Promo Tour Day 1: Forever & Always and After Forever (The Ever Trilogy) Jasinda Wilder ~ Chapter One: Caden’s POV & Huge Giveaway

 Forever & Always  and After Forever
(The Ever Trilogy)
Jasinda Wilder
Expected Release: Dec. 20th, 2013
Hosted by: The Book Avenue
Join the Release Party Here
Ever,
These letters are often all that get me through week to week. Even if it’s just random stuff, nothing important, they’re important to me. Gramps is great, and I love working on the ranch. But…I’m lonely. I feel disconnected, like I’m no one, like I don’t belong anywhere. Like I’m just here until something else happens. I don’t even know what I want with my future. But your letters, they make me feel connected to something, to someone. I had a crush on you, when we first met. I thought you were beautiful. So beautiful. It was hard to think of anything else. Then camp ended and we never got together, and now all I have of you is these letters. S**t. I just told you I have a crush on you. HAD. Had a crush. Not sure what is anymore. A letter-crush? A literary love? That’s stupid. Sorry. I just have this rule with myself that I never throw away what I write and I always send it, so hopefully this doesn’t weird you out too much. I had a dream about you too. Same kind of thing. Us, in the darkness, together. Just us. And it was like you said, a memory turned into a dream, but a memory of something that’s never happened, but in the dream it felt so real, and it was more, I don’t even know, more RIGHT than anything I’ve ever felt, in life or in dreams. I wonder what it means that we both had the same dream about each other. Maybe nothing, maybe everything. You tell me.
Cade
~ ~ ~ ~
Cade,
We’re pen pals. Maybe that’s all we’ll ever be. I don’t know. If we met IRL (in real life, in case you’re not familiar with the term) what would happen? And just FYI, the term you used, a literary love? It was beautiful. So beautiful. That term means something, between us now. We are literary loves. Lovers? I do love you, in some strange way. Knowing about you, in these letters, knowing your hurt and your joys, it means something so important to me, that I just can’t describe. I need your art, and your letters, and your literary love. If we never have anything else between us, I need this. I do. Maybe this letter will only complicate things, but like you I have a rule that I never erase or throw away what I’ve written and I always send it, no matter what I write in the letter. 
Your literary love,
Ever
CHAPTER ONE 

SOMEWHERE OUT THERE

~ CADEN ~
It’s always the hands that mess me up. I can never get the fingers right, somehow. It’s something about the proportions between the knuckles, and the way the fingers are supposed to curve when at rest. I had an entire sketchbook full of failed attempts. 
Even at that moment, in the passenger seat of Dad’s F-350, I was sketching out another attempt. My tenth so far, and we weren’t even to Grayling yet. This one was the best yet, but the middle knuckles of the last two fingers looked awkward, like they’d been broken. 
Which gave me idea. I glanced over at Dad, who was driving with his left hand, the right resting on his thigh, fingers tapping to Montgomery Gentry on the radio. 
“Dad?” A sideways glance and a raised eyebrow were the only acknowledgement I got. “You ever broke your fingers?”
“Yeah, broke most of my left hand, matter of fact.” Dad took the wheel with his right and showed me his left hand. The knuckles were bulbous, the fingers crooked. “Didn’t get ’em set right, so they’ve always been kinda fucked up.”
“How’d you break ’em?”
The fingers in question scratched at a shaved scalp, the stubble of a receding hairline whisking under his nails. “Me and your Uncle Gerry were out in the back forty, riding the fence line, checking for breaks. My horse got spooked by a snake. He threw me, ‘cept my hand was tangled in the reins. Dislocated most of my fingers. Then, when I hit the ground, his hoof landed on the same hand, broke the middle two pretty good. Your Gramps is a hardass, and I knew he’d wallop me good if I came back without the job done. So I set the broke fingers best I could. There was a busted fence post, see, way out at the far corner, and Dad’s prize Thoroughbred kept getting out. Gerry and I fixed the break and went home. I never told Dad about my fingers, just had my mom wrap ’em for me. Never really healed right, and even now when the weather’s shitty my hand aches.” 
I’d heard the stories of my father’s childhood growing up on the Wyoming horse ranch that had been in the Monroe family for several generations. Every summer of my entire life had been spent on that ranch, riding and roping and tagging and birthing and breaking. Gramps didn’t accept excuses and didn’t tolerate weakness or mistakes, and I could only begin to imagine what it had been like growing up with Connor Monroe as a father. 
Gramps was a tall, silver-haired, iron-hard man. He’d served in both Korea and Vietnam before returning to work the ranch. Even as his grandson, I was expected to pull my weight or go home. That meant up before dawn, to bed past sunset, the entire day spent out in the field or in the stables, rarely even sitting for lunch. At fourteen, I was tanned, muscled, and, I knew, hardened to the point of looking older than I really was. 
Dad had been the first Monroe son to pursue a career away from the ranch, which had caused a decades-long rift between him and Gramps, leaving Uncle Gerry to take over running the ranch as Gramps got older. Dad left Wyoming after high school, moving to Detroit on his own to become an engineer. He’d started on the floor of a Ford plant, assembling truck frames and attending night school until he’d completed his degree, and eventually he’d been promoted to the engineering department, where he’d worked for the last twenty years. Despite his decades as an engineer, Dad had never really lost the wild-edged intensity of his upbringing.
“Why the questions about my fingers?” he asked. 
I shrugged, tilted the drawing into his line of sight. “I can’t get these damn fingers to look right. The last two look messed up, and I can’t fix it. So I thought I’d make ’em look broken, on purpose.”
Dad glanced at the drawing and then nodded. “Good plan. The relationship between your angles and curves is off, is your problem. I’m more of a draftsman than an artist, but that’s my two cents.”
I made a surreptitious study of Dad’s broken fingers again, adjusted the knuckles on the pencil-rendered hand, making them look misshapen and lumpy, then worked on the tips of the last two fingers, curving them slightly to the left, zigzagging the fourth finger to resemble Dad’s. When I was done, I held up the drawing to show him.
Dad cut his eyes to the drawing and back to road several times, examining critically. “Good. Best one yet. The index finger still looks a little goofy, but otherwise good.” He punched a button on the truck’s radio, bypassing the commercial that was airing in favor of a classic rock station. He turned it up when Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” came on. “I think this summer art camp will be good for you. Interlochen is one of the best art schools in the country.”
I shrugged, bobbing my head to the beat, mumbling along with the lyrics. “It’s weird to not be going to the ranch.”
“Gramps’ll miss your help this summer, that’s for sure.”
“Will he be mad at me for not going?”
Dad shrugged. “He’s Gramps. He’s always mad about something or at somebody. Somethin’ to stew on gives him reason to get up in the morning, I think. He’ll get over it.”
“He didn’t get over you moving to Detroit,” I said, spinning my pencil between his fingers.
“True. But that’s different. Every Monroe boy since before the Civil War has lived and died on the ranch. I broke a family tradition going back a hundred and fifty years.”
Conversation faded after that, and I watched the road and the corn fields and the blue sky spotted by puffs of white, listening to Jimi Hendrix singing “Purple Haze” and twist the guitar strings into shrieking banshees. I-75 eventually was replaced by M-72, and I felt myself nodding off. A while later, I blinked awake and Grand Traverse Bay sparkled off to the left, a dozen sails flashing white in the distance.
“Thought we were going to Interlochen?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. The bay was farther north.
“No rush. Thought we’d grab some lunch before I drop you off. Ain’t gonna see you for a while, you know.”
We ate at Don’s Drive-In, a retro burgers-fries-and-milkshakes kind of place, small and cramped, red plastic-leather booths, chrome table edges, and black-and-white checkered tiles on the walls. We didn’t talk much, but then we rarely did. Dad was a reserved man, and I’m a lot like him. I was content to eat my burger and sip my shake, worrying internally about spending an entire summer around a bunch of artsy kids I didn’t know. I’d grown up around silent, hard-bitten cowboys, men who chewed tobacco and swore and could—and often did—go days without much more than a grunt or two. I knew I was a talented artist, as capable with pens and pencils as with paint. What I wasn’t good with was people. 
“Don’t be nervous, son,” Dad said, apparently reading my mind. “Folks are folks, and they’ll either cotton to you or they won’t. That was my mom’s advice to me when I left for Detroit. Just be you. Don’t try to impress anyone. Let your work stand for itself.”
“This isn’t like school,” I said, dragging a fry through ketchup. “I know where I fit there: alone in the corner, with my notebook. I know where I belong on Gramps’s ranch. I know where I belong at home. I don’t know where I belong at an arts camp.”
“Wherever you are is where you belong. You’re a Monroe, Caden. That may not mean shit to anyone else, but it should mean something to you.”
“It does.”
“Well, there you go.” Dad wiped his fingers with a napkin and sat back. “Look, I get it. I grew up surrounded by thousands of acres of open land, all hills and horses, rarely seeing anyone but Mom and Dad, Gerry, and the other hands. Even school was the same kids from kindergarten to graduation. I knew everybody in my world, and they knew me. When I moved to Detroit it was scary as hell. Suddenly I was surrounded by all these buildings and thousands of people who didn’t know me or give a shit about whether I made it or not.”
“People confuse me.” 
“That’s cause most people don’t make a damn lick of sense, if you ask me. Women especially. Trick with women is to not try and figure them out. You won’t. Just accept ’em as they are, and try to go with the flow. Good advice for life in general, really.”
“Do you understand Mom?”
Dad let out a rare laugh, but I didn’t miss the way the corners of his eyes tightened. Things had been strange and tense around the house lately, but neither Mom nor Dad was the type to talk about what was bugging them. “I’ve known your mother for twenty-five years,” he said, “and been married to her for twenty-two. And no, I still don’t understand her. I know her, I get her, but I don’t always understand the way her mind works, how she comes up with ideas or arrives at her conclusions or why she changes her mind so goddamn much. Makes my head spin, but that’s how women are and that’s how she is and I love her for it.” 
All too soon, Dad was paying the bill and the truck doors were slamming and we were hauling down US-31 toward Interlochen. The ride was quick, and then Dad was parking and unstrapping my duffel bag from the bed of the truck and handing it to me. We stood toe to toe, neither of us speaking or moving.
Dad pointed to the rows of tiny wooden cabins. “That’s the cabins. You know which one you’re in? ”
“Yeah, number twenty.”
“Alright then. Well, guess I’ll be going. Gonna be a long drive without you snoring in the passenger seat.” 
“You’re just turning right back around and driving home?” I asked, then immediately hated how childish and whiny that had sounded.
Dad lifted an eyebrow in reproach. “You’re here for three weeks, Cade. You expect me to sit on the beach and twiddle my thumbs for a month? Your mom needs me home, and I’ve got projects to finish at work.”
I felt the question bubbling up, coming out, and couldn’t stop it from emerging. “Is—is everything okay? With you and mom?”
Dad closed his eyes briefly, breathed in slowly and let it out, then met my eyes. “We’ll talk when you get home. Nothing for you to worry about right now.”
That sounded oddly like an evasion, which was entirely out of character for my gruff, straight-talking father. “I just feel like things are—”
“It’s fine, Caden. Just focus on having fun, meeting new people, and learning. Keep in mind that this is three weeks out of your entire life, and you don’t ever have to see these people again.” Dad stuck his left hand into his hip pocket and wrapped his right arm awkwardly around my shoulders. “I love you, son. Have a good time. Don’t forget to call at least once, or your mom’ll have a hairy conniption.”
I returned the embrace with one arm. “Love you too. Drive safe.”
Dad nodded and turned back toward his truck, then stopped and dug into his back pocket. He pulled out a folded square of $20 bills and handed them to me. “Just in case.”
“I’ve been saving my allowance,” I said. Dad always expected me to earn money, never gave it for free.
“It’s…just take it.” 
I stuffed the money into my hip pocket and shifted my weight. “Thanks.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.” I waved once, and watched Dad drive away. 
I’d spent months at a time away from my parents, lived on Gramps’s ranch for months at a time. Goodbye was nothing new. So why did this one feel so unsettling?

