Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Book Blast, Excerpt & Giveaway: Keeping What's His by Jamie Begley

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Title:  Keeping What's His
Series:  Porter Brothers Trilogy
Author:  Jamie Begley
Release Date:  September 29, 2015
Publisher:  Young Ink Press 


The Porter Brother's were raised to live and die by Three Rules

One, a Porter stands his ground
Two, a Porter leaves no enemy standing

Sutton Creech was a cheat and a liar. Tate Porter had found that out when he was eighteen, and he had no intention of letting her make a fool out of him again. He didn’t care how much pain he saw in her eyes or how old memories tugged at his unforgiving heart until, the night a hidden secret is revealed and everything Tate had believed about their past is shattered, proving he had let the woman he loved get away.

Between trying to protect his family and running their pot growing business, Tate doesn't have time to play the "Nice Guy". He'd just have to remember the most important rule his father had given them: A Porter always keeps what's his.

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“She’s not had an easy time since she’s been gone.” Rachel’s soft voice didn’t rouse his sympathy.

The soothing warmth he was receiving from his sister’s hand on his arm didn’t dispel the churning anger in his stomach, and Tate refused to talk about Sutton any longer.

Rachel sighed. “Your temper is going to be your downfall, Tate. Greer may be a hothead, but he gets over it fast. You hold a grudge forever.”

“Yes, I do.” He and Cash had a contentious past over women, but the only one Cash had succeeded in angering him over was Sutton.

“You’re an asshole. I never touched Sutton, but you’re not going to change your mind despite me telling you the truth. Ask me about any woman in town, and I’ll tell you the truth; why would I lie about her?”

“Maybe because your wife is sitting right here,” Tate replied sarcastically.

“I’ve never denied my past to Rachel,” Cash snapped back.

“Then it’s because you knew I cared about her.”

Cash snorted. “You didn’t care about Sutton. You let her go easily enough. If you were as into her as you’re acting, you would have whipped my ass over her. Greer tried to give me a beating over that slut Diane. You just asked Lisa to the prom, instead. You were just tired of having blue balls, and it gave you the excuse to do what you wanted to do all along.”

“Which was what?” Tate snarled.

“Breakup with Sutton and fuck Lisa.”

Tate stood, his chair scrapping back. “I’ve gotta go before I knock the shit out of you. I can’t afford to do any jail time right now. Bye, Rach.”


He ignored his sister trying to call him back. He didn’t bother paying his bill, either, knowing Cash would take care of it. The son of a bitch deserved to pay his tab.

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About Jamie Begley:

"I was born in a small town in Kentucky. My family began poor, but worked their way to owning a restaurant. My mother was one of the best cooks I have ever known, and she instilled in all her children the value of hard work, and education.
Taking after my mother, I've always love to cook, and became pretty good if I do say so myself. I love to experiment and my unfortunate family has suffered through many. They now have learned to steer clear of those dishes. I absolutely love the holidays and my family puts up with my zany decorations.
For now, my days are spent writing, writing, and writing. I have two children who both graduated this year from college. My daughter does my book covers, and my son just tries not to blush when someone asks him about my books.
Currently I am writing five series of books- The Last Riders, The VIP Room, Predators MC, Biker Bitches, and The Dark Souls.
All my books are written for one purpose- the enjoyment others find in them, and the expectations of my fans that inspire me to give it my best.”

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Thursday, September 3, 2015

Vitual Book Tour, Guest Post, Excerpt & Giveaway: Delayed Penalty by Sophia Henry

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Title:  Delayed Penalty
Series:  Pilots Hockey Book 1
Author:  Sophia Henry
Release Date:  September 1, 2015
Publisher:  Loveswept 


She closed her heart long ago. He just wants to open her mind. For fans of Toni Aleo and Sawyer Bennett, the debut of Sophia Henry’s red-hot Detroit Pilots series introduces a hockey team full of complicated men who fight for love.

Auden Berezin is used to losing people: her father, her mother, her first love. Now, just when she believes those childhood wounds are finally healing, she loses something else: the soccer scholarship that was her ticket to college. Scrambling to earn tuition money, she’s relieved to find a gig translating for a Russian minor-league hockey player—until she realizes that he’s the same dangerously sexy jerk who propositioned her at the bar the night before.

