Monday, July 31, 2017

Bonding Games (Tropical Temptation #1) by Cathryn Fox: Blog Tour Excerpt & Giveaway


Former Navy SEAL Josh Steele gets tasked with a babysitting mission—watch over his boss’s daughter—a job he can only describe as hell. But when his assignment takes him to a tropical island, and he begins to see another side of Holly Fairfax, attraction sizzles between them—but he knows better than to risk his job for it.

Holly can’t believe that underneath those baggy clothes tech-guru Josh Steele is all ripped abs and sexy hotness. Ignoring said hotness is tough, especially since she has to work with him on the team-building exercises her boss has assigned if she wants a coveted promotion. It’s even harder when she discovers being around Josh brings out her naughty side – one she didn’t know she had.

But if she cracks the code on his cover, everything they’ve built could come crashing down. 

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About the Author:

New York Times and USA Today Best selling author, Cathryn is a wife, mom, sister, daughter, and friend. She loves dogs, sunny weather, anything chocolate (she never says no to a brownie) pizza and red wine. She has two teenagers who keep her busy with their never ending activities, and a husband who is convinced he can turn her into a mixed martial arts fan. Cathryn can never find balance in her life, is always trying to find time to go to the gym, can never keep up with emails, Facebook or Twitter and tries to write page-turning books that her readers will love.

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“No hands, remember.”

“Yeah, shit. Okay.” He looked at the loose limes and lemons lined up on the counter. Christ, he’d been through SEAL training. How hard could it be to use his body to pass Holly a couple of pieces of fruit? He glanced to the front of the room, and captured Misty’s attention. “Can we use our elbows?”

“No elbows, arms or teeth,” Misty said, pointing her finger at him. “The first team to get their completed drinks on the counter wins two points, and the best tasting bloody mary wins one point. If you drop anything, you can no longer use it.”

“Here goes nothing.” Josh leaned forward and, using his chin, rolled one of the limes to the edge of the counter. He angled his body and captured it between his chin and chest. He turned and when he caught the wide-eyed way Holly was watching him, her pouty lips parted slightly, the lime slipped.

“Whoa,” she said.

Before it fell, she stepped into him, sandwiching the fruit between their bodies—their stomachs, specifically.

“Good save.” Damn, is that my voice? He cleared his throat and hoped he no longer sounded like he’d sucked a few of those lemons when he said, “I just need you to slide downward, so you can get it under your chin.”

She writhed, and Josh damn near bit off his tongue as her breasts slid lower on his body. He exhaled sharply and tried to keep his mind on the task at hand—and off the sexy way she was moving against him.

“Just a little more,” he said, his cock jumping in his pants.

Down, boy.

Her hands slid around his back and linked as she shimmied lower, her body pressing hard against his to keep the lime from falling. It was all he could do not to grab a fistful of her hair and tug, opening her mouth so he could lean forwarded for a taste. Would she taste as sweet as she smelled?

“It’s harder than it looks,” she grumbled.

Yeah, no kidding.

Fuck, man, he sure as hell hoped she was talking about the game they were playing and not what was going on below the band of his board shorts. Thank God for the apron. The last thing he needed was for her or the team to know he was sporting the hard-on of the century.

She swayed back and forth in a manner that had his thoughts spiraling in a direction they had no right going. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. He thought about it. Visions of Holly sprawled out on his bed, his to do with as he pleased, raced through his mind’s eye.

Kill me fucking now.

“Almost there,” she said.

Me, too.

A groan crawled out of his throat, and she looked up at him. He briefly pinched his eyes shut, and when he opened them again and found her on her knees, dark lashes blinking over big doe eyes as she gazed up at him, he drew on every ounce of control he had to keep himself from falling to the floor and having his fucking way with her.

Keep your mind on the task, dude.
“You okay?”

Really? She was asking if he was okay? Hell no, he wasn’t okay! She was gyrating against him in a room full of people, and all he could think about was sex—with the last girl in the world he should be thinking about having sex with.

“Yeah,” he said, the denial spilling from his mouth. “You got it yet?” He winced as his voice came out harder than he intended. But Jesus, this was pure torture—dangerous in so many ways.

Watch over my daughter, he said. Find a way to get her to return home.

Josh was pretty sure gyrating against her during a damn mixology contest wasn’t what he’d signed up for. Fuck me.

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Enrage (Eagle Elite #8) by Rachel Van Dyken: Release Blitz


Part of a world I loathe.
Part of a family who hates me more than I hate myself.
Living with a girl who reminds me of my darkness.
I'm. In. Hell.
Also known as the Cosa Nostra.
My life was over the minute I stepped off that plane.
Son to a murdered mob boss.
Heir to a throne of murder and lies.
My name is Dante Nicolasi.
And there will be blood.

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About the Author:

Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.

She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! You can follow her writing journey at

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Twisted Twosome by Meghan Quinn: Excerpt Reveal


Racer McKay is a broody bastard.

From the moment I met him, he’s been rude, irritable, and unbearable. And worse? He's broke.

A contractor working to remodel my parents pool house for extra cash, he stomps around in those clunky construction boots with his tool belt wrapped around his narrow waist, and a chip on his shoulder.

Racer McKay is also infuriatingly . . . sexy as hell. I want to take that pencil tucked behind his ear, and draw lazy lines slowly up and down his body all the while wanting to strangle him at the same time.

We try to stay out of each other’s way . . . that is until I have no other option but to ask for his help.

But what I don’t realize is he needs me just as much as I need him. I have money he’s desperate for, and he holds the key to making my dreams come true.