Follow the Promo Tour tomorrow to read Ever’s POV 
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Jasinda Wilder is a Michigan native with a penchant for titillating tales about sexy men and strong women. When she’s not writing, she’s probably shopping, baking, or reading. 
​Some of her favorite authors include Nora Roberts, JR Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Liliana Hart and Bella Andre. 
She loves to travel and some of her favorite vacations spots are Las Vegas, New York City and Toledo, Ohio. 
You can often find Jasinda drinking sweet red wine with frozen berries and eating a cupcake. 
Jasinda is represented by Kristin Nelson of the Nelson Literary Agency.

12 Days of Christmas featuring A Special Holiday Scene of Ana & Elijah from Welcome to Sugartown by Carmen Jenner (excerpt and giveaways


Welcome to Sugartown

Ana & Elijah Special Christmas Scene

Ana Belle never wanted anything more than to hang up her apron, jump on her Vespa and ride off into the sunset, leaving Sugartown in the dust. 
Elijah Cade never wanted anything more than a hot meal, a side of hot arse and a soft place to lay his head at night where he could forget about his past. 
But you know what they say about wanting: you always want what you can’t have. 
Nineteen year-old virgin Ana is about to discover that’s not quite true because a six foot three, hotter than hell, tattooed, Aussie sex god just rode into town. He’s had a taste of her pie and he wants more– no really, Ana bakes pies for a living, get your mind out of the gutter. 
She’d be willing to hand over everything tied up in a big red bow, there’s just one problem; Elijah has secrets dirtier than last week’s underwear. Secrets that won’t just break Ana’s heart, but put her life at risk, too. When those secrets come to light, their relationship is pushed to breaking point. 
Add to that a psychotic nympho best friend, an overbearing father, a cuter than humanly possible kid brother, a wanton womanizing cousin, the ex from hell, and more pies than you could poke a … err … stick … at. 
And you thought small towns were boring. 
Welcome to Sugartown. 
*Content Warning. Intended for a mature 18+ audience. Contains explicit sex, oodles of profanity and a crap-tonne of AWKWARD.