Equal parts muscle and scar tissue, Aleksandr Varenkov knows about trauma. Maybe that’s what draws him to Auden. He also lost his family too young, and he channeled the pain into his passions: first hockey, then vodka and women. But all that seems to just melt away the instant he kisses Auden and feels a jolt of desire as sudden and surprising as a hard check on the ice.

After everything she’s been through, Auden can’t bring herself to trust any man, let alone a hot-headed puck jockey with a bad reputation. Aleksandr just hopes she’ll give him a chance—long enough to prove he’s finally met the one who makes him want to change.

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Hello party people!  Hope you guys are having a stellar week.  I, for one, am pretty stoked.  We've got Sophia Henry, author of Delayed Penalty, with us today and she's going to fill us in on why she decided to write about Hockey.  Take it away Sophia...

Why Hockey?

I grew up in Detroit, Michigan, which was nicknamed Hockeytown in 1996-1997. But when I was a kid, the Red Wings were coming off a sad period where they were known as the “Dead Things” after a string of abysmal seasons. Yet something about the sport drew me in. Maybe because my uncle made me watch it every time he baby sat. Maybe because it was played on ice; which was really freaking awesome. Or maybe because it was so fast. Constant movement, just like soccer— the sport I played.

Kid’s soccer—a clarification, for those who think soccer is slow and boring. Kid’s soccer is fast-paced and action-packed. Little strategy; all scoring—or trying to.

I thought of Hockey as soccer on ice. The two sports seem similar to me, though soccer has no ice or skates and far more players on the field at one time. Maybe my warped-kid-mind wanted to find connections between the sports because I couldn’t play Hockey. (Too expensive.)

I’m from a family of sports lovers. Football, Baseball, Basketball, Golf, Bowling. (Yes, bowling). But not Hockey. My uncle was the only real Hockey fan, as far as I could remember.

Why Hockey?

Football stops too many times. Basketball wasn’t my thing (admittedly, because I couldn’t hit a basket for the life of me—still can’t). And Baseball, Golf, and Bowling were just plain boring to watch and play (sorry fans of those sports).

But Hockey. Sigh. Hockey is skill and speed and grace on skates. And you have to control a tiny little puck with a thin stick while grown men are trying to hit you as hard as they can.

I waited with baited breath for the Red Wings epicness to come back. I took notes. I kept record of every game. Every goal scorer and everyone who assisted on those goals. And then it happened—the Detroit Red Wings began another dynasty of awesomeness during my youth. AND they brought Russians onto the team.

Obsession doesn’t begin to describe it. Even to this day.

I haven’t kept written record of games since high school. Mostly because I don’t have time, but also because I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find a husband if my “baggage” was literal baggage—as in, boxes and boxes of spiral notebooks filled with stats on every Red Wings game since the mid-80’s.

Why Hockey?

I can’t imagine someone NOT loving Hockey. I know there are people out there who don’t, but I can’t even fathom it. Then again, they probably can’t fathom why I don’t LOVE baseball. Everyone has their thing.

Hockey is mine. Actually, it’s ours. I’ll share with anyone who—like me—cries every time the Captain of a Championship team hoists the Stanley Cup above his head. (Even if it’s a hated team). Hockey transcends rivalries—at least, it does for me. I can shed a tear and feel happiness for a team I hate for one moment in time. And then we’re back to normal. Because Hockey.

Why Hockey?

You tell me…

Thank you so much, Not Now…I’m Reading!, for having me on your blog! I truly appreciate the opportunity!

Thank YOU Sophia for taking the time to stop by.  I enjoyed reading about your passion for Hockey.  Amiright guys?!

When you’re twenty years old, there’s nothing music and a drink can’t cure.

At least that was my best friend’s response when I told her I’d been cut from Central State’s women’s soccer team that morning.

The overzealous stylings of two drunk chicks bellowing “It’s Raining Men” wafted through the air, and I’d just received my vodka club from the bartender, so why did it still feel like someone scratched my heart out with a serrated shovel?

Maybe “It’s Raining Men” wasn't the right song?

Or maybe my friend’s remedy lacked one vital piece. Like, five minutes locked in a bathroom stall with the crazy-haired hottie approaching me. His head was buzzed short on the sides, leaving a thick patch of dark locks, gelled into a neat pompadour in front. Sort of like 1920s gangster, except less slicked, more height.

