Fighting Attraction: A New Erotic Romance by Sarah Castille – Release Tour!

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About Fighting Attraction

 

front cover, Fighting AttractionMy sweet, sexy Penny has a dark side. Just like me.

I will have her. And then I will lose her, and suffer a lifetime of regret.

Rampage. Everyone loves him. He is Redemption’s top heavyweight fighter and the biggest gossip in the gym. But he isn’t the teddy bear everyone thinks he is. He’s hiding a dark secret and he hates himself for it.

Twice a week, Rampage transforms into Master Jack, a notorious Dom only the most hard-core submissives will play with. How can he — a Southern gentleman, bred to respect and protect women — want to dominate them?

But Penny Worthington wants him. Beneath her pearls, kitten heels, and prim British exterior beats a tortured heart…Master Jack is the only one who can set her free.

An Excerpt from Fighting Attraction

Rampage tracks me with his gaze as I skirt around the people getting into position on the mat. He is breathtaking in his crisp, white gi, a worn black belt tied tight around his narrow waist. Some of the fighters wear T-shirts under their gis, but I am not so lucky. As I slow to a stop in front of him, I am forced to endure the visual feast of his truly magnificent chest.

Burn cheeks burn. “Um…hi.”

“Penny.” His voice is laced with amusement, thick with his Southern drawl.

“Blade Saw said you needed a partner.” I amaze myself at my ability to form a coherent sentence without collapsing in a puddle on the floor.

“So he sent me a white belt? Did I do something to piss him off?”

My cheeks heat, and I look up, only to fall into the warmth of his gaze. “No one else is free.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “I’m just messing with you, darlin’.”

My insides turn to mush, and I dip my head so he can’t see just how red my cheeks can get.

Rampage lies on his mat, propping himself up on his elbows in a semi-recline. His gaze sweeps over me as I get in position on my knees in front of him. He’s got guard, which means he has to make me submit, and I have the goal of passing guard to a dominant position and holding it for three seconds. The irony isn’t lost on me, but I don’t laugh because his eyes suddenly darken almost to black.

“You ready?”

Boy, am I ever. “Yes.” I try to play it cool, like I wasn’t shackled to the ceiling of his BDSM playroom in my bra and knickers last night, stroked into a frenzy, and ordered not to touch myself. Like that was going to happen.

“You understand the drill?” He licks his lips, like a predator about to feast. “When one of us succeeds in our goal, we stop, and the loser goes back to the end of the line. The winner stays out and takes guard on the next person in line.”

“You have to make me submit.” I toy with the ends of my very white belt. “Maybe I should just go to the end of the line now. You didn’t seem to have any trouble with that last night.”

“Come here and say that,” he murmurs, patting his belt. “I’ll give you the advantage of full mount.”

My mouth goes dry as I crawl up his body and seat myself over his belt, my knees spread uncomfortably wide on either side of his hips in a fully dominant position. Something hard and smooth presses against the juncture of my thighs, and I pray he is wearing a cup because the urge to rock against that delicious hardness is almost overwhelming.

Rampage’s corded neck tightens when he swallows. “Move up. Your knees should be under my arms.”

I shuffle up, and he grabs my hips and drags me forward until my knees are on either side of his chest and I can feel the heat of his breath on a place where heat should not be felt in the middle of a packed Brazilian jiu-jitsu class.

“I think maybe I’m too close.”

He heaves in a breath, his eyes glittering as he grips the inside edges of my gi. “Not close enough.” With a hard yank, he pulls me down until I am laying flat on his body, my breasts against his chest, my hips against his cup, my hands braced on either side of his head.

“Full mount is where you want to be when you’re grappling a bigger, stronger opponent.” His words whisper over me, his lips so close to mine I only have to drop a few inches to have a little taste.

“You can use the strength and power of your own body and the force of gravity to your advantage.” He pulls me right down, wraps his free hand around me, shifts his hips and rolls. Before I can catch my breath, I’m flat on my back and Rampage is on top of me.