A Welcome to Sugartown Christmas

Elijah

“Jingle Bells, Batman smells, Robin Hood is gay, Wonder Woman lost her titties flying Jackson’s way—”
“Hey, Jackarse, if you don’t quit singing that freaking song I’m going to ram this candy cane right up your arse.” Holly yells above the ear-raping horror that is Jack’s singing and waves her big, fuck off candy cane in the air.
“Kinky.” Jack replies and goes about humming the tune just to fuck with her as he swigs back a mouthful of beer. Holly looks about ready to shank his stupid arse.
It never fails to amaze me just how fucked up those two are. I mean, Jesus, how screwed up can one relationship get?
Oh … right.
Dave the publican chuckles to himself from across the room. Apparently he and Bob have become close over this last year with everything that’s happened. I’ve certainly received enough phone calls from Dave to come pick Bob’s drunk arse up in the middle of the night before he tossed him out on the street. Dave’s pretty cool, he’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s a good guy. He sure as shit saw me hitting the bottle hard at the bar when Ana and I broke up and he was good enough about it to ignore the fact that on several occasions I’d reached my limit and needed to be thrown out. 
Ana comes and drapes herself over my lap and then rests her head on my shoulder—and sadly no, she’s not naked on account of her dad occupying the recliner beside us. Dude’s sitting in my favourite chair. I think about the night I made her come all over that seat and feel a smug sense of satisfaction before I remember Bob has this uncanny ability to tell what I’m thinking at the shittiest of times. Like last night as Ana bent over placing presents in front of the tree in that cute little sexy Santa nightie I bought for her and the skirt rode up to that spot just below her arse cheeks and I cleared my throat and pretended like I didn’t have a boner the size of the north pole, Bob had simply looked at me and uttered four words, “That’s my daughter kid.”
“Yeah, and I wanna fuck her every which way from Sunday,” had been my reply. Okay, I didn’t really say that. I might enjoy living on the edge but I aint got a bloody death wish.
I glance at the swallow necklace I gave her last year and run my fingertips over the matching set of tats on her wrists before softly kissing each of them. She stares up at me with that look that says she wants me to bend her over the dresser and show her the true meaning of giving.
I am one fucking lucky bastard.
While Bob nurses his eighth beer and Holly tears Jack a new one for singing that stupid fucking song again, Sammy rifles through the mountain of wrapping paper under the tree, searching for even more shit than he already got. We all kinda spoiled him this year, I know presents don’t count for shit when you have the kinda year he had, but I don’t know, I guess we all thought he deserved to have a good one.
I think the Christmas lollies must be kicking in because from outta nowhere he shoots up from beneath the tree and runs tearing from the room with a shout of, “I bet therths more prethenth hiding thomewhere.”
“You’d think he wouldda had enough with the bloody truckload of money I spent on him.”
“You did great, Dad.” Ana says and smiles over at Bob. He looks like he’s aged ten years in just one, and I’m reminded that it’s not just Sammy who’s been dealing with shit.
Dave pulls me into a conversation about fixing the carburettor in his shitty old Cileca when Sammy comes barrelling into the room clutching a box and screaming, “I found one, I found one!”
“Well who’s it from?” Ana asks.
“Thanta! Ith from Thanta Clauth!”
Sammy’s engrossed in tearing off the black packaging, it’s sorta like it’s been wrapped in black plastic.
“So you think if I swing by tomorrow you can take a look at it?” Dave asks, derailing my train of thought.
“Yeah, sure.” I mutter half-heartedly. I’m not really even paying attention on account of this weird feeling worming its way through my gut. Maybe I shouldda skipped that extra slice of Pavlova for desert?
Sammy’s still trying hard to get the package open, his tongue pokes out in concentration and he turns his back on us, I guess he doesn’t cope well under pressure.
“Thinally!” he shouts and the wrapping falls to the floor. Something’s not right here. 
I glance at it a moment before I really see it, see the bright pink post-it I attached in place of a present label.
Baby girl,
Saw this and thought of you.

It seems only right you should think of me when you use it. 

Love always,

Suck me off Santa. 

Oh shit!

“Ah, Sammy. That one’s not for you, buddy.”
“Cool. A butterfly fath mathsk!” He ignores me and tears into the bright pink packaging. “It even hath a remote control.”
I am a fucking dead man.
Ana turns to me with a questioning glance and whispers, “Butterfly face mask? Did you buy him that?”
“Not exactly.”
My seven year old mate faces the room and the beautiful pink Venus Butterfly that I bought so I could see my smoking hot woman getting herself off as she goes about her day is attached to his face. He hits the switch and the butterfly roars to life. I swear the buzz is so loud in the deathly quiet that it makes me want to cover my ears. Ana, Bob, Dave the publican, Jack and even Holly can do nothing but watch on in abject horror and then Sammy says, “Ha! Iths tickling my noths,” and the entire room erupts with laughter.
The whole room except Ana, who turns to me and voices exactly what I already knew, “You are a dead man.”
“Merry Christmas?” I say with a sheepish smile.
“Dead, Cade.”
Carmen Jenner is a thirty-something author, doctor, pilot and CIA agent.
She’s also a compulsive, flagrant prevaricator who gets to make things up for a living.
While Sugartown may not technically exist, Carmen grew up in a small Australian town just like it, and just like her characters, she always longed for something more.They didn’t have an Elijah Cade, though. If they did, you can be sure she would have never left.
Her debut novel,Welcome to Sugartown, releases November 3, 2013.
Catch up on all the news from the Sugartown Series at: http://www.welcometosugartown.blogspot.com.au
Keep a look out for the follow up novels in the Sugartown Series:

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Promo Tour Schedule: The Ever Trilogy by Jasinda Wilder

PROMO TOUR SCHEDULE
Dec. 17th
Dec. 18th
Dec. 19th
for any questions, pls feel fee to email us at

12 Days of Christmas featuring A Special Holiday Scene of Schooner & Mia from Searching for Moore by Julie Richman (excerpt and giveaways)


SEARCHING FOR MOORE

Schooner & Mia Special Christmas Scene

Attended by reality TV star wannabes and Southern California social climbers, Schooner Moore knows the party his wife is throwing for his forty-third birthday has little to do with him and everything to do with her social standing in Orange County. The evening turns out to hold more surprises than just his wife’s Botoxed friends groping at his privates, when a conversation with his old college roommate, Beau, reveals the biggest surprise of the night.

Beau has had contact on Facebook with Mia Silver. Just hearing her name sends Schooner into a tailspin, as he is now just a Friend Request away from the one who got away when she disappeared without a goodbye, leaving him wondering why she left.

A serial failure at romance, Manhattan boutique ad agency owner, Mia, gets a blindside of her own when a Facebook Friend Request from first love, Schooner, appears in her email. Going with her gut reaction, Mia hits accept, propelling her past to catch up with her in a New York minute, as a forceful Schooner is determined to understand what tore them apart and to explore the possibility of a second chance at love.

From a 1980’s Southern California college campus and a devastating first love to present day New York City, Searching for Moore explores how technology has eradicated the divide between our past and our present, and asks whether you would give up everything to reconnect with The One in a single keystroke?