Every muscle in Crazy Hair’s body rippled under his clothing as he walked. He had to be over six feet tall, with a broad chest and massive arms stretching the seams of his long-sleeved black Henley. His skin was smooth and pale, a contrast to the thick dark eyebrows resting above his jump-in-and-drown-in-me blue eyes. From the scar on his left cheek to the smug smirk of his lips, he was exactly my type: dangerous, confident, and totally lickable.

I flipped my long blond hair behind my shoulder and glanced to my left, pretending Crazy Hair’s advance had no effect on me. In reality, I’d checked to make sure that he wouldn’t pass me up on the way to some beautiful bombshell I hadn’t noticed standing in the vicinity.

Like when you see someone wave, so you wave back. Then you realize they weren’t waving at you but the person behind you. So you try to play off your lame wave like you were batting away mosquitoes, which aren’t there because it’s December in Canada. Just trying to avoid an awkward situation like that.

Crazy Hair continued to close in, before stopping just inches away.

I’d opened my mouth to ream him out for stepping too far into my personal space, but the sweet scent of clove cigarettes flooded warmth through me like a sip of hot chocolate on a January morning in the Upper Peninsula.

“You work at post office?” he asked in a thick Slavic accent.

“Um, no.” I took a swig of my drink. Though I was unsure where he was going with that line, he was hot enough for me to stick around.

The left corner of his mouth curved into that sexy little smirk. “Because I see you check out my package.”

Carbonation stung my nose as I snorted and choked trying to hold in my laugh. Without time to turn my head, I sprayed vodka club and saliva across the front of Crazy Hair’s shirt.


“Weak!” I heard from somewhere behind me.

I turned to see who had yelled, still coughing as I noticed a group of guys and girls at the high-top table behind me. Shaggy blond hair bounced against one guy’s forehead as he snickered. The dude next to him held his fist in front of his mouth in a horrible attempt to hide his laughter. A brunette in a tight red sweater didn’t look amused. At all.

Crazy Hair threw the guys not one but both of his middle fingers.

“That girl’s a fucking smoke show. Why’d he use a shitty line like that?” the blond one said.

Smoke show? I bit down hard on my lip to fight back a smile. The last time I’d heard that phrase was in high school from my hockey-playing best friend, who’d informed me that “smoke show” was player lingo for “hot girl.”

Unsure of how to recover any semblance of cool after spitting my drink across Crazy Hair’s muscular chest, I spun around and shuffled back to the table my friends occupied in front of the karaoke stage.

It felt weird to drink in public, though we’d been to Canada on multiple occasions. As lifelong residents of Detroit, Michigan, we thought of Windsor—the Canadian city connected to Detroit by a bridge and a tunnel—as the next town over, rather than a foreign country. Nineteen was the legal drinking age in Windsor, so it made sense for underage Americans like us to cross the border for some legit cocktails.

My butt had barely brushed my seat when I heard my name, and my name alone, called over the speakers. I lifted my eyes to the outdated popcorn ceiling, as if the voice resonated from the heavens beyond, rather than the karaoke host.

“Why is he calling my name?” I asked Kristen.

“I picked you a song,” she responded, taking a swig of her beer.

“You picked us a song, you mean?” Emphasis on the us, because I’d never sung alone in my life—not counting the shower and car, of course.

“Nope. Just you.” Kristen placed both hands on my back and pushed me toward the stage. “You need to sing it out. Keeping shit bottled up never works.”

I had no problem singing it out if I was singing with other people, but not when it was just me. Hadn’t I been embarrassed enough today?

My short-lived “smoke show” happiness vanished, and the embarrassment of making a fool of myself in front of Crazy Hair returned. I tried to reverse, but Kristen’s trampoline-like hands propelled me back toward the stage.

Climbing onto the stage, I snatched the microphone out of the host’s hand. I almost felt bad about taking my anger out on him until I saw the lyrics to “Proud Mary” light up in white against the teleprompter’s blue screen. Fuck.

What the hell? I exhaled and lifted my eyes to Kristen.

“Girl power!” She saluted me with her glass.

Was “Proud Mary” a girl-power song? I thought it was about a boat.

“Do you have ‘Good Feeling’?” I asked the karaoke host. He was around my age, with big brown eyes matching his neat, trimmed beard and his shoulder-length hair.

“Flo Rida?” he asked, as disapproving wrinkles formed on his smooth forehead.

“Oh, no,” I said. “The Violent Femmes.”

