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Tuesday, March 10, 2015

RELEASE DAY BLITZ ~ The Fear The Divides Us by M.N. Forgy

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Meet Doc & Bobby in book three of The Devil’s Dust Series!

**Can be read as a stand alone**


Road Captain of the Devil’s Dust Motorcycle Club, Bobby has the scars to prove just how dangerous his life is. He gives the world he knows hell and loves every moment of it. Wearing a panty-dropping grin along the way, his fierce life has never been a problem for him, until her. Jessica is the only female who has him distracted in his game. After taking him to bed, she’s the only woman to tell him to take a hike. Waking with her gone, he can’t resist her pull. He’s seen the marks on her body, ones which tell the horrors she’s lived through. He’s also seen the fear in her eyes when she lets herself become weak to his advances. Bobby has a decision to make. Can he help Jessica, or will it mean giving up his carefree life?
Jessica, also known as Doc, lives life in fear. Years back, she ran to the Devil’s Dust for protection, seeking the demise of her abusive, dominant husband. Her mind and soul tortured by her past, she can’t allow herself to move forward. The only thing in her sight is her daughter’s safety. Even if she has the attention of one particular tattooed biker, she can’t succumb to his charm and drag her daughter back into a world of danger, no matter how much he thinks he can save her.
Mistakes will be made.
Fears will be faced.
Pain will be remembered.
Can Bobby and Jessica survive the dangers they bring upon themselves?
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        The Devil’s Dust Series
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What Doesn’t Destroy Us (Book One) The Devil’s Dust
ONLY $0.99

The Scars that Define Us (Book Two) The Devil’s Dust

The Broken Piece of Us (Book 2.5) The Devil’s Dust
ONLY $0.99

The Fear That Divides Us (Book Three) The Devil’s Dust
Amazon US:
Amazon UK:

Love That Defies Us (Novella)

ONLY $0.99

About the Author:
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M.N. Forgy was raised in Missouri where she still lives with her family. She's a soccer mom by day and a saucy writer by night. M.N. Forgy started writing at a young age but never took it seriously until years later, as a stay-at-home mom, she opened her laptop and started writing again. As a role model for her children, she felt she couldn't live with the "what if" anymore and finally took a chance on her character's story. So, with her glass of wine in hand and a stray Barbie sharing her seat, she continues to create and please her fans.

Stalk Her:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Kindle, $10 Starbucks Gift Card, $25 Amazon Gift card.

Monday, March 2, 2015

RELEASE BLITZ & GIVEAWAY ❤ Very Twisted Things (Briarcrest Academy Book 3) by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Very Twisted Things
A Standalone Briarcrest Academy Novel #3
Author: New York Times best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills

Introductory price of $2.99 on release day for 24 hours only!

 A beautiful violinist who lives next door…

The obsessed rock star who watches her...

And the one night she bares it all.

Vital Rejects front guy Sebastian Tate never imagined his YouTube music video would go viral, sky-rocketing him to acting success in Hollywood. Okay, maybe he did. After all, he’s a cocky dude who knows he’s hot-as-hell, and it was only a matter of time before his stars aligned.

But life in Tinseltown is never what it seems.

After being cheated on, Sebastian’s only rule to falling in love is simple: Keep Calm and Don’t Do It. Spying on his mysterious new neighbor with binoculars seems innocent enough, but quickly escalates into an erotic game between two very unlikely people.

Twenty-year-old Violet St. Lyons is a world-renowned violinist who's lost her mojo on stage. She hides away in a Hollywood mansion, trying to find her way through her twisted past in order to make her future.

He’s the life of the party with girls chasing him down for his autograph. She’s the introvert with a potty mouth who doesn’t even know who he is.

When they meet, stars collide, sparks fly, and clothes come off. Yet, giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.

Welcome to Briarcrest Academy—Hollywood style—where sometimes the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.




“Fairy dust is not real. This I know.” —from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