Prequel: The Christmas Before…
Lying on the soft down comforter they had dragged in front of the fireplace, he held her tightly to his still heaving, muscular chest. Kissing the top of her head, the way he always had, Schooner Moore worked to steady his breath as he listened to Mia trying to regain hers. 
“Do you have any idea of what you do to me, Baby Girl?”
Looking up at him, her ombre green eyes glistened in the fire’s light, “It’s smoochal.”
She knew how to make him smile. They had a language all their own, as if no one else existed when they were together.
Wrapping his arms around her tighter, this was a moment he already knew would become a memory that would forever be held close. Silently, from where they lie, they gazed out the floor to ceiling window, watching snowflakes dance in the lantern-shaped streetlights below, gently swirling and pirouetting around the glass enclosures before scurrying off on a gust of wind. Schooner knew that on this Christmas Eve, he was finally, for the first time in his life, experiencing Christmas as it had existed in his dreams. For over twenty years, holding Mia Silver in his arms was the present for which he had wished and waited.
“You want to go out and play in it, don’t you?” Mia’s devil smile was daring him.
“The last time I was in snow with you, you threw a snowball at my head.” He pulled her naked body on top of his, grabbing her ass and pressing her down onto him, so that she could feel her effect.
“Yes, I did,” she laughed at the twenty-something year old memory from back when they were in college. Grinding herself down onto him, still so sensitive from making love, she gasped, her eyes attesting to both the surprise and delight.
“I fell in love with you that day,” he admitted, spellbound, as he gazed up into her eyes. He had dreamed of her eyes for so very long and now they were returning every bit of love he was telegraphing at them.
“Well, you were late to that party, Pretty Boy.”
Throwing his head back with laughter, he was in awe of this woman. Pretty Boy. Ha. She was never afraid to call him out on his shit and he loved her for it. She loved him for him. Not because he looked like a movie star, or because he was built like an Olympic athlete, and she certainly wasn’t fazed that he was rich as sin. She saw through all the masks and loved him for what was behind them. Masks were never needed around her. With Mia, it was so easy just to be. As it always had been.
Flipping her onto her back, he pushed the curls from her eyes. “I’m never letting you go again, you know that.”
Her simple nod told him everything he needed to know. Everything he had waited over twenty years to hear. 
She was his. 
And he would never lose her again.
********
” ♫… if only in my dreams …♫ ” 
That iconic, melancholic phrase, one that got to him every single time he heard it, snapped him out of his reverie, just as the song was ending. Taking a deep breath of sea air and letting it out slowly, he realized he was daydreaming of her once again. 
Shaking his head to clear away the leftover vestiges of his fantasy, he acknowledged that it had been a while, a long while, since she had last invaded his thoughts. He didn’t let himself go there very often anymore. There was just no point.
Tonight, on Christmas Eve, he felt particularly alone as he sat on the deck of his sailboat, the lights of home, and Newport Beach Harbor, in the not too far distance. I’ll Be Home for Christmas playing on the radio turned out to be the trigger, the thing that sent him hurtling back in time, back to her.
Reaching for the bottle of single malt scotch, he freshened his drink. He was actually glad that no one had wanted to go out on a late night sail with him. He needed to be alone and yet, he didn’t end up alone. Tonight she had found him.
Under the stars, in the dark of night, was always when he felt closest to her. Bringing back ancient memories, memories that always elicited his real smile and a sting at the back of his eyes. The whole world had been before them as they would lie on a blanket on the grass at the center of their college campus, picking out constellations, laughing at the irreverent names they made up for them, looking for “signs” from the universe and dreaming of what the future was going to hold for them … together. 
A future that would never come to pass.
Looking up at the stars, Schooner called them out on their treason, “Liars,” he pointed at them, scotch glass still in hand, “freaking, twinkling little liars.”
Shaking his head at the sky, he knew it was time to call it a night, as he stepped down into the boat’s cockpit and started the engine for his journey home.
What Schooner did not see that night, as he turned away from the sky, was the heaven’s almost immediate response to his harsh reproach, with a very clear answer of its own. As if screaming at him in a language all its own, ranting about miracles and hope and faith and second chances, a bright white blaze streaked over his head, slashing the night sky. 
The universe had finally rewarded him with a sign.
But, on that lonely Christmas Eve, as Schooner Moore focused on making his way back to safe harbor, he never saw the universe’s unmistakable message.

Author Julie A. Richman is a native New Yorker living deep in the heart of Texas. A creative writing major in college, reading and writing fiction has always been a passion. Julie began her corporate career in publishing in NYC and writing played a major role throughout her career as she created and wrote marketing, advertising, direct mail and fundraising materials for Fortune 500 corporations, advertising agencies and non-profit organizations. She is an award winning nature photographer plagued with insatiable wanderlust. Julie and her husband have one son and a white German Shepherd named Juneau.

12 Days of Christmas featuring A Special Holiday Scene of Keiran and Brynn from Love Untouched (excerpt and giveaways)


Love Untouched
Kieran & Brynn Special Christmas Scene

An athlete on the verge of greatness.

A woman who hit the lowest point in her life and fought her way back to the top.

Twenty four year-old Kieran Stone, the country’s number 1 swimmer, has loved one woman all his life – only to have that love unreturned. He has resigned himself to the reality that when it comes to love, he will never be someone’s first choice.

Twenty three year-old Brynn Tanner, sister to the country’s number 2 swimmer Milo Tanner, has emerged from her own battle and won the fight. But to Milo, she remains his little sister.

Here’s the thing about fate – it can be a cruel master.

When Kieran and Brynn are brought together by an unlikely circumstance, it sparks an attraction that neither of them are prepared for, but neither of them can control.

Three fragile hearts. Two fierce rivals. One woman forced to make a choice.

How do you choose between the one you would fight for and the one you once lived for?

