Friday, June 21, 2019

Chapter Reveal - HANDLE WITH CARE by Helena Hunting


Title: Handle with Care
Series: Shaking Up #5
Author: Helena Hunting
Release Date: August 27, 2019

BLURB

HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL.
Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman

SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER.
Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.


SNEAK PEEK!! 
READ CHAPTER ONE HERE:

CHAPTER 1
WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?

WREN
I slip onto the empty bar stool beside the lumberjack mountain man who looks like he tried to squeeze himself into a suit two sizes too small. He’s intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that’s been pulled up into a haphazard man bun thing. His beard is a hipster’s wet dream. His scowl, however, makes him about as approachable as a rabid porcupine. And yet, here I am, sidling up next to him.
He glances at me, eyes bleary and not really tracking. He quickly focuses on his half-empty glass again. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the uncoordinated way he picks up his glass and tips it toward his mouth, I’m guessing he’s pretty hammered. I order a sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice and a lime.
What I could really use is a cup of lavender-mint tea and my bed, but instead, I’m sitting next to a drunk man in his thirties. My life is extra glamorous, obviously. And no, I’m not an escort, but at the moment I feel like my morals are on the same kind of slippery slope.
“Rough day?” I ask, nodding to the bottle that’s missing more than half its contents. It was full when he sat down at the bar an hour ago. Yes, I’ve been watching him the entire time, waiting for an opportunity to make my move. While he’s been sitting here, he’s turned down two women, one in a dress that could’ve doubled as a disco ball and the other in a top so low-cut, I could almost see her navel.
“You could say that,” he slurs. He props his cheek on his fist, eyes almost slits. I can still make out the vibrant blue hue despite them almost being closed. They move over me, assessing. I’m wearing a conservative black dress with a high neckline and a hem that falls below my knees. Definitely not nearly as provocative as Disco Ball or Navel Lady.
“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie.
His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway.

“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up here.” He taps his temple and blurts, “My dad died.”

I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half-genuine, half-contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

He glances at my hand, which I quickly remove, and refocuses on his drink. “I should be sorry too, but I think he was mostly an asshole, so the world might be better off without him.” He attempts to fill his glass again, but his aim is off, and he pours it on the bar instead. I rush to lift my purse and grab a handful of napkins to mop up the mess.
“I’m drunk,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’m thinking that might’ve been the plan, considering the way you’re sucking that bottle back. I’m actually surprised you didn’t ask for a straw in the first place. Might be a good idea to throw a spacer in there if you want tomorrow morning to suck less.” I push my drink toward him, hoping he doesn’t send me packing like he did the other women who approached him earlier.
He narrows his eyes at my glass, suspicious, maybe. “What is that?”
“Cranberry and soda.” 

“No booze?”

