. She searched for her whenever the jasmine got caught on the wind, because her mother had loved to wear the flower behind her ear.

Wesley’s funeral was a problem. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it. The loss of her parents had left her feeling completely alone. She’d hoped to find love again with her match, but he’d left her terribly disappointed.

Now that he was gone, her emotions warred with themselves. Relief was the biggest player fighting for space in her mind. Relief to have escaped the abuse and the pressures of being the next elder’s wife. Guilt came in at a close second, but not because she regretted killing her match.

It was because her best friend was being blamed for it.

Stephanie Erickson

Stephanie Erickson has always had a passion for the written word. She pursued her love of literature at Flagler College, in St. Augustine, FL, where she graduated with a BA in English. She has received several honors in her writing career, including recognition in the 72nd Annual Writer's Digest Competition. 

After graduation, she married and followed her husband in pursuit of his dream. The Cure and The Blackout were written to reignite Stephanie's passion, when she found the time. Now that he is settled in his career, it's her turn to devote more time and energy into writing.

Stephanie currently has 4 projects planned for 2015. Her latest release, The Dead Room, is a post apocalyptic set on a lonely island 300 years in the future. 

Stephanie, of course, loves to read and write. She also enjoys living on the beach on the Florida's Treasure Coast. Most of all, she and her husband are in love with their baby girl.

Release Blitz + Giveaway: Final Death by Rose Garcia

Final Death by Rose Garcia

Dominique has conquered the evil within her, only to find her one true love now has to kill her. Desperate to save her friends and loved ones from sharing her fate, Dominique ditches her companions in an effort to protect them. With Trent left for dead in the past, she has no idea that Infiniti and Fleet have banded together, facing their own adversity as they struggle to find her.

Sure of nothing, and trusting someone from her first life who promises to be on her side, Dominique decides to set out on her own mission: kill before being killed. With time running out and her friends in hot pursuit, Dominique is hell bent on finishing what was started nine lives ago. Or finally face her final death.

Get the first two books in the series!


FINAL LIFE (only 99¢!)
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First prize: $100 gift card OR a Kindle Paperwhite (winner's choice)
Second prize: eCopies of the complete TRANSHUMAN CHRONICLES series
Third prize: $10 gift card


About the Author

Rose Garcia is a lawyer turned writer who's always been fascinated by science fiction and fantasy. From a very young age, she often had her nose buried in books about other-worlds, fantastical creatures, and life and death situations. More recently she's been intrigued by a blend of science fiction and reality, and the idea that some supernatural events are, indeed, very real. Fueled by her imagination, she created The Transhuman Chronicles--a series of books about people who have overcome human limitations.

Rose lives in Houston with her husband and two kids. You can visit Rose at