Sunday, October 22, 2017

Deserving You by Amanda Siegrist

Title: Deserving You: Emmett & Deja
Series: A McCord Family Series #3
Author: Amanda Siegrist
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 20, 2017
Deja Wilson was given a second chance. She’ll always be grateful to Sophie for her kindness. Now, they’re best friends. The McCords, including Emmett, only like her for Sophie’s sake. It doesn’t stop her from wishing things were different, that she could have a good man like Emmett. When her brother is released from prison and arrested again the same day, she knows Emmett will never want a woman like her. Especially when he learns the truth about why her brother was sent to prison. It doesn’t matter anyway. She doesn’t deserve him. Emmett McCord has wanted Deja since the moment he met her, despite how she came into their lives. It didn’t take long for him, and the family, to forgive her and see just what kind of woman she is. Strong. Determined. Remorseful. Faithful to a fault. He wants to declare his feelings, but he knows she’ll resist him. He can’t risk losing her friendship. When her brother walks back into her life, causing her pain, he’s done keeping his feelings to himself. He wants her, and she’ll just have to get used to it.
“I don’t date. I just screw ‘em and leave ‘em,” Deja said with a nasty smirk.

Moving closer, his lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “You’re lying.” He rubbed his thumbs across her hands some more as she trembled in his arms. “Talk to me, Deja. Really talk. Just tell me what happened today.”

He kissed her neck below her ear and pulled away. Her eyes would tell him everything he needed to know. And they did. The desire reflected in the depths of her eyes, as did the awe. He had the distinct feeling she never felt true passion before. He’d be more than happy to show her—after she told him what happened.

Just as swiftly, the desire disappeared. “Don’t, Emmett. Just don’t.” Her features turned hard as she stared him down with the evil eye he knew so well.

Deflection. That’s what that look was. He had learned the ins and outs of her so well. The last nine months had given him plenty of time to learn her quirks. She was truly a soft-hearted person inside. Her hard persona was an act. So much anguish she held inside.

“Don’t what, Deja? Don’t try to be a friend? Don’t hold you like you matter to me? Don’t let you see how much I care about you? Don’t make you talk? I don’t listen very well sometimes. Get used to it.”

“Excuse me?” One brow rose as she pursed her lips.

He leaned closer, brushing his lips against hers. She trembled at the touch. He didn’t mind giving her little tastes of how good it could be if they were together. She’d give in eventually. She’d talk and then he would show her how much he cared about her.

“I said get used to it.” His lips made one more light sweep across her delectable mouth. “I can see you’re hurting. Something bad happened today—besides the car accident—and I want to help. I’ll show you real desire as soon as you talk to me. I’ve wanted you for a long time. It’s nice to know you want me, too. So, get used to it. Get used to me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t want you. I just want sex,” she scoffed, as if she were trying to make it sound believable. He knew better.

“You’re so cute when you try to lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Did I ever tell you that you have such gorgeous eyes? They sparkle like the deep blue ocean.” He smiled. “When you lie, they flash a shade of purple. It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s so damn beautiful.”

“Let me go, Emmett.”

He didn’t release his hold. If anything, he held her hands tighter. “Did I ever tell you that I love how you say my name? The nickname you gave me just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“Stop it.”

“Did I ever tell you that you look so adorable when you’re trying to look hard and tough? But you know what? You’re a softie. So sweet and delicate.”

“Knock it off.”

“Did I ever tell you—”

“Shut up, Emmett!”

“Did I ever tell you—”

She let out a mangled cry that cut his words right off. Burying her head into his chest, her tears soaked right through him. They were fast and rough. So much pain it broke his heart.

He let go of her hands and wrapped her as tightly as he possibly could. “You don’t have to do things alone anymore, Deja.” 

(Copyright © Amanda Siegrist 2017)
 
I love anything that has to do with romance. As long as there’s a happy ending, I’m a happy camper. I love baseball (Go Twins!) and creating awesome crafts. I graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in Criminal Justice, working in that field for several years before I became a stay-at-home mom. When I’m not hanging out with my wonderful family, I’m writing a sweet contemporary romance or a romantic suspense that keeps you guessing until the end. I have a few more amazing stories in the works. If you would like to connect with me or see important news, head to my website at http://www.amandasiegrist.com. Or you can also check out my Facebook Page or follow me on Twitter (@amanda_siegrist).
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Saturday, October 21, 2017