I, Violet St. Lyons, who once believed herself the luckiest girl in the world, was born on the same day that the Violette–Sells comet was discovered. My parents, two avid stargazers, said it was a sign of how special I was and promptly named me Violet. They claimed my life had been blessed with fairy dust.
At the very least, comet residue.
I’d foolishly believed it for eighteen years, until the moment of my death.
Which was now.
Boom! Another explosion rocked the plane and metal ripped away as a section of the aircraft to my right vanished. Luggage flew through the air. People disappeared. The mom with the baby who’d sat in the aisle across from us—gone. The redheaded flight attendant who’d been collecting trash—gone. Disembodied screams echoed from the surrounding passengers as my own scream took up most of the space in my head. Air sucked at us viciously from the outside as a tornado of people banged around the space and one by one got pulled out into the swirling abyss.
I watched, helplessly transfixed, as I sat between my parents, gripping each of their hands as the plane we’d boarded six hours earlier for Dublin spiraled toward the Atlantic Ocean. I was going to die. My mother was already dead, a twisted piece of shrapnel sticking grotesquely from her chest as her head lolled around her neck. Blood had already soaked her shirt, yet I refused to let go of her hand. She’d be okay. We were always okay. We were the St. Lyons family of Manhattan, an icon of old money wealth with deep political ties. Page six of the New York Times featured pictures of us on a monthly basis. We couldn’t die on a plane.
Reality dawned as we plummeted. The yellow breathing apparatus dropped and dangled in my face, taunting me with its pointlessness. Fire and black smoke boiled in front of us where the cockpit had been, and my mind recognized that the pilots had to be dead. Just a few minutes ago, they’d come over the intercom and announced that the plane was making its descent into Dublin Airport exactly on schedule.
Then the first explosion had gone off.
Bits of debris flew around, narrowly missing me. My elderly father grabbed my hand and squeezed, his face drawn back in a horrible grimace.
Paralyzed in my seat, we spun like a drunken top, and a part of my brain noticed the sun was rising, its pink tinge lending a soft glow, catching the reflection of clouds and making them silver-lined. The rocky coast of Ireland glittered in the distance. Mocking me. We’d been headed there to celebrate my eighteenth birthday.
Just then my violin case flew past my head from the overhead compartment and crashed against the wall of the plane. Shards flew. I shuddered and wanted to vomit. God, help us. We were here because of me. Our deaths were my fault. I spared a glance at the diamond promise ring Geoff had given me before we’d left.
Would the Mayor of New York’s son go on without me?
The air was turbulent yet thin, and my chest tightened as dizziness pulled at me. I resisted. Had to stay awake. Had to be with my dad. I was younger, stronger, faster. My eyes went to the gaping hole in the plane. Had to think ahead. Plan. Water would fill up the plane on impact, ensuring we’d sink rapidly.
My fear escalated as the ocean rushed at us, its surface choppy and ominous. I took in a giant breath and braced myself. We hit at an angle, the plane a torpedo as it sliced into the sea. Daddy disappeared, ejected by the impact, and I yanked on my seat belt, unclicking it to go after him. Heart thundering, I sent a final look at my mother. I wanted to take her with me, but she was gone.
Water everywhere, bubbling and gurgling as it filled up the plane. Salt water stung my eyes. People floated by, some alive as they floundered for the opening. I kept my gaze off the dead ones. Focus. Get out. Only seconds left.
I swam from my seat and fought my way out of the large hole in the plane, lungs exploding. Burning. I’d been under too long.
Daddy! I caught a glimpse of his red shirt above me and kicked harder.
Up, up, up. Must get up. My arms moved. My legs kicked. Excruciating pain. Ignore it. Almost there. So close that I could see the daylight breaking through the water.
The hottest fire I’ve ever known lit in my chest. Scorching.
Air. Just want to breathe. Just get to the top. Please.
My body rebelled and I inhaled and swallowed water, the burn racing down my throat making it spasm as I tried to cough it out. I struggled but took in more and more, the cold liquid filling my lungs.
Dark spots filled my eyes. This was drowning.
My body twitched. I grew disoriented.
I let go of the fight. My hands floated in front of me.
No bright lights, no tunnel.
No heaven, no mother, no father.
No comets.
No fairy dust.

Chapter 1


Two years later
“She was music with skin.” —Sebastian Tate

I tapped my foot.
What was taking her so long?
From my backyard patio in the Hollywood Hills, I watched the odd girl next door with a pair of high-powered binoculars. She flicked on her porch lights, and a low whistle came out of me at the sexy red-as-sin robe she wore, its silky material flashing around her long legs as she moved around. Her hair was down, too.
This was new. Where were the usual yoga pants? The ponytail?
She looked like she knew someone watched, but that was impossible since our outside lights were off. Even the light from the moon hit our house at such an angle that she shouldn’t be able to see us just by glancing over. She’d need a high-powered lens to know I was here.
Usually she played facing her rose garden, but this time she walked to the right side of her patio, which faced us. Weird. But she didn’t play. She just stood there without moving. Staring toward our house. Uneasiness went over me.
What was she doing?
Could she see me?
As if it were a fragile bird, she positioned the violin under her chin and began playing, arms bent and wrist poised, making the most exquisite sounds. And I don’t mean classical like Beethoven or Mozart; I mean body-thrashing, blood-thumping, hard-as-hell music that had me rooted to the ground, like she’d slapped iron chains on me.
Dark and seductive notes rose up in the air, and I got jacked up, recognizing a Led Zeppelin song, only she’d ripped its guts out and twisted it into something electric. She pushed the bow hard, upping the tempo abruptly, her movements controlled yet wild. My pulse kicked up and my eyes lingered, taking in the slightly parted toned legs and the way her breasts bounced as she jerked her arms to manipulate the strings.
Her robe slipped off her right shoulder, exposing part of her breast. Creamy and full, it quivered, vibrating as she moved her arms. Her rosy nipple teased me, slipping in and out of the folds of the material. I pictured my mouth there, sucking, my fingers plucking, strumming her like my guitar until she begged me to—
Stop, I told myself. Whoever Violin Girl was, she didn’t deserve me lusting after her while she was pouring her heart out with music.
I zoomed in as far as the binoculars would go, watching her surrender to the music as she bent and swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, black lashes like fans on her cheeks. Every molecule in my body focused on her, hanging on to each note she pulled from her instrument.
She finished and kept her head bowed for the longest time, perhaps letting the emotion wash over her like it had me.
The entire event was surreal, yet poignant as fucking poetry.
I let out a deep breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.
Who the hell plays Stairway to Heaven with a violin? She did.
Bam! She snapped her head up, her eyes lasering in on mine, making every hair on my body stand at attention.
And then …
Standing there in the moonlight, she untied her robe and spread apart the sides ever so slightly, her movements seeming almost hesitant, as if she’d had to work herself up. Unfamiliar jealousy hit me and I panned out and checked the rest of the patio, expecting to see a lover. Whoever it was, I wanted to rip him apart piece by piece.
My gaze searched her patio, the backyard, her upstairs balcony. Nothing. No one.
She flicked her dark hair back and stroked the lapels of the robe, her fingers lingering over the lacy material. Suddenly the evening smacked of something more than just music. Her arms moved back and forth across the front, opening the robe halfway and then closing it as if she couldn’t make up her mind.
My eyes went up, trying to read her face. Still as a statue, the only movement was her mouth as it trembled, her full upper lip resting against the pouty lower one.
Violin Girl was trapped in a cage of darkness.
It still didn’t stop me from holding my breath, silently begging her to bare herself to me. She’d already laid bare her music. Part of me needed the rest of her.
She jerked the robe closed, making me groan in disappointment.
And then she did something completely crazy.
The lonely girl next door flipped me the bird. 
© Ilsa Madden-Mills 2015 Very Twisted Things