Our pranks turn from sarcastic banter, to sexual tension and lust-filled glances. Bickering matches quickly morph into slow burn moments. We’re hot, we’re cold. We push and pull. I need him, I don’t want him. We’re on the verge of combusting with an agreement dangling dangerously between us. Neither one of us can afford to lose one another and yet, we’re finding it quite hard to decipher the line that rests between love and hate.

Releases: August 3, 2017

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About the Author:

When I was in high school I occasionally read books but was consumed by other teenage things so I didn't take the time to appreciate a good book on a cloudy day, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch. It wasn't until I received a Kindle for Christmas one year that my world completely flipped upside down. When looking for books I came across the Contemporary Romance genre and was sold and I haven't turned back since.

You can either find my head buried in my Kindle, listening to inspiring heart ripping music or typing away on the computer twisting and turning the lives of my characters while driving my readers crazy with anticipation.

​ I currently reside in beautiful Colorado Springs where the sun is always shining and there is a trail waiting to be hiked on every corner. I share a lovely and warm home with the love of my life and my five, four-legged children.

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Why is it so goddamn drafty in here? I grip my hammer in my hand, my tool belt riding low on my hips, and my stereotypical construction hat rests on my head as I finish up the project I was hired to do.

Taking a quick look around, I search the bedroom looking for an open window or AC vent that’s blowing a cold breeze right against my dick and sac, making it almost impossible to look semi-decent in this scrap of fabric.

“Mmm, I think you forgot a nail on the ground over there,” says the throaty, smoke-filled voice of Mrs. Sage, who is lying across her chase lounge wearing a silky pink robe that is barely tied around her waist. She makes it her mission to show me as much skin as possible, and as we’re talking about skin showing . . .

I bend down to pick up the nail she’s pointing at as the thin strip of man thong material rides higher up my ass crack than I care to admit.

Let’s pause for a second.

Are you wondering to yourself, is Racer really wearing a man-thong as he finishes building a solid oak shelf?

The answer is yes. Yes, I am.

I’m Racer McKay and I wear man thongs for older, rich women while I work on simple projects around their houses. Excuse me, I mean mansions.

Don’t worry. Yes, I’m also very much ashamed to admit the level I’ve stooped to in order to make some cash. I have my pride, but right now, when I’m offered three hundred dollars more to build a shelf in a man thong, I’m choosing to seize the opportunity.

Self-respect was thrown out the window two years ago when a pile of bills and responsibilities were thrust in my direction without any preparation or warning. Making money is as vital as breathing to me, so I will take it any way I can get it.

Cue the man thong.

“Oh, you’re right. Here it is,” I say, holding up the nail. “Thanks for the help, Mrs. Sage. I would hate to see you hurt yourself from my lack of attention to detail.”

She waves me off and puffs her chest toward me, her robe slipping farther apart, showing the cleavage of a very saggy pair of breasts. I’ve seen my fair share of boobs and even though I don’t mingle sex with work, I can’t help but want Mrs. Sage to remove the robe just so I can see what she has hidden under the silky fabric.

How saggy are we talking here?

I’m interested for exploratory reasons, for knowledge of every kind of breast out there. Because right now, Mrs. Sage looks like she’s rocking a pair of pancakes that have been flattened by a steamroller.

“You would just have to nurse me back to health if that happened.” Her finger trails up her varicose vein-covered leg to her geriatric hip. I hold back the shiver that wants to spin up my spine.

All I can say is . . . can’t unsee that.

I nervously laugh and tuck my hammer into its holster. “Not much of a nurse, Mrs. Sage. I might hurt you even more.”

“I don’t mind getting hurt.” She starts to spread her legs and that’s when I call it a day.

I turn around quickly, snag my jeans and slip them up and over my legs, struggling with my tool belt getting in the way. Once things are in place, I remove my hat, put on my shirt, and then cover my hair with a backwards baseball cap. The peep show is over.

Once dressed, I gather my tools, tuck my construction hat under my arm, and turn to Mrs. Sage. This is my least favorite part, getting the old bird to pay up.

“Leaving already?” She pouts, lipstick on her teeth.

“Unfortunately, I have another engagement I’m running late for.” A lie, but it’s the only way I know to get out of here.

“That’s a shame. I really should book you for a whole day. That way you can’t skirt out of here earlier than I’m ready for.”

She walks out of the den and into the entryway where she opens her purse and pulls out a wad of one-hundred-dollar bills. My brain explodes from the amount of cash in her purse, as if it’s chump change she’s ready to throw around at a parade dedicated to her and her riches.

“What do I owe you? Six hundred?”

Fuck, it’s five hundred and if I wasn’t a nice guy, I wouldn’t correct her, but I believe in good karma. Especially considering where my bad luck has gotten me—trying to climb my way out of a large debt. I try to put as many good vibes out in the world as possible.

“We actually agreed upon five hundred, Mrs. Sage.”

“Such a bargain.” She flips through her cash, pulls out five bills—damn—and hands them over to me. “Shall I call for my next project?”

I pocket the cash. “Email is best, Mrs. Sage. I always feel awkward taking phone calls at work.”

“Such a hard worker.” She pats my face and leans forward, lips puckered, but I step to the side avoiding an attack from her old-lady lips.

As I depart, I wave my hand in the air and say, “Thanks, Mrs. Sage. I look forward to your next email.”

Out of her reach, I toss my tools in the back of my truck, enter the cab, and place my hands on the steering wheel as I exhale a long pent-up breath.