“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He picks up the glass and pauses when it’s an inch from his mouth. His eyes crinkle, telling me he’s smiling under that beard. “Does that mean Imma wake up with you beside me?”
I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?”
“Shit, sorry.” He chugs the contents of my glass. “I was joking. Besides, I’m so wasted, I can barely remember my name. Pretty sure I’d be useless in bed tonight. I should stop talkin’.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then motions to me. “I wouldn’t proposition you.”
I’m not sure how to respond. I go with semi-affronted, since it seems like somewhat of an insult. “Good to know.”
“Dammit. I mean, I think you might be hot. You look hot. I mean attractive. I think you’re pretty.” He tips his head to the side and blinks a few times. “You have nice eyes, all four of them are lovely.”
This time I laugh—for real—and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.”
He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.”
He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.” His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.”
“I think losing your father makes this condonable.” I slide off my stool. Despite being tall for a woman, and wearing heels, he still manages to be close to a head taller than me.
“Yeah, maybe, but I still think I might regret it tomorrow.” He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right here.”
He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.”
He leans into me as we weave through the bar and stumbles on the two stairs leading to the foyer. There’s no way I’ll be able to stop him if he goes down, but I drape one of his huge arms over my shoulder anyway, and slip my own around his waist, guiding him in a mostly straight line to the elevators.
“Which floor are you on?” I ask.
“Penthouse.” He drops his arm from my shoulder and flings it out, pointing to the black doors at the end of the hall. “Jesus, I feel like I’m on a boat.”
“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator.
He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow. “I can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing.
I settle a hand on his very firm forearm. This man is built like a tank. Or a superhero. For a moment, I reconsider what I’m about to do, but he seems pretty harmless and ridiculously hammered, so he shouldn’t pose a threat. I’m also trained in self-defense, which would fall under the by any means necessary umbrella. “Can I help?”
He rolls his head, eyes slits as they bounce around my face. “Please.”
I take his hand between mine. The first thing I notice is how clammy it is. But beyond that, his knuckles are rough, littered with tiny scars and a few scabs, and his nails are jagged.
“Your hands are small,” he observes as I line his thumb up with the sensor pad and press down.
“Maybe yours are abnormally big,” I reply. They are rather large. Like basketball player hands.
“You know what they say about big hands.”
I fight not to roll my eyes, but for a brief moment, I wonder if what’s in his pants actually matches the rest of him. And if he’s unkempt everywhere, not just on his face. I cut that visual quickly because it makes me want to gag. “And what do they say?”
His eyes crinkle again, and he slaps his own chest. “Something about big hands, big heart.”
I bite back my own smile. “Pretty sure you’re mixing that up with cold hands, warm heart.”
His brow furrows. “There’s a good chance.”
The elevator doors slide open. He pushes off the wall with some effort and practically tumbles inside. He catches himself on the rail and sags against the wall as I follow him in. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now.
He doesn’t have to press a button since the elevator only goes to the penthouse floor. As soon as we start moving, he groans and his shoulders curl in. “I don’t feel so good.”
Please don’t let him be sick in here. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s vomit. “You should sit.”
He slides down the wall, massive shoulders rolling forward as he rests his forehead on his knees. “Tomorrow is going to suck.”
I stay on the other side of the elevator, in case he tosses his cookies. “Probably.”
It’s the longest elevator ride in the history of the world. Or at least it feels that way, mostly because I’m terrified he’s going to yak. Thankfully, we make it to the penthouse floor incident-free. On the down side, now that he’s in a sitting position, getting him to stand again is a challenge. I have to press the open door button three times before I can finally coax him to his feet.
In the time between leaving the bar and making it to the penthouse floor, the effects of the alcohol seems to have compounded. He’s beyond sloppy, using the wall and me for support as we make our way to his door. There are two penthouse apartments up here. One on either side of the foyer.
He leans against the doorjamb, once again fighting to find the coordination to get his thumb to the sensor pad. I don’t ask if he needs my assistance this time since it’s quite clear he does. Once again I take his clammy hand in mine.
“Your hands are really soft,” he mumbles.

“Thanks.”

The pad ashes green, and I turn the handle. “Okay, here we go. Home sweet home.”