“This is where you don’t want to be as a smaller grappler,” he says. “How are you going to get out of this?”

The question isn’t so much how am I going to get out of it but do I want to get out of it? And with Rampage’s hard, muscular body on top of me, his legs between my thighs, his hardness pressed tight against the juncture of my thighs, I’m not sure I do.

Rampage stills, and his eyes widen.

Bugger. Did I say that out loud?

“I’m not sure I want you to either.” His breath is warm against my ear. “But if you don’t move, we’ll both get kicked out of class. So, what are you going to do?”

“Um…overhook an arm, bridge and roll, then get on top into the closed guard?”

Rampage drops his weight, stealing my breath. “Won’t work against a larger opponent. You need to blast through my hips and use a bit of strength to overturn me. Strength you don’t have. Your best bet is to escape back to half guard.”

“Okay.” I wiggle just the tiniest bit against him, seeking more of that delicious pressure against my clit. With my vibrator on high, I was able to take the edge off this morning, but with Rampage on top of me, I’m wound up all over again.

A low growl rumbles in his throat. “You’d better be wiggling ’cause you’re moving into half guard,” he warns. “Now straighten up and make your transition.”

“This is as straight as I get,” I mutter. “I’m a woman. Women have curves. I happen to have a curve in my back, and it wants to stay that way.”

“I can feel your curves, darlin’. Every one of them. And it’s making it fucking hard to concentrate. Make your move ’cause if you don’t do it soon, I’ll have to go out and get a cup.”

I suck in a sharp breath. “You aren’t wearing a cup?”

“No.”

Don’t move. Don’t move.

I can’t help it. I move. Or, more accurately, I grind.

Wham. Rampage transitions into half guard and flips me onto my front. While I try to get my knees under me, he straddles me and grabs my hips in his huge hands. Heat surges through my body, and I groan quietly in my throat. “What are we doing?”

“Hips up,” he barks. “Ass down.”

“They’re connected,” I point out. “Where the hips go, the ass follows.”

Shilla snorts a laugh and drops to the floor beside me. “Like this.” She stretches her body out into a perfectly smooth, flat, plank position, holding it with one hand. On her knuckles. Then she rolls to show me what Rampage wants me to do.

“If my body was one solid sheet of muscle, I could do that.” I tense my muscles, try to force myself into a position my body is not meant to go. “However, I have a weakness for chocolate biscuits, lazy Sundays on a blanket in the park, scones with clotted cream, and chicken tikka with thick, white naan bread slathered in butter. Unfortunately, it lowers my middle center of gravity.”

Rampage’s hands slide over my stomach, his touch firm, arousing my whole body with the promise of what those fingers could do if they drifted just a little lower. My mind goes hazy with desire and I can’t tell if I’m flying or if my hands and feet are still on the floor. I don’t care about jiu Jitsu transitions. I don’t care that Shilla is watching us with curious eyes or that we’re supposed to be doing a group drill. I don’t care if the whole class is watching us. All I care about is feeling connected to Rampage and wanting this moment to last forever.

He lifts me right off the floor, as if I weighed nothing, and pulls me against his broad chest, my ass against his hips, feet barely touching the mat, his hands firm around my body. My stomach clenches. My heart pounds. He leans down until his mouth is so close to my ear, I can feel the heat of his breath.

“I told you not to touch yourself last night,” he whispers.

A flush of adrenaline tingles through my body, followed by a thrill of fear. “What are you going to do about it?”

About the Author

Sarah Castille is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Redemption Series, Ruin & Revenge Series, Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club series, Legal Heat series and the Club Excelsior series. A recovering lawyer with a fondness for dirty-talking alpha males, she now is a full-time writer, who lives on Vancouver Island.

 Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon

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Book Tour & Excerpt: COLE, a NEW Mafia Romance by Tijan

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He was the leader of the mafia. I was about to fall in love with him, and his name…Cole Mauricio.

COLE

by Tijan

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SYNOPSIS

I shouldn’t have remembered him.