Holiday Shopping with Kieran and Brynn

Kieran

“Honey we could have ordered everything online and just have them delivered to us…” For the fifth time, I stated my case, “Now we’re stuck in these long lines.”
Brynn ignored my diatribe. She’s been ignoring me for the past half hour.
She kept circling the store, comparing her coupons (she called them deals) to the items on the shelves, the walls, and basically, everything inside in this awful mess of a place. 
I’ve been carrying this tiny shopping basket and so far, she’s only put three things inside it. For the past hour and a half. 
Okay maybe I’m exaggerating. It sure felt like it though.
A tiny squeal left her mouth as she stopped in front of the baking display aisle and bent down. 
Oh dang, her ass looked mighty fine in those super skinny jeans she’s started wearing – Ava’s influence no doubt.
“This is it Kieran!” she exclaimed, “We’ve hit the motherload!” 
Hallelujah. Now we can leave.
She was holding the stainless steel whisk and ladle…Hold on, we woke up early this morning for a bunch of whisks and ladles? What the hell?
“We’re here for those?” 
She pursed her lips, raised an eyebrow, and zoomed her ocean-colored gaze on me, “Well Mr. Stone, I did not say you had to be here with me. As a matter of fact, I tried to dissuade you into coming with me. It’s you who insisted and kept saying, ‘It’s okay honey. I’ll brave those mad shoppers for you.’”
Crossing her arms over the green coat she was wearing, the precious whisks hanging awkwardly on the side, she added, “If you keep complaining, go back in the car. Get some sleep and I’ll be there as soon as I’m done.” Looking at the diamond wrist watch I’d given her for her birthday, “By soon I mean in about three more hours.”
Without waiting for my response, she placed three sets of the whisk and ladle inside the shopping basket, turned her back from me, and walked away.
Dang. Now I’m in the doghouse.
She’d wanted me to stay home but I didn’t want her shopping alone during the craziest shopping days of the year. Her best friend Ava was in Moscow. They usually went Christmas shopping together. I’ve seen Brynn looking at the computer numerous times in the past weeks and writing notes on her phone on what she wanted to shop for.
“Is that you Kieran Stone?” A woman almost screamed behind me. I looked around and gave her a smile. She put her phone up and took a picture of me. She was joined by teeny-boppers, ladies who looked like they’d slapped on a tub-full of makeup this early in the morning, and some guys who were probably their husbands or significant others. Guys who were dragged to this shopping frenzy like me. Well, fine, Brynn didn’t drag me. I had insisted. 
In a matter of minutes, a small crowd had gathered in a circle around me. I signed my name on the slips of paper, napkins, but politely refused to put ink on what looked like a used tissue. I felt slightly agitated and distracted because Brynn had walked away from me and I really should be apologizing to her right now. I’d hate for her to go wandering out and about without me, when I had promised her that I’d do this with her. 
I loved what I do. Swimming. Collecting medals. But there’s a part of it that I constantly struggled with – fame.
I’m happy that I can inspire people to reach their dreams, achieve their full potential. And I have no problem signing my name if it made them happy. 
But when the press started glorifying me, projecting my image into something akin to the legends of the sport, I found myself retreating from the spotlight. 
I measured success by my own standards. My own records against my own time. If it happened to be that I surpass precedent records, then that’s great.
I’m not a legend. Not yet.
As the crowd around me grew larger, a small hand clasped on my left arm. It’s the hand I knew by heart. A hand I cherished with everything I have. 
“I’m here.” She whispered against my left ear, her vanilla scent assailing my senses. 
Amid the huge crowd that has yet to thin out, she’s the person who could block it all out for me. Outside of the water, she’s my calm. 
The thing with Brynn is that she just knows when to be there for me. I didn’t have to call or look for her, she’s just there when I need her the most. I could sign hundreds even thousands of autographs if I knew she was here safely by my side.
I paused signing, catching a glimpse of the security personnel hovering in the back, most likely ensuring that everything was okay. Tucking the small shopping basket on my right elbow, I tugged on her waist, pulling her closer on my side. I kissed the top of her head and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
She tilted her head up, love and understanding shimmering in her blue eyes, “I know.” 
The holiday music was playing inside the store, slightly muted by the buzzing of the crowd around us. I acknowledged the gracious thanks from young and old alike as I signed autographs. Now and again, I eyed Brynn on my side, she was laughing, smiling, and talking to my fans like they’ve been friends forever. I even heard some of the women comparing recipes with her. 
The store manager came out to greet us and helped move the crowd to the corner of the store so as not to cause further disruptions to the flow of shopping inside the store. 
When the crowd had thinned to five people, a little boy wearing a blue USA Swimming t-shirt asked me to pose for a picture with him. I moved to the side and bent down so I could be at his level. 
“When I grow up I want to be like you.” his brown eyes reflected admiration, his tiny hands lifting in the air, asking for a hug. 
His mom, who was carrying two big shopping bags, chimed in, “You’re his hero. He watches the Olympics because of you.”
Hugging him back, I said, “I’m gonna let you in a little secret, buddy.”
His ears perking up, he whispered, “What?”
“You do your best in everything that you do and make your mom happy.” I stated, mussing his hair a bit. “That’s the key to winning.”
“Yeah?” 
“Yep.” I replied. “And of course, you gotta practice a lot.”
“Of course duh.” He high-fived me and left jumping happily in his mother’s hold. 
After the last of the crowd left, Brynn pointed to a spot in the store. “The mistletoes are over there.”
Grinning, I said, “You wanting a kiss honey?”
She leaned closer to me, standing taller, her loose blonde hair brighter against the dark green coat, “I don’t need an excuse, a mistletoe, to kiss you.”
That’s right. 
She pressed her mouth closer to mine, giving me a slight peck, fully aware that while we both wanted to do more, we were outside, in public.
“I love you.” I said against the brush of her lips.
“I love you too.” 
It didn’t matter how many times I’ve heard those words coming out of her mouth. Each time felt special, just as meaningful as the first time she’s said them. 
She loved me for me. There was no doubt about it. All facets of me. The athlete, the man, the sometimes annoying, impatient boyfriend. 
I loved her for her. Every side of her. 
The generous nurse.
The obsessive baker. 
The amazing woman, survivor.

And one day, maybe someday soon, she will be, Brynn Marie Stone – my wife.

   

12 Days of Christmas featuring A Special Holiday Scene of Jason and Hadley from Picturing Perfect from Melissa Brown (excerpt and giveaways)

Picturing Perfect
Jason & Hadley Special Christmas Scene

Life may not turn out like we planned, but sometimes that’s what makes it perfect…
Hadley Foster has always been a planner. But, since the age of nineteen, things haven’t exactly gone according to plan… not at all. And the changes continue to mount when a trip to Europe with her best friend starts a domino effect in all aspects of her life. Suddenly, the future she had envisioned for herself seems unlikely to happen. It’s time to, make a new plan… or accept the dominoes as they fall.
Jason Kelly has a great life. He’s a successful self-published writer who’s living his dreams. But, something is missing. Hadley Foster. Letting her slip through his fingers is one of his biggest regrets. Over time, he had to accept the idea of being without his first love as he watched her fall in love with someone else.
When circumstances bring Jason and Hadley back into one another’s lives, they’re forced to deal with their past, their present and the possibility of a future together

Christmas with Jason and Hadley

“I think we may have gone a little overboard,” I said, inspecting the obscene pile of gifts for Marty under the tree. It was Christmas Eve and Jason and I were spending our very first Christmas together since getting engaged. Marty’s adoption was not yet official, but to us, we were officially a family. And our excitement probably caused us to get carried away.

“Nonsense,” Jason said, pushing his black rimmed glasses higher on his nose. God, I loved him. “He needs all this stuff.”

“You think so, huh?” I asked, putting my arm around his waist.

“Absolutely. Besides, it’s all from Santa.”

“He’s only fifteen months old. He doesn’t even get the concept yet,” I said with a laugh.

Jason removed my hand from his waist, took a dramatic step back and glared at me. His hands crossed defiantly over his chest, covering the hand drawn tree on his “Griswold Family Christmas” t-shirt.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he said, shaking his handsome head at me.

“What?” I asked with an innocent smile.

“It’s our Christmas. Our first real Christmas living together and everything. It’s a big deal.”

I loved how sentimental my fiance was. The little things meant a lot to Jason. He was all about the details. Which is probably why he was such a good writer.

“I’m sorry,” I said hanging my head. “You’re right, it is.”

“And that’s why,” Jason said, leaning down to crouch next to the tree, “you need this.”

He picked up a small box wrapped with a simple red ribbon.

“What did you do?” I asked, my hands covering my mouth in surprise.

“It’s not a big deal. Okay, yeah, it kind of is,” he said, standing up and placing the box in my hand.

“Wait just a minute,” I said, giving the box back to him. “I have something for you, too.”

I ran to the bedroom to retrieve his gift from my closet. The large, thin box leaned against the wall of the closet, covered in snowman wrapping paper. I’d managed to find snowmen wearing hipster glasses. Just like Jason.

Holding the heavy box in my hand, I walked back to the living room to find Jason sitting on the couch. I sat beside him and placed the large gift in front of him.

“What is this?” he asked, a child-like expression on his handsome face.

“Just a little something I made.”

“I’m intrigued,” he said.