“This isn’t my home,” he slurs. “My cousin’s family owns this building. I’m crashing here until I can get the fuck out of New York.”
I scan the penthouse. It an eclectic combination of odd art and modern furniture, like two different tastes crashed together and this is the result. Aside from that, it’s clean to the point of looking almost like a show home.
The only sign that someone is staying here is the lone coffee cup on the table in the living room and the blanket lolling like a tongue over the edge of the couch. I’m still standing in the doorway while he sways unsteadily.
He tries to shove his hand in his pants pocket, but all he succeeds in doing is setting himself off-balance. He nearly stumbles into the wall.
“Thanks for your help,” he says.
He’s back in his penthouse, which means my job is technically done. However, I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself, or worse, asphyxiate on his own vomit in the middle of the night, and I’ll be the one catching heat if that happens. I’ll also feel bad if something happens to him. I blow out a breath, annoyed that this is how my night is ending.
I heave his arm over my shoulder and slip mine around his waist again, leading him through the living room toward what seems to be the kitchen. There’s a sheet of paper on the island, but otherwise it’s spotless.
“What’re you doing?” he asks.
We pause when we reach the threshold. “Which way is your bedroom?”
He looks slowly from right to left. “Not that way.” He points to the kitchen. It’s very state of the art.
I guide him in the opposite direction down the hall, until he stumbles through a doorway, into a large but simply furnished bedroom. Once we reach the edge of the bed, he drops his arm, spins around—it’s drunkenly graceful—and falls back on the bed, arms spread wide as if he’s planning on making snow angels. “The room is spinning.”
“Would you like me to get you a glass of water and possibly a painkiller for the headache you’ll likely have in the morning?” I’m already heading for the bathroom.
“Might be a good idea,” he mumbles.
I find a glass on the edge of bathroom vanity—which is clean, apart from a brand new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. I run the tap, wishing I had a plastic tumbler, because I’m not sure he’s in any state to deal with breakable objects. I check the medicine cabinet, find the pills I need, shake out two tablets, and return to the bedroom.
He’s right where I left him; sprawled out faceup on a massive king-size bed, legs hanging off the end, one shoe on the floor beside him. I cross over and set the water and the pills on the nightstand.
I make a quick trip back to the bathroom and grab the empty wastebasket from beside the toilet in case his night is a lot rougher than he expects.
I tap his knee, crossing my fingers he’ll be easy to rouse. “Hey, I have painkillers for you.”
He makes a noise, but doesn’t move otherwise.
I tap his knee again. “Lincoln, you need to wake up long enough to take these.” I cringe. I called him by name, and he didn’t offer it to me while we were down at the bar. Here’s hoping he’s too drunk to notice or remember. His name is Lincoln Moorehead, heir to the Moorehead Media fortune and all the crap that comes with it. And there’s a lot of it.
One eye becomes a slit. “Every time I open my eyes, the room starts spinning again.”
“If you drink this and take these, it might help.” I hold up the glass of water and the pills.
“’Kay.” It takes three tries for him to sit up. He tries to pick the pills up out of my palm, but keeps missing my hand.
“Just open your mouth.”
He lifts his head. “How do I know you’re not trying to roofie me?”
I hold up the tablet in front of his face. “They don’t say roofie, so you’re safe.”
He tries to focus on the pill and then my face. I have my doubts he’s successful at either.
His tongue peeks out to drag across his bottom lip. “The cameras in the hall will catch you if you steal my wallet.”
I laugh at that. “I’m not going to steal your wallet, I’m going to put you to bed.”
“Hmm.” He nods slowly and opens his mouth.
I drop the pills on his tongue and hand him the glass, which he drains in three long swallows. “Would you like me to refill that?”
“That’d be nice.” He holds out the glass, but when I try to pull away, he covers my hands with his. His shockingly blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment they’re clear and compelling. Despite how out of it he is, and how much he resembles a mountain man, or maybe because of it, I have a hard time looking away. “I really wish I wasn’t this messed up. You smell nice. I bet your hair is pretty when it’s not pulled up like that.” He flops a hand toward my bun. “Not that it’s not pretty like that, but I bet if you took it down, it would be wavy and soft. The kind of hair you want to bury your face in and run your fingers through.” He exhales a long breath. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time, but I feel like I would have zero finesse if I tried right now.”
I smile and turn away. In the time it takes for me to refill his glass, he’s managed to get one arm out of his suit jacket. He’s made it most of the way onto the bed, feet still hanging off the end, but he’s on his back, which is not ideal.
I set the glass on his nightstand, along with a second set of painkillers, which I’m assuming he’ll need in the morning, and give him another nudge. “Hey.”
This time I get nothing in the way of a response. I poke him twice more, but still nothing. He can’t sleep on his back with how drunk he is. He needs to be on his side or his stomach with a wastebasket close by.
I can’t in good conscience leave him like this. My options are limited. I shake my head as I kick off my shoes and climb up onto the bed with him. This is not at all what I expected to be doing when I brought him back up here.
I stare down at his sleeping form. His lips are parted, they’re nice lips, full and plump, even though they’re mostly obscured by his overgrown beard. His hair has started to unravel from its man bun, wisps hanging in his face. He has long lashes, really long actually, and they’re thick and dark, the kind women pay a lot of money for. His nose is straight and his cheekbones— what I can see of them—are high. With a haircut, a beard trim or complete shave, and a new suit that actually fits, I can imagine how refined he’ll look. More like a Moorehead than a mountain man lumberjack. I shake my head. “I need you to roll onto your side, please,” I say loudly.