A smile spread across his lips, and he nodded. “Give me a second.”

Can't wait?  Buy It Now: Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo

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Sophia Henry, a proud Detroit native, fell in love with reading, writing, and hockey all before she became a teenager. She did not, however, fall in love with snow. So after graduating with an English degree from Central Michigan University, she moved to North Carolina, where she spends her time writing books featuring hockey-playing heroes, chasing her two high-energy sons, watching her beloved Detroit Red Wings, and rocking out at concerts with her husband..

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Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Virtual Book Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway: Fire Me Up by Rachael Johns

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Title:  Fire Me Up
Series:  The Deacons of Bourbon Street Book 2
Author:  Rachael Johns
Release Date:  September 1, 2015
Publisher:  Loveswept 


Can a scorching affair with a bohemian beauty tame a motorcycle man with a dark side? Rachael Johns takes the wheel in the sexy series co-written with Megan Crane, Jackie Ashenden, and Maisey Yates.

Travis “Cash” Sinclair values only two things from his days with the Deacons of Bourbon Street: his prized Harley Davidson and the man who gave it to him. But now Priest Lombard is gone, and Cash has inherited the Deacons’ clubhouse—not to mentions its unexpected tenant. She’s exactly the type of woman he tries to avoid: all incense and art, with a sharp tongue that promises trouble. So why does Cash want to push aside those flowing skirts and lose himself between her legs?

Billie Taylor fled a bad marriage to start a new life among the grit and glamour of the French Quarter. She refuses to let another man distract her from her dreams, especially an outlaw biker with nothing to offer except hot sex and an eviction notice. Cash is dangerous, with an untamed streak he tries desperately to conceal. He drives Billie wild, sending her too close to the edge for her own good. And she won’t fall under his spell—or into his bed—without a fight.

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“This room is mine,” she said, folding her arms and glaring at him with more bravado than she felt as he turned to look at her with his dark, smoldering eyes. She shivered despite herself and almost forgot to add, “If you insist on staying, you’ll have to choose from one of the others.”

He took his time replying, his gaze sliding downward, scalding her body as if he’d actually touched her. For a moment she thought he was going to object—tell her that not only would he share her house but also her bed—but eventually he shut her wardrobe and nodded. “I always preferred the one next to this anyway.”

She swallowed. Of all the rooms in the house, he wanted to choose the one right next to hers? How would she sleep knowing he was mere yards away? Still, she was hardly in a position to argue, and if it would get him out of her personal space, well, that was a start.

“Fine.” She stepped back and gestured for him to leave. The only good thing about having Travis right next door was that she could keep an eye on him. Or was that a bad thing? Argh.

Surprisingly, he obeyed, stalking past her and smirking again as he did. She hated that she caught a waft of some raw, masculine cologne, which sent ripples of need through her body, rousing places she’d given little thought to over the last year. How ironic that the first sign of life down there had sparked because of a man who seemed intent on messing up her life. Why were the sexiest guys, the best-looking ones, always the biggest jerks?

He didn’t head straight for his room, instead going into the kitchen, and she found herself following. Her hackles rose as he opened the refrigerator and leaned inside, giving her a perfect view of his perfect butt. Oh help me, God! Had any guy she’d ever known looked so damn fine in faded jeans? Her thighs involuntarily clenched.

“No beer,” he said as he straightened.

Despite the traitorous hormones rushing through her body, she shook her head. It went against the grain of every single cell in her body not to be hospitable, but then again she hadn’t invited him to stay here with her. “Nope. Sorry. But there’s a bar next door.”

She wished he’d go back to it. He had to be one of the Deacons that had been hanging around The Priory the last few days. Sophie had given her a brief history of the motorcycle club—apparently it had disbanded around the time of Katrina—and informed her that it would be unlikely any of its members would hang around after her father’s funeral. But, dammit, it looked like she’d been wrong on that account. Billie needed to go see Sophie, make sure this guy was for real. For all she knew he could be anybody. He hadn’t shown her any proof that he owned the building, but something—maybe the way he’d leaned into her face when he told her no one tells him what the fuck to do—made her cautious. He was like a wild animal, and she didn’t want to make any sudden moves.

He smiled wickedly and leaned back against the counter, looking her over again, making her feel aroused and insulted all at once. “I know it. The bar and this place used to be my home.”