“Open it,” I insisted.

“No way,” he said, placing the tiny ribbon-wrapped box back into the palm of my hand “you first, Haddie.”

“All right,” I said with a smile. “If you insist.”

When I opened the box, I gasped.

“It’s so beautiful,” I said, marveling at the gorgeous silver charm bracelet inside the box. I picked it up to inspect all of the charms, each one had significance and meaning. Each one was a part of our story. Hipster glasses, a tree, and ampersand symbol, Marty’s birth stone and little blue footprints.

“Jase, I just… I can’t get over how thoughtful you are. Seriously.”

“It was fun to make it. And Marty helped.”

“He did?” I asked, surprised.

“Well, he slept most of the time. But he was there,” he said with a chuckle.

“That’s enough for me.” I placed a kiss on his lips. “Thank you. This is exquisite.”

“Just like you,” he said, placing another kiss on my eager lips. My hands instinctively wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. His tongue stroked against my top lip, asking to deepen the kiss. I happily obliged, stroking his tongue with my own. Feeling desire build within me as his hands raked through my curls.

“Wait, wait,” I said between kisses. “Your gift.”

“Later,” he said, pulling my lips back to his, pushing me into the soft cushions of the couch. He took his glasses off, placing them on the table behind the couch. Just as his fingers began to tug at the strings of my cotton pajama pants, I pushed them away.

“No, seriously. I want you to open it.”

“If you insist,” he said, putting his glasses back on as he pretended to glare at me with his gorgeous green eyes.

“Wow, this is heavy,” he said, lifting the large box so it laid flat on his lap.

“Fragile, too,” I said with a smile.

Slowly, Jason peeled at the corners of the gift. When after several seconds, he’d only revealed one corner of the box, I felt my fingers drumming against in my knee in anticipation.

“You can go a little faster,” I said, nudging him in the arm.

“Okay.”

He tore open the rest of the paper, revealing his gift. A shadow box with his book covers pinned to the cork. Surrounding the book covers were some of his favorite reviews typed up on cardstock and also pinned to the cork. He stared in awe.

“Woah,” he said before staring at it in silence for several minutes.

“Does that mean you like it?”

“Like it? No…that word doesn’t even come close. Haddie, this is the nicest gift I’ve ever received.”

“I thought we could hang it over the couch.”

“Really? Will our friends think I’ve let things go to my head?”

“Your last book was on the New York Times list, Jase. You should be proud of everything you’ve accomplished. I know I am.”

“Thanks, Haddie.”

“Merry Christmas, Jase.” I said, planting another kiss on his cheek and nuzzling into his neck. He kissed the top of my head before wrapping his arms around me. We stared at the glowing lights of the tree.

“Merry Christmas, my love. Merry Christmas.”

I have always been fascinated with books—-ever since I was a little girl sitting in front of my record player, following along with my huge 12×12 storybooks.
I love books—everything about them. I love reading them, being surrounded by them in bookstores and libraries, and most recently, writing some of my own.
“Bouquet Toss” is available as an e-book and paperback on Amazon.com. It is a story that is very close to my heart, one that was very cathartic to write and has opened me up to all sorts of writing possibilities.
“Champagne Toast” is a companion book to Bouquet Toss and was released on January 8th and is also available as an e-book and paperback through amazon.

12 Days of Christmas featuring A Special Holiday Scene of Scarlett and Mace from Tattered Love by Lola Stark (excerpt and giveaways)

Tattered Love 
Scarlett & Mace Special Christmas Scene

When ex-Special Ops bad-ass Mace walks into Needle’s Kiss tattoo parlour, he never expected to find the girl who would turn his life upside down.
Hard as nails Scarlett has been unlucky in love: she’s been burnt, chewed up and spat out. Reluctant to have another relationship, can she keep her wits about her when hot-as-sin Mace walks into her tattoo parlor? Or will he break her down and leave his mark within her ink?
What starts out as a little fun, turns into something so much more.
Can Scarlett look beyond Mace’s devastating past or will his demons come back to haunt them both?
Content warning: contains steamy, anywhere-goes sex, an alcohol induced embarrassing night out and two headstrong lovers taken on a whirlwind of crazy.

( Scarlett & Mace)
“I think you should wear this later but without half of it,” I whispered in her ear as she melted in my arms. It never ceased to amaze me how she would do that whenever I wrapped my arms around her. She made me feel like I was her protective shield. 
“I think you might be onto something, but as of now, I have two dozen guests who’ll be wondering where the food is if I don’t get it out there soon,” she grumbled and bent forward at the waist leaning into the refrigerator for more trays of food. This served to give me more than one idea of how I’d like to bang her senseless in the cute-as-fuck Christmas costume she had on. Red fuck-me heels with knee-high candy cane striped stockings, covered her sexy legs. These, teamed with a tiny tutu-like green skirt and a white torn-up tank top with the words ‘I’ve ben naughty, spank me nice.’ across her full tits, left me with a raging hard on. 
“I’m pretty sure I’m hungrier than they are,” I growled digging my fingers into her hips; my pants became a whole lot tighter in the crotch. Her perky ass pushing back into my hard on sent a rush of blood directly from one head to the other. “If I don’t get in there soon, I’m thinking I might bust a nut, babe.” 
Scarlett stood back up with a tray of food in each hand and held them out for me to take. With a grumble, I took them and slid them onto the counter behind us, turning back around in time to catch the smirk she shot my way. Yeah, she knew she had me by the balls and it didn’t bother me in the least. She could paint them with glitter and hang them on the Christmas tree for all I cared, so long as she had her hands on them. 
“You need to stop rubbing your junk up on me until our guests leave,” she chastised pushing her hips back into mine in order to close the fridge.
“Tease,” I pouted almost pathetically while spinning her around so she faced me. I ghosted my fingers down her body, and then slowly up the backs of her thighs stopping millimetres from her tiny, green silk panties that read ‘Naughty’ across the ass. I’d had these on my mind since I saw her slipping them on earlier that morning while I poked my head out of the shower like a peeping Tom.
“I’m merely building the anticipation. That’s all,” she snickered and wrapped her arms around my neck. “You know we have this entire house full of people and we are the hosts; it’s almost rude to not be in there.” She pointed out running her nails through the back of my hair. 
“I’m thinking they’ve seen you in this thing you’re wearing and most definitely noticed the boner I’ve been sporting all damn day, so they might thank you for taking care of it.” I licked my lips and traced a line down her throat as I spoke. Her pulse picked up and her nipples were visible through her top. The occasional hitch in her breath edged me on. I grabbed a handful of her butt in each hand, and took a long stride forward pressing her up against the fridge. My hips pushed forward and ground into hers eliciting a soft mew of understanding.
“I think you might be on to something. I’d be doing them a favour, right?” she asked digging her nails into my scalp with one hand, and running the other across my neck. The mixture of both sensations sent my dick from hard to stone solid in seconds. I lifted her off her feet and she wrapped her legs around my hips. One of her hands shot down between us making quick work of my belt and jeans buttons as I walked us into the large pantry and closed the door behind us. 
“Fuck, you’re hot. I’ve been eye-fucking you all damn day, baby.” I pulled her underwear to the side and slid my fingers in to her tight pussy without warning causing her to cry out in bliss and clamp down on my hand. She was always so freaking ready for me; the woman rivalled my sex drive and then some. 
My teeth slid across her bare shoulder where her tank had fallen down. My plan to tease her flew right out the window when she freed my dick and began pumping her soft hand up and down a few times. I dropped my head down to meet hers, and with a moan, crushed my mouth to her red pouty lips, invading her mouth and taking the sweet taste of cherries on her tongue. 
Scarlett bit down on my lip with a long drawn out moan when I flicked at her clit ring. Moving my hands to her ass, I sat her on the very edge of the closest shelf. The hand she had between us came up to my bicep when I shifted her shirt up just enough to feel skin on skin. “Hold on tight, babe,” I growled into her mouth, our breaths coming in heavy pants. I didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead, I moved my hips back an inch and slammed home; balls deep, rocking the contents off the shelf and almost losing my shit when her mouth dropped open and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