Nothing. Not even a grunt.
I pull on his shoulder, but he’s dead weight. Leaning over him, I make a fist and give him a light jab approximately where his kidney is. “Lincoln, roll over.”
And roll he does, knocking me down and turning over so he’s right on top of me. We’re face-to-face. Good God, he’s heavy. His bones must be made of lead. He shifts, one leg coming over both of mine. I push at his knee, but his arm swings out and he wraps himself around me on a low groan, pinning my arm to my side. He’s like a giant human blanket.
“How did this become my life?” I say to the ceiling, because the man lying on top of me is apparently out cold.
I try to wriggle free, I even yell his name a bunch of time before I give up and wait for him to roll off me. And while I wait for that to happen, I replay the conversation with his mother, Gwendolyn Moorehead, that took place forty-eight hours ago and put me in this awkward position underneath her drunk son.
I’d been standing in Fredrick’s office, still digesting the fact that he was dead. It was shocking that a massive heart attack had taken him, since he was always so healthy and full of life.
Gwendolyn, his wife—now a widow—stood stoic behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in the center.
“I’m so very for your loss, Gwendolyn. If there’s anything I can do. Whatever you need.” The words poured out, typical condolences, but sincerely meant because I couldn’t imagine how my mother and I would feel if we lost my father.
Gwendolyn’s fingers danced at her throat as she cleared it. “Thank you,” she whispered brokenly and dabbed at her eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, Wren.”
“Let me know what you want me to handle, and I’ll take care of it.”
She took a deep breath, composing herself before she lifted her gaze to mine. “I need your help.”
“Of course, what can I do?”
“My oldest son, Lincoln, will be returning to New York for the funeral, and he’ll be staying to help run the company.”
A hot feeling crept up my spine. I’d heard very little about Lincoln. Everything from Armstrong’s mouth was scathing, Fredrick’s passing references had been with fondness, and my interactions with Gwendolyn had been minimal as it was Fredrick himself who hired me, so this was first I’ve heard of Lincoln through her. “I see. And how can I help with that?” I could only imagine how difficult Armstrong would be if he had to share the attention with someone else, particularly his brother.
“Transitioning Lincoln.” Gwendolyn rounded her desk. “You’ve managed to turn around Armstrong’s reputation in the media during the time you’ve been here. I know it hasn’t been easy, and Armstrong can be difficult to manage.”
Difficult to manage is the understatement of the entire century where Armstrong is concerned. He’s a cocksucker of epic proportions. He’s also a misogynistic, narcissistic bastard that I’ve had to deal with for the past eight months on a nearly daily basis—sometimes even on weekends.
My job as his “handler” has been to reshape his horrendous reputation after his involvement in several scandalous events became very public. It wasn’t a job I necessarily wanted, and I was prepared to politely reject the offer, but my mother asked me to take the position as a favor to her since she’s a friend of Gwendolyn.
Beyond that, my relationship with my mother has been strained for the past decade. When I was a teenager, I discovered information that changed our relationship forever. Taking the job at Moorehead was in part, my way of trying to help repair our fractured bond. The financial compensation, which was ridiculously high, also didn’t hurt. Besides, Gwendolyn is on nearly every single charitable foundation committee in the city, and since that’s where my interests lie, it seemed like a smart career move.
“Since you’re already working with Armstrong and things seem to be settled there for the most part, I felt it would make sense to keep you on here at Moorehead to work with Lincoln. He’s been away from civilized society for several years. He’s nothing like his brother, very altruistic and focused on his job, rather than recreational pursuits, so he should be easier to manage.”
I fought a scoff at the last bit, since “recreational pursuits” was a reference to the fact that Armstrong couldn’t seem to keep his pants zipped when it came to women.
Gwendolyn pushed a set of papers toward me. “It would only be for another six months. And of course, your salary would reflect the double work load, since you’ll still have to maintain Armstrong in some capacity while you assist Lincoln in transitioning into his role here.”
“I’m sorry, what—”
Gwendolyn pulled me into an awkward hug, holding onto my shoulders when she stepped back. Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to take this on. As soon as your contract is fulfilled, you have my word that I’ll give you a glowing recommendation to whichever organization you’d like. Your mother told me you’re interested in starting your own foundation. I’ll certainly help you in any way I’m able if you’ll stay on a little longer for me.” She dabbed at her corner of her eyes and sniffed, then tapped the papers on the desk. “I already have an agreement ready and an NDA, of course. Everything is tabbed for signing.”
I’m pulled back into the present when Lincoln shifts and one of his huge hands slides up my side and lands on my breast. At the same time, he pushes his nose against my neck, beard tickling my collarbone. He mutters something unintelligible against my skin.
I’m momentarily frozen in shock. Under any other circumstances, I would knee him in the balls. However, he’s not conscious or even semi-aware that he’s fondling me. Thankfully, now that he’s moved, I have some wiggle room.
I elbow him in the ribs, which probably hurts me more than it does him. At least it gets him to move away enough that I can slip out from under him. I roll off the bed and pop back up, smoothing out my now-wrinkled dress. My stupid nipples are perky, thanks to the attention the right one just got. Probably because it’s the most action I’ve seen since I started working for the Mooreheads eight months ago.
I hit the lights on the way out of the bedroom, pause in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and check out the sheet of paper on the counter. It’s a list of important details regarding the penthouse, including the entry code. I nab my purse, snap a pic, and head for the elevators.
I have a feeling this is going to be a long six months.