He was just a guy who walked through a restaurant. I didn’t know his name. We never made eye contact. There was no connection between us at all.

But I could feel him.

The tingle down my spine. The command in his presence. The snap of tension in the air around him. That was the first time I saw him, and I was captivated.

The second time was different.

He was in the mysterious back elevator of my apartment building. Our eyes met for a fleeting second before the doors closed, and I was staggered. My breath was robbed. My senses on high alert. My body hummed.

That was just the beginning.

He was the leader of the mafia. I was about to fall in love with him, and his name…

Cole Mauricio

An EXCERPT from COLE

Once inside the elevator, I stood to one side, watching him. He returned my gaze.

We still did not touch.

My chest tightened, hoping no one would call the elevator at that moment. We sailed past the lobby, the second floor, and stopped at mine. I put in the code, and the doors opened to my home.

I drew in a breath, filling my lungs again. God, it was time.

Stepping out with shaky knees, I bypassed the light switch. The full moon lit up my entire floor. I went to the kitchen and paused at the island. “Did you want something to drink?” I caught sight of the tequila and wine on the counter. There was more than enough.

Cole stepped up behind me and followed my gaze. “Were you going to have a party?” he asked, his breath coating the back of my neck.

I shivered, closing my eyes for one delicious moment. “I stocked up. I thought a friend was coming over tonight.”

His hand rested on my back, nudging my sweater aside to touch my skin. “He?”

“She. Sia.” I looked over my shoulder. He was so close. “She stood me up for a date.”

A faint smile showed. “I need to send her a thank-you card.”

“Please don’t sign it.”

“Why not?”

I turned around, easing my back against the island. Cole placed his hands on either side of me, trapping me in place.

“Because she’s slightly obsessed with you, though she’s in love with someone else now. She could circle back,” I joked.

“Me?”

“We saw you one night.”

“When?” He leaned away, but his hands remained on the counter. It was like he was giving me breathing space on purpose.

“At Gianni’s. We went there the night I moved in.”

He didn’t move, but I could feel him pulling away. A protest started in my head, but I bit back the words. He didn’t reply. He was waiting for me instead.

I continued, “You came in with a bunch of men and went upstairs. That was it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you talk to anyone?”

“What do you mean?”

“The staff?”

“About you?”

“About anything.”

My forehead wrinkled. “Sia networked with the hostess. They exchanged cards. Sia said the girl was a model. She recognized her from the Gala. That was it. Oh, well, another server sat with us for a drink later on. But they mostly talked with Sia about the Gala and about photographers—stuff like that.”

He relaxed, his hands loosening their hold on the counter. I was scared to ask what he was so worried they’d told us.

“I don’t know who you are.” I lifted a hand, placing it on his chest. His heart was racing, just like mine. My mouth parted in surprise. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

He glanced down at my hand and held still. He was thinking something over. I held my tongue, worried it was me, that he was second-guessing this night for us. I wanted to tell him there was nothing to worry about, but it sounded ridiculous. I really had no idea. So I waited it out, my heart pressing against my rib cage.

When he looked back up, the hunger was in his eyes again—dark, primal, and more evident than ever. He took my hand and leaned in, closing the distance between us. With his other hand, he cupped the side of my face. “I wasn’t second-guessing this. I want you to know that.” His touch was tender.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Something else, but it wasn’t you.”

“This is one of those moments where you wish you could tell me, but you can’t? Not yet?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. His eyes moved from mine to my lips. “Something like that, yes.”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” I started to tease, but then his head dipped down, and his lips were on mine.

I gasped. The pleasure was immediate. His mouth was gentle, but as he felt my body’s reaction, he applied pressure. His touch grew more demanding, then I was kissing him back. I wanted more. Someone groaned. That was me.

His hand slid around to the back of my neck. He held me in his grip as his mouth explored mine, opening over me and slipping inside. My hands grasped his shoulders, just holding on. All I could focus on was his tongue. I met his with mine and reveled in the sensation. But it wasn’t enough. Need shot through my whole body.