“Is that right?” She wondered about Travis Sinclair. He had the leather jacket, the swagger in his step and the don’t-mess-with-me attitude of a biker, but there was something about him that didn’t fit the image. He wore no patches like a couple of other guys she’d seen hanging around next door, but that wasn’t it. There was something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “And where is your home now?”

She waited for him to tell her it was none of her fucking business, but he shrugged off his jacket, hung it over one of the odd chairs that sat around her kitchen table and then pulled back the seat and straddled it. “Tallahassee,” he said as he leaned down and yanked a laptop out of his pack. It was a flashy MacBook Air—not at all the type of computer she’d expect of a biker. He didn’t even glance her way as he put it on the table in front of him, lifted the lid and tapped his boots against the tiled floor as he waited for the computer to spring to life.

No idea where Tallahassee was—geography had never been her thing—she vowed to google it later. Leaning back against the kitchen counter, she wiped her palm across her brow, feeling hot and more than a little bothered. Being warm in itself wasn’t unusual in New Orleans or in Western Australia where she came from, but the weather had nothing to do with the rise in her body temperature. And that disturbed her.

Her eyes zoned in on the bad-boy ink that traveled the length of his sculpted and tanned forearms, and the heat that had been simmering inside her boiled over.

Until this moment she’d have said she wasn’t a fan of body art—personally, she preferred her art on walls or in gardens—but Travis’s tattoos changed her opinion. And that was bad, because with her divorce only recently official, the last thing she wanted in her life was another man who thought he could walk all over her.

Can't wait?  Buy It Now: Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo

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Rachael Johns is an English teacher by trade, a mum 24/7, a supermarket owner, a chronic arachnophobic, and a writer the rest of the time. She rarely sleeps and never irons. She writes contemporary romance for HQN and Carina Press and lives in rural Western Australia with her hyperactive husband and three mostly-gorgeous heroes-in-training. Rachael loves to hear from readers and can be contacted through her website at www.rachaeljohns.com.

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Thursday, August 13, 2015

Book Blast, Excerpt & Giveaway: Igniting Ash by M.A. Stacie

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After a terrible start in life, Asher Harris picks himself up and manages to carve out a fairly decent future. Content with living alone in his bookshop, he shies away from relationships and keeps trust to a minimum.

Emma Carnes hasn’t seen Asher in years, though she’s never forgotten him. Their one interaction as teenagers became pivotal to them both. It gave her a career.

It saved his life.

Emma saw things about Asher that nobody else did. When she urged him to escape a perilous situation, it turned her toward her purpose in life…and saved Asher. Intrigued by the strong man he’s become, she gently persuades him to open up, but finds his emotional walls hard to climb. She also hopes for his help with a troubled teen, Gabe Dearing, who reminds her very much of Asher himself.

Their relationship and ties to Gabe threaten to reveal things someone wants to keep hidden…

Someone is watching Emma, trying to figure out what she knows, and she soon senses something isn’t right. When the bookshop is vandalized and Gabe disappears, only to return bloody, broken, and refusing to say what happened, Asher and Emma search for the truth as their passion intensifies.

The danger mounts, and Emma and Ash struggle to keep what they’ve fought so hard to gain.

But can he save Emma as she saved him so long ago?

Or will a dark and violent history repeat itself and destroy them all?

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She squealed when he grasped her waist and picked her up. His actions came as a shock, his strength too. Her protest hovered on the tip of her tongue, though she never actually said anything. His serious expression and determined strides were enough to keep her mouth closed.

Until he crushed his lips to hers. At that point she knew where it was heading, understood what he meant when he’d shouted. He was sick of holding back. Asher was taking what he wanted and ignoring any possible consequences.

Emma clung to him, their kisses growing deeper and more forceful as he carried her to his bedroom. She kept hold of him as he sat on the edge of his bed, moving her so that she straddled his lap. They’d been here before, only this time the air was electrified, sparks bursting from their touches. He wasn’t going to deny them this time. She could sense from his heated kisses and desperate touches that he was all in.

She blinked, her head spinning when he grabbed her loose T-shirt and pulled it over her head.

He tossed it, not caring to look where it landed. Asher drank her in, his chocolate eyes melting as they perused her chest.

A fire ignited low in her belly, her blood burning through her veins. She’d experienced lust before, however this with Asher was laced with something else. Something deeper.