From Handle With Care. Copyright © 2019 by Helena Hunting and reprinted with permission from St. Martin’s Paperbacks.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Helena Hunting


New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

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Blog Tour: Excerpt + Giveaway - FINDING ALEXANDER by Pandora Pine

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Finding Alexander
Pandora Pine
Gay Romance/ Action-Adventure
Release Date: 06.11.19

Finding Alexander Cover

Blurb

Indiana Jones meets Clark Kent in this modern-day treasure hunt.

Archaeologist Cairo Vanderbilt was born to be a treasure hunter, whether he liked it or not. When his famous father dies in search of the tomb of Alexander the Great, Cairo picks up the trail to find the world's most famous lost treasure. Having failed once before, he's determined to find Alexander’s remains and fulfill his family's legacy.

History blogger Dillinger DeCosta has only written about the past from the safety of his South Boston office. After hearing Cairo speak about the coming expedition on the evening news, he wants to join the hunt for Alexander and finally be on the front lines of history-in-the-making. By offering to come along, Dillinger is taking a huge risk, but he's banking on an even bigger reward.

Hot on Alexander’s trail, Cairo and Dillinger discover sparks between them that ignite unexpectedly. One of the men has a secret that may threaten not only the success of the expedition, but their new relationship as well. If they can't find a way past the challenge that lies between them, they might just lose the greatest treasure of all.

Each other.



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Excerpt

When we’d gotten back to the hotel, I’d stomped up to my room like a spoiled child. This is where I’d been for the last two hours. Alone and trying to figure a way out of this mess.

A knock at the connecting door between my room and Dillinger’s startled me out of my pity-party for one. Sighing, I headed to the door, pulling it open. What I saw was a bit of a surprise.

“You missed dinner.”Dillinger breezed past me and into my room, setting the dinner tray he was holding on my table.

I watched in awe as he started pulling lids off the plates. There was no way in hell I deserved this kind of treatment. He’d even brought me dessert.

“I didn’t know what you’d like, so I grabbed a bit of everything.”Dillinger’s intense green stare was boring into me.

To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure how to react. No one had ever done anything like this for me, not even Memphis when I was sick and miserable.

“You could have at least said thank you.”Dillinger strode back toward the doors connecting our rooms.