Friday, October 20, 2017

Ideal Image by Freya Baker and KT Dove

Title: Ideal Image
Series: A SNAPshot Novel
Author: Freya Barker and KT Dove
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: October 18, 2017 Cover Designer: Rebel, Edit & Design
In one blinding flash, the very fiber of her existence is shredded. For criminal lawyer and single mother, Stacie Gustafson, a dependable career, a well-organized life, and an immaculate image, had always been her armor. Without it she’s left exposed and struggling to create a new existence for her and her daughter. No matter how hard she tries, she is unable to avoid her history. All it takes is one look at the blue-eyed woman, for Nicolas Flynn to be transported back ten years. Sure, her appearance has changed, but then so has his, since he turned his life around. His devotion to his small-town law firm is tested with the arrival of this bittersweet blast from the past, making for a persistent distraction. One that drags along more trouble than she left behind.
“Tomorrow let’s tackle the roof on the small barn. Last week when we had that rain come through, the horses stayed drier under the overhang covering the outside pen than they did inside the barn itself.”
I’m glad we’re onto more palatable dinner subjects now. As my Pops ages, his choice of casual conversation over a meal, more often than not, includes the day’s special on ailments or a detailed report on bodily functions.
Today’s topics of choice had been ingrown toenails and the effects of the latest pinto bean crop on a senior’s digestive system. Yeah, my dad can be a laugh-and-a-half at the dinner table.
“Absolutely,” I say, trying not to sound too relieved at the change in topic. “Do we still have a few of those corrugated roof panels we used on the shelter for the woodpile?”
“Probably just one or two,” Pops answers, before taking another massive bite of his hamburger.
“Maybe we’ll head into Cortez in the morning?”
“We can hit Denny’s for breakfast,” he says, slurping the dregs of his milkshake loudly.
Pops is a man of simple pleasures; a regular constitution and a hearty meal. Throw in a beer occasionally and he’s a happy man. He also likes predictability, which is why I’ve made it a point in recent years, to keep my schedule clear on Friday afternoons. We go out for an early meal—Pops like to eat at five—and catch up on our weeks, before planning out our weekend.
I don’t have much of a life outside of work. Sadly, my father is responsible for the bulk of my socializing. Friday dinners at a restaurant of his choice, and the weekends mostly putzing about our property. There are days when I feel more like sixty than the barely forty years I’m old.
“Now there’s a sight for sore eyes.”
I barely register Pop’s voice as I focus on my chicken fried steak sandwich, until the melodic cadence of a familiar voice pierces my awareness.
“First pick a booth, Mak, and then we’ll order.”
I swivel around in my seat to find Stacie’s daughter staring back at me.
“Hey,” I offer in greeting, my eyes immediately looking for, and finding, Stacie behind her. I can feel my face crack open in a big smile.
“Hi,” is the cheerful reply, along with Stacie’s more subdued; “Hello.”
“You friends of my son?” Pops pushes half out of his seat, the paper napkin he habitually tucks in his collar to catch the inevitable crumbs and stains flutters down to the floor, as he sticks out his greasy hand in greeting.
Instead of bouncing my head off the table a few times, which I’d like to do, I also stand up.
“Stacie, this is my father, Henry Flynn. And, Pops, this Stacie Gustafson and her daughter Makenna. Stacie is a colleague.” I’m not quite sure why I add the last, but the moment I see my father’s eyes narrow on Stacie’s face, a feeling of doom settles in my stomach. My pops is not exactly known for tact or subtlety.
“Why don’t you join us?” I quickly ask, hoping to avoid what I know is sure to come. Stacie opens her mouth with what I know will be an objection, but Mak easily slides in the booth beside Pops.
I feel bad for Stacie, who is left standing a little awkwardly next to the table. I grab her hand and gently pull her to sit down. I try to glare at Pops to warn him off when he leans over the table, his head slightly tilted to the side, but he’s like a dog with a bone.
“What happened to your face?”
And there it is.
I’m still contemplating my father’s imminent demise, while desperately seeking for ways to soften the shocked expression on Stacie’s face at the impact of his words, when her little girl pipes up.
“She got burned in an explosion. Gnarly, right? You should see her arm.”
I watch Stacie’s eyes pop open at her daughter’s callous description, but Pops is immediately distracted.
“The explosion up on the mountain last winter? That was your mom? Damn, I heard that was bad.”
“She almost died,” Mak says, her face somber.
“Yeah, but she didn’t, did she?” Pops counters sagely, and I throw up my hands, there’s no way to stop this train wreck. “Looks pretty alive to me.”
Stacie’s eyes, round as saucers, turn to me. Surprisingly, I see a glimmer of humor in their depths.
“Thank God,” her daughter blurts out dramatically, and the whole situation suddenly becomes comical in the most surreal way.
“Yeah—thank God,” Pops echoes, a smirk on his face as he winks across the table at Stacie, who promptly bursts out laughing, and I can’t hold back a chuckle. “Besides, they can fix that, you know?”
“Oh, I know,” Mak says wisely, tucking her paper napkin in the collar of her shirt, mimicking my dad. A move that makes all of the adults at the table smile. “Mom’s having her face done in two weeks.”
After a little confusion—during which the waitress shows up to take Stacie and Mak’s orders, and Pops takes the opportunity to order another milkshake and order of fries—I manage to glean that having her face done means Stacie apparently has another surgery scheduled.
Freya Barker inspires with her stories about 'real’ people, perhaps less than perfect, each struggling to find their own slice of happy. She is the author of the Cedar Tree Series and the Portland, ME, novels.
Freya is the recipient of the RomCon “Reader’s Choice” Award for best first book, “Slim To None,” and is a finalist for the 2016 Kindle Book Awards for “From Dust”. She currently has two complete series and three anthologies published, and is working on two new series; La Plata County FBI—ROCK POINT, and Northern Lights. She continues to spin story after story with an endless supply of bruised and dented characters, vying for attention!
KT Dove grew up, and still lives, in the Midwest. At an early age she developed a love of reading, driving the local librarians crazy, and would plan plot lines and stories for her favorite characters. KT received degrees in English, Speech/Drama, and Education. And yet instead of becoming an English teacher as planned, she opted for an unexpected HEA. 

Now married, a mother and still an avid reader, she stumbled upon the Indie author movement and became involved on several levels. Never in her wildest imagination would she have thought she would co-author a book. With the support of her family, she took the plunge, adding writing to an already busy literary existence.  

She wouldn’t have it any other way.
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