With my teeth gritted, I pulled back and took a deep breath; she had me so fucking worked up I was ready to blow my load already. Scarlett shifted her hips slightly pulling up so our chests were pressed as close to each other as we could get. She dug her nails into my arms and clung onto my shoulders. Looking up at me, she bit down on her bottom lip and whimpered, “I need you to fuck me hard, Mace.” Her words shot straight to my balls and completely shattered my restraint. I growled low and deep and started to pound into her relentlessly. Sweat running down my back, I gripped her hip with one hand and her ass with the other bringing her forward to meet each one of my rough thrusts until she bit down on my shoulder with a muffled cry of release.
I dropped my head to her neck. “Gahhh, fuckkk, Baby. Fuckkk!” I shouted into her skin to muffle the sound. Panting and sweat slicked, I waited a few beats for Scarlett to come back to Earth before brushing back the hair from her forehead and dropping a few soft kisses to her lips. “You okay?” I asked watching her glazed eyes. 
“Best. Christmas. Ever,” she mumbled before a round of applause and wolf whistling started from the kitchen.

Lola Stark lives in Australia, Is an at home mummy with no filter raising a hoard of minions and a husband who sometimes appears not to have grown up. Lola has loved to read for as long as she can remember. When not wrangling the family she can be found sitting at her computer , writing, facebooking or just generally messing around.

Upcoming Author of ‘Needles Kiss’ series. A sexy contemporary romance/erotica series. Stay tuned for updates on Book one ‘Tattered Love’s Scarlett and Mace’s story.
Here’s to tatted up ladies and hard as nails men !
With all things going as planned there will be 4 books to this first series with the possibility of another spin off series to follow 

Promo blitz and Giveaways: Avoiding Temptation by K.A. Linde

Title: Avoiding Temptation
Author: K.A. Linde
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover By: Okay Creations
Photo By: Toski Covey Photography
Two years after walking out of Jack’s wedding, Lexi has finally put her past behind her. She has made up her mind about where her life is headed. This time, she is sticking to her guns, no matter what.
That is, until a phone call shatters the fragile grasp she has on her new life. Lexi is forced to question everything she thought she knew about what she wanted, and life-changing events push her to reevaluate the very plans she holds so dear. Nevertheless, Lexi has to choose her true path. That might just mean deciding, once and for all, that she doesn’t have to answer to anyone but herself.
In this highly anticipated final installment of the bestselling Avoiding series, follow Lexi as she juggles a new career, a new city, and the burgeoning affections of three very different men.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” Lexi asked, blowing on her coffee.
He looked at her sideways, assessing her, before answering, “Nothing serious.”
“So, you are seeing someone! What’s she like? Is she putting up a fight?” Lexi asked with a giggle.
She didn’t know why she found this amusing. She just couldn’t hold it in.
“I’m not seeing anyone,” he told her stiffly.
“But you are or else you wouldn’t be acting like this.”
“I also wouldn’t be here with you, would I?”
Lexi snorted. “Yes!”
“Well, I know you’re worried, but you can stop. It’s not serious. Just something fun,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Uh-huh. So, what is she like? What does a girl have to do to hold your interest?”
“I’m looking at it,” he said, staring her down.
Lexi’s cheeks heated at the comment, but she pushed forward. “Are you saying that she’s like me?”
“No, she’s nothing like you. That’s why it’s not serious.”

K.A. Linde graduated with her Masters in political science from the University of Georgia in 2012. She also has a bachelors in political science and philosophy. She wrote her the Avoiding Series while struggling through advanced statistical modeling and writing her thesis. She enjoys dancing and writing novels that keep you guessing until the very end.
She currently resides in Georgia with her boyfriend and two puppies, Lucy and Riker.
Avoiding Commitment 
AMAZON | B&N | ITUNES
Avoiding Responsibility 
AMAZON | B&N | ITUNES
Avoiding Intimacy 
AMAZON | B&N | ITUNES
Avoiding Decisions
AMAZON | B&N | ITUNES
Avoiding Temptation 

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12 NA’s of Christmas featuring Winter Kisses (3:AM Kisses Book 2) by Addison Moore (excerpt and giveaways)

THE 12 NA’S OF CHRISTMAS
.99 CENT SALE!

The novellas written by the 12 NA’s of Christmas will be on sale beginning December 1st! From December 1st-11th, each day one of the novellas will be highlighted around the book community. . 

Today, the novella spotlight is Winter Kisses (3:AM Kisses Book 2) by Addison Moore. Check out the excerpt and enter the giveaway!

You can buy any of the 12 NA’s of Christmas titles on Amazon.

Laney Sawyer used to believe in love and all of the trappings that happily ever after could provide until Ryder Capwell crushed her heart. When Laney is auctioned off as a prize at the drama department fundraiser the last person she expects to trade cold hard cash for her company is Ryder.

Ryder Capwell is in love with Laney Sawyer. One year ago she walked out of his life and took the light of his world right along with her. Ryder would do anything to have another chance with Laney, including purchasing her for the evening courtesy of Whitney Briggs University, and he does just that.

One thing leads to whiskey, which leads to a one-night stand. She thinks it’s revenge sex—he thinks its make up sex. Things can only go wrong from here.

“Capwell”—he gives the ghost of a smile—“Ryder, Capwell,” he rumbles in his deepest octave and my stomach pinches tight. “I’ve always wanted to say that.” He smolders into me without even trying, and good God almighty I’m way past the point of being seduced. It’s obvious this night is going to end with a bang, and now I feel like an idiot for putting myself within shooting, or rather bedding range. Face it. Those cobalt blue eyes of his cast a spell over me, and now, I’m voluntarily striding into his penthouse just hoping for some perversion.
He comes in close, and I’m terrified he’s going to kiss me and we’ll be tearing off one another’s clothes before I even get to berate myself properly for letting my vagina follow his happy trail right to his promiscuous penthouse.

You can buy this book or any of the 12 NA’s of Christmas titles on Amazon.

Addison Moore is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author who writes contemporary and paranormal romance. Her work has been featured in Cosmopolitan Magazine. Previously she worked as a therapist on a locked psychiatric unit for nearly a decade. She resides on the West Coast with her husband, four wonderful children, and two dogs where she eats too much chocolate and stays up way too late. When she’s not writing, she’s reading.