My hands slid under his shirt and moved over his back and shoulders. His body was just as powerful as his presence. I felt the shift of his muscles. They trembled under my hands. The feeling was intoxicating. I had power over him, and I wanted more. I wanted to see how much power I actually had.

Pulling back, I studied him.

He was panting lightly. So was I.

I could see him wondering what I was going to do, so I reached back to the counter and started to lift myself. His hands caught the backs of my thighs, and he lifted me the rest of the way. Now sitting on the edge of the island, my legs parted, and he was back between them. His mouth went right to mine.

I couldn’t get over what I was doing. I didn’t care.

I didn’t think I would care the next day, the day after, or however long this lasted. I had no clue. I only knew I had one night. One long night.

 

TIJAN, in her own words…

I didn’t begin writing until after undergraduate college. There’d been storylines and characters in my head all my life, but it came to a boiling point one day and I HAD to get them out of me. So the computer was booted up and I FINALLY felt it click. Writing is what I needed to do. After that, I had to teach myself how to write. I can’t blame my teachers for not teaching me all those years in school. It was my fault. I was one of the students that was wishing I was anywhere but at school! So after that day, it took me lots of work until I was able to put together something that resembled a novel. I’m hoping I got it right since someone must be reading this profile! And I hope you keep enjoying my future stories.

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Cheater: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance from Rachel Van Dyken (Book Tour)

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Cheater

by Rachel Van Dyken

is LIVE & On Tour!

What are you waiting for?  Grab your copy TODAY!

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Front Cover, Cheater, by Rachel Van Dyker

About CHEATER…

Lucas Thorn wasn’t born a cheater. All it took was a single moment—say, a certain disastrous incident on the night before his wedding—and boom. Reputation destroyed forever and always. So now he owns it. He has a lady friend for every night of the week (except Sundays—God’s day and all), and his rules are simple: No commitments. No exceptions.

But a certain smart-mouthed, strawberry blonde vixen is about to blow that all to hell.

Avery Black has never forgiven Lucas for cheating on her sister. And suddenly being forced to work with him is pretty much a nightmare on steroids. Of course, it does afford her the opportunity to make his life as difficult as possible. But no good revenge scheme comes without payback. Because he didn’t become the Lucas Thorn without learning a few things about women.

Now Avery’s lust for vengeance has turned into, well, lust. And if Lucas stops cheating, it’s definitely not because he’s falling in love…

A NEW Excerpt from CHEATER

The office building loomed ahead of me. I squinted up at it, covering my face with part of my hand as the sun cast its glare against the glass.

“What are we looking at?” Lucas whispered in my ear.

I let out a little yelp and jumped away from him, and I would have run into a passing biker if Lucas hadn’t pulled me out of the way with his coffee-free hand.

“Must you be such a pain in the ass?”

“Must you try to kill me?” I fired back.

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.” He started walking, hauling me with him.

We weren’t walking in the direction of the office.

“Um, Thorn—”

“I will seriously shove this Starbucks up that skinny ass if you don’t stop talking and just listen for once in your life.”

I shut up and followed, but only because he’d said “Starbucks” and was very purposefully moving in the nearest outpost’s general direction. If I looked pathetic enough, would he buy me coffee?

That was what my life was coming to.

Pity coffee.

My shoulders slumped at the thought when we walked into the building. The smell of fresh baked goods hit me with full force, and my stomach growled loudly, saying to everyone, I’m a hungry bear and may eat my young. Out of the way, please!

I followed Lucas to the line, still tempted to speak, but I figured if he wanted noise from me, he’d say something like, “You may grace me with your voice now, Avery.”

Even though I wasn’t talking, every time I heard someone order pumpkin bread I sighed, loudly, so loudly that the barista eyed me cautiously. Chill, Starbucks, I’m not going to steal a piece of pumpkin bread.

My mouth watered.

I mean, I wasn’t that desperate.

But if I took two, maybe three, steps toward her, yelled “Fire!” and then screamed nonsense about a bee attacking me, the pumpkin bread she had in hand would probably fall to the ground, and it would be wasteful if I didn’t rescue it from the ants.