Buy Very Twisted Things on Amazon:

Author Bio

New York Times and USA Today best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to dystopian and all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroines. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.




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Sunday, March 1, 2015

COVER REVEAL ❤ Kane by L.A. Casey

Title: Kane Series: Slater Brothers (#3) 

Author: L.A. Casey 

Cover Design: Mayhem Cover Creations 

Releasing: May 5th


Aideen Collins is a free spirit. She is outspoken and tough as nails, but she has to be after growing up in a house full of men. Family means everything to Aideen. Her family consists of her four brothers, her father, and her group of wild friends. Aideen is protective of her family, there is not a lot she wouldn’t do to keep them safe.
Kane Slater is a tortured soul. Literally. He is misunderstood by people, even feared by them thanks to the scars that mar his face and body. He relishes in their fear because people who fear you, won’t want to know you. He likes his circle limited to his brothers and their girlfriends, but a thorn from an Irish rose is dug deep into Kane’s side, and her name is Aideen Collins.
Aideen and Kane don’t get along… at all. Aideen is the only woman who stands up to Kane and throws his bullshit back at him without fear of hurting him. Kane is the only man who can see right through Aideen's tough exterior. He knows her deepest, and darkest secrets. They can’t stand each other, but they want each other. Badly. They hide their need behind arguments, and banter, but when Kane drops his guard for all to see, and succumbs to an illness within his body, it’s Aideen who steps up to the plate to take care of him.
An illness is the least of their worries when a devil from Kane’s past comes back to play with him. Everybody in Kane’s life is threatened, and with his body fighting against him, he doesn’t know if the luck of the Irish is enough to keep his family safe and his demons at bay.
Kane needs Aideen, and what Kane needs, Kane takes.


“I broke a nail!” I screamed as pain shot up my finger.
“No!” Kane cried.
Multiple footsteps pounded down the hallway and then bodies burst into Kane’s bedroom. “What?” All his brothers hollered as they piled through the doorway.
Kane pointed a trembling hand at me. “Her nail! She broke her nail!”
With a perplexed look I looked at Kane then to the brothers who all gasped and flung their hands over their mouths. They all gripped onto furniture, or onto one another to stay upright.
I was so confused. I had no fucking idea what was going on.
“Your nail?” Alec screeched.
Nico placed his hands on the side of his head and shook it from side to side. “Anything but your nail!”
Ryder rushed over to me and grabbed the hand I was cradling and thoroughly examined it, and when he saw confirmation that my nail was gone, he whimpered. “It’s gone. Gone forever!”
“No!” Kane wailed, fell back onto his bed, and flung his arms over his face. “Why did it have to her nail? Why, God? WHY?”
I glared at Kane, then his brothers.
The bastards were taking the piss out of me, and my broken nail.
“I hate you all.” I said then turned and walked out of the room.
I made it half way down the stairs before I heard the eruption of belly rumbling male laughter, and even though it pleased me greatly that they were smiling again, I hated that it was at my expense.
“Bloody brothers,” I grumbled.

Slater Brothers Series
Slater Bros Series


Amazon US | Amazon UK | B&N | iBooks | Kobo


Amazon US | Amazon UK | B&N | iBooks | Kobo


Amazon US | Amazon UK | B&N | iBooks | Kobo


Amazon US | Amazon UK | B&N | iBooks | Kobo

LA Casey
Author Bio

L.A. Casey was born, raised and currently resides in Dublin, Ireland. She is a twenty-three year old stay at home mother to a two year old German Shepherd named Storm and of course, her five year old – going on thirty – beautiful little hellion/angel depending on the hour of the day. She is the author of the Amazon Bestselling book series, Slater Brothers.

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