Shit…“No, wait.”I took off after him, grabbing his left elbow with more force than I intended. I yanked so hard that Dillinger crashed against my chest. My left arm reached out to steady him, pulling him closer to me in the process. He was warm and solid. It could have been my raging hormones, but holding him felt good, like I was home.

I knew my wistful thoughts were on the money when my body responded to his instantly. My cock was hardening and unless I missed my guess, so was Dillinger’s. This was wrong on so many levels. There was so much I needed to say to the man I was holding in my arms, but the only thought running through my head, on a loop, was. “Kiss him!”


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sick of the slogging rat-race of her 9-5 job, Pandora Pine put pen to paper (literally!) to make her ambition of becoming a romance novelist a reality. She cut her teeth in the dog-eat-dog world of fan fiction, still dreaming of the day when she would be a published author.

In her spare time, Pandora fancies herself an amateur nature photographer. She enjoys mucking around in swamps, hiking through the woods and crawling around on her hands and knees in her backyard seeking out the perfect shot. Pandora is a fan of roadside seafood shacks and always thinks Mexican food is a good idea at the time.

Some of Pandora's favorite things are chocolate, writing longhand with purple pens, and handsome men falling in love with each other.




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🌈 Happy Pride Month! 🌈

Monday, June 17, 2019

Release Blitz: Excerpt + Review - CHANGE OF HEART by K. M. Neuhold

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Change of Heart
KM Neuhold
M/M Romance
Release Date: 06.17.19

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Blurb

Does my husband's heart still miss me now that it beats in the chest of another man?

Lub-dub
A heartbeat more familiar than Easton’s own

Lub-dub
He vowed to love his husband until death do they part. And then the worst happened.

Lub-dub
His heart kept another man alive. River. A stranger in the world with Easton's husband's heart pumping the blood that warms his skin. Does his heart ever miss Easton without knowing why?

Lub-dub
Sweet, kind, beautiful, River. Easton never meant to meet him...never meant to know him...never meant to fall for him.

Lub-dub
Easton loved River's heart long before he ever met him, but is it possible he’s falling in love with his mind and soul too?

***Change of Heart is a stand alone story with strong hurt/comfort themes, mild bisexual awakening themes, and a HEA.

Universal Link: mybook.to/ChangeofHeart


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Review

FIVE HEART STOPPING STARS!!

This just might be the most emotional story I have read from K. M. Neuhold to date and I've just about read all her books. I absolutely love everything about this book. I mean seriously, 4% in and I was already crying. I'm such a fan of this author's writing. Her ability to create such beautiful emotion page after page and you feel it within yourself is such an amazing talent.

It's really hard to convey how truly wonderful and beautiful this story is. I feel like there are no words that will do it justice. K. M. Neuhold really dug deep into the feels with Easton and River's journey. The strength of love Easton has for his late husband is so powerful yet so sad because of his struggle to move on. It really tugged at my heart strings. I felt that struggle and his internal battle with guilt for growing feelings for someone else.

This book really touched me and tissues were definitely needed. I probably cried way more than I should have while reading this, lol, but it was just so damn beautiful. Not only does this story take you through grieving and mourning the loss of someone so deeply loved but finding someone that makes you want to love and live again. I was so captivated and devoured this in one sitting.

All these emotions and yet there's still River. Sweet, sweet River and his struggles and challenges. To try and live everyday and be thankful to be alive but not really living. My gawd, this author pulled me through so many emotions. She ripped my heart apart from the very beginning and ever so slowly put it back together piece by piece.

Easton and River's journey is heartwarming and beautiful and sweet and loving. An absolute phenomenal and amazing read. I know I keep using the word beautiful but it utterly and truly is a beautiful story.

Kudos Mrs. Neuhold, you truly have an amazingly beautiful and magical gem with this one.

*** ARC provided in exchange for an honest review ***

Excerpt

He licks his lips, and I can’t take another second of not knowing what they taste like, what they would feel like against mine, so I lean in, closing the space between us. His breath fans over my lips, his eyelids lowering to half-mast as he waits to see what’s going to happen next. I’m not sure if I’m giving him time to push me away or simply savoring the anticipation—probably a little of both.