About the 12 NA’s of Christmas:
The 12 NA’s of Christmas authors are Marquita Valentine, Zoe Dawson, Chelsea M. Cameron, Tiffany King, Breena Wilde, Sawyer Bennett, Magan Vernon, Sarra Cannon, A. Meredith Walters, Shelly Crane, and Addison Moore.
International Giveaway
· 2 ebook copies of A Perfect Mess by Zoe Dawson – International 
· 1 ebook copy of all 8 volumes of the Blurred Lines series by Breena Wilde – International 
· 5 ebook copies of Live For You (Boys of the South #1) by Marquita Valentine – International 
· 3 ebook copies of Cross Country Christmas by Tiffany King – International 
· 5 ebook copies of Warmth In Ice by A. Meredith Walters – International 
· 3 ebook copies of Off Sides by Sawyer Bennett – International 
· 3 ebook copies of 3:AM Kisses by Addison Moore – International
· 3 ebooks of Christmas Catch by Chelsea M. Cameron – International 
· 5 ebook copies of The Moment We Began by Sarra Cannon – International 
· (2) $100 USD VISA Gift Card – e-gift cards
· (2) $25 VISA Gift Card – e-gift cards
US Only Giveaway
· 3 signed swag packs from Tiffany King – US Only
· 1 signed print copy of Smash Into You by Shelly Crane – US Only 
· 10 Bookmarks signed by Magan Vernon and the male model on her cover – US only 
· 1 signed print copy of The Moment We Began by Sarra Cannon – US 

Book Spotlight: The Premonition Series by Amy Bartol

The Premonition Series
Amy Bartol

So in July I got a Facebook message from a friend asking if I would work a table for the NYC signing with Amy Bartol. First reaction was sure and then second was panic because I have never read her books. There was no way I could attempt sitting with Amy and not know a thing about her work so this same friend gifted me a copy of Inescapable (The Premonition #1). Let’s just say I was hooked! After book one I quickly one clicked Intuition.

I was only able to complete two of the four books in the series in time for the signing but I felt that I would be able to sit with Amy and relate to her readers. The amount of love I saw from Amy’s fans was amazing. Men, women, and teens were out in full support. There was even a family with two sisters and a brother and they all read it. They were all touched by Amy’s words. Huge bonus is that in real life Amy is just as great as Author Amy.

Upon my return home I finished the last two books. Now, while at the signing everyone was picking sides in the battle for Evie’s love. Team Russell or Team Reed? In a very author like fashion, Amy was hush hush on how this story will end. Let me tell you there is passion there because her fans have clear cut reasons for their chosen team. I kept turning to Amy and saying “Amy you go with your heart. Write what you feel is right.” BHAHAHAHAHA!!! I will just say that after book three, I was messaging Amy on Facebook and these were my exact words…

Ok you know when I told you that you had to go with your heart and write the ending for you and not what other people want? I LIED!!! It so have to be Reed!! I LOVE HIM!

With all that said I am WAY late to the Bartol party! These four books play out like a movie with intriguing characters, layered story lines, and at the core love. The relationship between Evie and Reed is for lack of a better word beautiful. I have no clue how she keeps it all straight. These books are packed full of paranormal suspense with a huge chunk of romance and a dash of fantasy.

Amy is plugging away on book five and is set to release a new series, Under Different Stars (Kricket, #1), which by the way has one of the MOST beautiful covers I have seen! So the long and short of this story is read the books. I stand loud and proud as Team Reed! So one click and pick a side and get ready for book five.

Inescapable (The Premonition #1)
My name is Evie Claremont and this was to be the making of me–my freshman year of college. I had been hoping that once I had arrived on Crestwood’s campus, the nightmare that I’ve been having would go away. It hasn’t.
I may be an inexperienced seventeen-year-old, but I’m grounded…sane. Since meeting sophomore Reed Wellington, however, nothing makes any sense. Whenever he is near, I feel an attraction to him–a magnetic kind of force pulling me towards him. I know what you’re thinking…that sounds fairly awesome. Yeah, it would–if he liked me, but Reed acts as if I’m the worst thing that’s ever happened to Crestwood…or him. But, get this, for some reason every time I turn around he’s there, barging into my life.
What is the secret he is keeping from me? I’m hoping that it is anything but what I expect: that he is not exactly normal…and neither am I. So maybe Crestwood won’t be the making of me, but it could be the breaking of me. I have been left to wonder if the dark future my dream is foretelling is…inescapable.

Intuition (The Premonition #2)

I don’t open my eyes so I can’t see him, but I can smell him. He thickens the air I breathe, choking me with his scent…his aroma. I shiver. I have to resist. If I’m not strong, then I will be relegated to the same fate as this predator whose sickness infects me even now. But now, I crave him and he knows that; he has been counting on my need to end the gnawing pain. How he would savor my surrender. I’m alive, but how much longer will it take until I beg him not to be?
Indebted (The Premonition #3)
I hang my head in sorrow for just a moment when I know I am truly alone. I feel like I’m going to my execution, just as he had said. Then I move forward again. I hop a fence of fieldstone and cross a field dotted with Queen Anne’s lace. Goose bumps rise on my arms as I pass the cluster of windmills that I have seen in a dream. The scent is sweet in the field though, not the scent of heat, like it had been when it was forced upon me in visions. I gaze down the hill, beyond the small, whitewashed house that I knew would be there. The church looms dark and grim with its rough-hewn, timber façade, capped by tall, oblong spires reaching to the sky. Black, ominous clouds have collected above the roofline, as if Heaven is showing me the way.
Incendiary (The Premonition #4)
Cold, fine drops of rain fall softly on my cheeks as I emerge from the darkness of the ship’s interior to the gray, overcast sky of the main deck. Pulling my dark pea coat tighter to my body, the wind lifts red tendrils of my hair. I walk slowly to the railing overlooking the water.
I catch my first sight of the Irish coastline; its craggy landscape makes me shiver in dread. I find it difficult to imagine now how the Gancanagh had made this their home for so long without anyone realizing it. The cold, moss-covered edifices practically scream their presence. As I study the shadows between the falling-down stone, I imagine creeping shapes of undead Faeries grasping the rock, waiting for our ship to draw nearer to their position.
Tipping my face up, I let the rain wash over me. It bathes away the frigid sweat of fear that has broken on my brow. “You don’t know how fiercely beautiful you are, do you?” A quiet voice behind me asks, causing me to stiffen and fix my eyes on the rocks along the shoreline.
Author of Inescapable: The Premonition Series (Volume 1), Intuition: The Premonition Series (Volume 2), Indebted: The Premonition Series (Volume 3) , and Incendiary: The Premonition Series (Volume 4). Currently working on a fifth novel in the Premonition Series entitled Iniquity. 
Amy has written a new YA Dystopian novel entitled, Under Different Stars. This first book in the Kricket Series will be released on December 17, 2013.
I live in Michigan with my husband and our two sons. My family is very supportive of my writing. When I’m writing, they often bring me the take-out menu so that I can call and order them dinner. They listen patiently when I talk about my characters like they’re real. They rarely roll their eyes when I tell them I’ll only be a second while I finish writing a chapter…and then they take off their coats. They ask me how the story is going when I surface after living for hours in a world of my own making. They have learned to accept my “writing uniform” consisting of a slightly unflattering pink fleece jacket, t-shirt, and black yoga pants. And they smile at my nerdy bookishness whenever I try to explain urban fantasy to them. In short, they get me, so they are perfect and I am blessed.