Slowly, too slowly, he stroked a single finger over the swell of her breast. Her nipples tightened as she silently begged for him to cup them. Her will was enough, because those amazing fingers dipped under the lace of her bra before palming her breast. His eyes never left hers. His touch grew firmer, more demanding. “More,” she whispered. “Asher, more.”

He kissed her long and hard. At the same time she began unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers fumbling so much Asher ended up finishing the job for her. He didn’t stop with his shirt. After rolling her onto his bed, he stood and shucked off his jeans, sliding them down his legs before kicking them across the room. “No more barriers,” he rasped and pulled his underwear off too. His scars were exposed to her, the skin pink and puckered near his navel. There really were no barriers.

Still expecting him to back out, Emma held a bit of herself back. The rejection would sting a little less if she did. However, that became difficult when he hovered over her, pressing his body against hers. His eyes were hooded, and she could feel the heavy thump of his heart when she touched his chest. Hers was as rapid, the thrill of possibility surging in every cell. The connection with Asher was strong, very strong, and much more consuming than anything she’d ever felt before.

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M. A. Stacie is never without a book or her eReader. A voracious reader, with a love of sexy, yet angst ridden novels, she loves getting lost in new worlds. Her need to write did not grip her until after her second son was born, when her previous rambles became fully fledged stories.

She describes herself as one huge contradiction, and though not the most conventional of hobbies, she counts getting new tattoos as one of hers. Along with running, knitting, and listening to loud music. However, she is yet to work out how to do them all at the same time.

M. A. Stacie lives in the UK with her husband and three sons.

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Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Quickie Review: Beyond Shame by Kit Rocha

Title:  Beyond Shame
Author:  Kit Rocha
Genre:  Erotica (18+)
Publication Date:  September 16, 2012
Series Info:  Book 1 in the Beyond series
Cover Artist:  Bree Bridges
Who/What/Why/Where/How:  This one's a Kindle freebie I downloaded a while back.  As of February 2, 2015, this book was still available for free.
Where to Buy:  Amazon

A dangerous world of sex, lust and violence…

All Noelle Cunningham has ever wanted is a life beyond–beyond the walls of Eden, where only the righteous are allowed to remain, and beyond her stiflingly restrictive existence as a councilman’s daughter. But only ruins lie outside the City, remnants of a society destroyed by solar storms decades earlier.

The sectors surrounding Eden house the corrupt, the criminal–men like Jasper McCray, bootlegger and cage fighter. Jas clawed his way up from nothing to stand at the right hand of Sector Four’s ruthless leader, and he’ll defend the O’Kane gang with his life. But no fight ever prepared him for the exiled City girl who falls at his feet.

Her innocence is undeniable, but so is their intense sexual attraction, and soon they’re crossing every boundary Noelle barely knew she had. But if she wants to belong to Jas, first she’ll have to open herself to a world where passion is power, and freedom is found in submission.. 
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So basically this:

But that ends up not being enough so it turns into this:

Which then culminates into this:

I still can't form full, coherent sentences when talking about this story and I read it back in January.  Lucky for me I decided to make this a quickie review so I'll sign off by saying that this is a super sexy, gritty, intense read that will push your boundaries if you don't read a lot of erotica.  If you're okay with all that though then prepare for a really fun ride. *wink*

Favorite Scenes/Lines:

Because I like fight scenes:
Dom rose to the bait, charging toward him with a bellow.  His hook came slow, so slow the man wasn't just telegraphing his moves, he was sitting down to write them fucking love letters.  Jas took the hit, using the distraction to drive a fist into Dom's midsection.

When he doubled over, wheezing, Jas grabbed Dom's hair and kneed him in the face.  Bone cracked, and he hit the ground again, blood gushing from his broken nose.

Because I like other scenes too *smirk*:
"I want it all."  She freed one hand and reached for him, her fingertips digging into his hip as if she planned to pull him into her by force.  "Does that make me shameless?"

"That makes you hungry."  One more hard thrust buried his cock all the way inside her.  "It makes you mine."

Series Info:
Beyond Shame
Beyond Control
Beyond Pain
Beyond Temptation
Beyond Jealousy
Beyond Solitude
Beyond Addiction
Beyond Possession
Beyond Innocence
Beyond Ruin (Late 2015)

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Also Reviewed By:
On a Book Bender (4/5)
Smexy Books (A-)
Dear Author (B-)