All creatures deserve food—but pumpkin bread was too good for ants, too rich, and they’d explode all over the floor from the richness and it would be my fault—for saving the barista’s life, right? From the bee?

I think I just confused myself.

“Why are you breathing so heavy?” Lucas asked from my right.

I snapped out of my pumpkin-bread daydream and shrugged. “Sorry, low on sleep.”

He gave a noncommittal nod and then it was his turn, greedy little bastard already had one coffee now he was getting two! “A venti macchiato and a large coffee with room for cream, two slices—”

I elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Sorry, um, three slices of pumpkin bread, thanks.”

He handed the barista his card, while my greedy eyes locked on the pumpkin bread as the barista placed it into a bag and gave it to him.

With an exasperated sigh, he shoved the bag into my hands. “Just leave me one bite.”

“No promises.” I was already digging into the bag, my mouth watering as I followed him around the counter with a little pep in my step.

Lucas grabbed our drinks and motioned toward one of the tables. I sat, stuffed more pumpkin goodness into my mouth, and managed to chug some coffee almost all at once.

Lucas shook his head. “I always forget how seriously you take your pumpkin bread.”

I moaned and took another huge bite. “My theory is this.”

He leaned forward, a smile curving around his gorgeous mouth. “Alright, out with it.”

More pumpkin bread found its way into my mouth as I talked—I didn’t even care if I looked like a starved animal. “Pumpkin bread has the same addictive properties as cocaine.”

“That’s your theory? That it’s a drug?”

“Right.” I sighed and leaned back. “Except it doesn’t make you skinny, unfortunately.”

His smile widened, and he grabbed a small hunk of bread. “Want to know my theory?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking—I hope Lucas tells me his theory so I can eat his portion of bread.”

Lucas scooted the bag toward me and whispered, “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh, pumpkin gods.” I moaned again.

His eyes darted to my mouth.

“What?” I wiped my lips. “Is something on my face?”

“No.” He looked away. “So my theory is this . . . pumpkin flavoring is a conspiracy by the government to see how many ways we can market a flavor and make money off it.”

“Boo.” I gave him a thumbs-down. “Thanks, grinch. Oh, and stop ruining holidays.”

He smirked. “You’ve known forever that Santa isn’t real. Still doesn’t stop you from leaving him cookies every Christmas Eve, then sneaking downstairs and eating them all by yourself.”

“One”—I held up a finger—“it’s genius because nobody will touch them for fear that I’ll get mad. Two”—I held up a second finger—“when everyone else is sad about the Christmas cookies being gone, I know I’ll have them all to myself. It’s like . . .” I sighed, “. . . a Christmas present. To myself.”

“Except for that one time.” He smirked.

“Cruel man.” I glared at him. “How dare you eat my cookies?”

He shrugged. “They were sweet.”

Was it hot? In this little Starbucks? By the window where the sun was searing me alive like I was under a magnifying glass?

I tugged at my sleeveless blouse.

“About Saturday . . .”

Uncomfortable conversation, here we come! I strapped in and waited for the inevitable. And then realized, to my dismay, that he’d just bought me coffee and food without letting me go to the office.

My eyes filling with tears, I shook my head a few times. “Lucas, I may give you crap, but I really need this job.”

He frowned, like he was confused.

“Don’t say another word.” I held out my hands. “I’ll do anything, Lucas—and I mean anything—to keep this job. I wasn’t kidding when I said my parents were chomping at the bit to get me to move home, and I don’t want to. It’s not just about me being defiant; they want me to take over the family business.”

Lucas burst out laughing and then sobered. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“I can’t sell chicken, Thorn.”

“I mean, to be fair, Avery, your parents own a very lucrative organic meats company. I’m sure they could offer you at least five figures.” His smile was way too smug, but I still had to be nice to him rather than throw him off a cliff, because he could fire me.

 

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About Rachel Van Dyken

Photo of author Rachel Van DykenRachel 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, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!

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