Easton makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, his nose brushing against mine before our lips are pressed together. Fully, firmly, irrevocably, I’m kissing a man, and my heart starts to soar. I drag my hands through his hair, grasping his head to pull him closer as our mouths move in tandem. There are no tongues, no groping hands or rutting bodies, like in my dreams; it’s simply our lips learning the feel of each other and somehow, it’s the hottest kiss I’ve had in my life.

When my lips part to deepen the kiss, the salty taste of tears finds its way into my mouth, and I pull back to find wet tracks down Easton’s blushing cheeks.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, should I not have done that?” I pull my hands away, my gut twisting with guilt at how much pleasure I took from a kiss he clearly didn’t want.

“No, it’s not you,” he assures me, reaching for my hand again and linking our fingers. “It’s…it’s complicated.”

“I’m the first person you’ve kissed since Paul?” I guess.

“Yes,” he admits. “But, it’s more than that.”

“Tell me?”

A sad smile crosses his lips, and he lifts his free hand to my face, cupping my jaw and dragging his thumb along my cheek. “God help me, I do want you.” His words almost seem more for himself than for me, but they light a desperate longing in the pit of my stomach.

“You can have me,” I whisper, turning my head and pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

“Whatever is so complicated it can’t be more important than the way you make me feel. Tell me you feel it too.”


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Author K.M. Neuhold is a complete romance junkie, a total sap in every way. She started her journey as an author in new adult, MF romance, but after a chance reading of an MM book she was completely hooked on everything about lovely- and sometimes damaged- men finding their Happily Ever After together. She has a strong passion for writing characters with a lot of heart and soul, and a bit of humor as well. And she fully admits that her OCD tendencies of making sure every side character has a full backstory will likely always lead to every book having a spin-off or series. When she's not writing she's a lion tamer, an astronaut, and a superhero...just kidding, she's likely watching Netflix and snuggling with her husky while her amazing husband brings her coffee.




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Saturday, June 15, 2019

Blog Tour w/ Excerpt: PUZZLE PIECES by JP Sayle

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Puzzle Pieces
La Trattoria Di Amore Series, Book 1
JP Sayle
M/M Romance
Release Date: 05.17.19

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Blurb

Sebastian Smythe is an accomplished chef and restaurateur with several businesses and has the perfect life. That is until his long-term partner decides he no longer wants to be with him.
Suffering the devastation and loss of his “boy,” Sebastian struggles to let go of the past and move on and find someone new with his ex’s shadow still hanging over him.

Richie Bellinger has his life mapped out for him by his girlfriend. A career in management once he’s completed his masters at university. Then marriage, followed with a house and two point four kids, and they’d all live happily ever after.

Only the universe seems to have other plans for him. With his mother diagnosed with breast cancer and his father having done a runner, Richie finds himself dropping out of uni and applying for the position of office assistant at the restaurant, La Trattoria Di Amore, to earn money to pay the mounting bills.

Richie’s well-organised life is turned on its head when he meets the enigmatic Sebastian. All the things Richie thought he knew about himself and what he wanted are challenged at every turn.

Will these two learn that there is more to life if they just let go? Can they both accept each other, slot the puzzle pieces of their lives together, and reform their future?

Daddy Kink/Age Gap/Gay For You/Angst/Slow burn



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Excerpt

His head shot up, and he twisted his body, his pulse racing. He stared at Daddy, his mind in a complete fuddle as to what had just happened. As Richie glanced down his body at his limp cock, his cheeks heated. He was positive they now matched his flaming arse.

He groaned and buried his head back in the pillow.

“We’ll have less of that, boy. There will be no hiding from me. Not now, not ever. I won’t tolerate it. Do you understand?”

Richie looked up, meeting Daddy’s heated stare, grateful he lay belly down so Daddy couldn’t see how his body reacted to his “Daddy voice.” You are so fucked.

He ignored the voice in his head stating the obvious and answered, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy. Now lie back down so I can rub in the coconut oil cream I found in the bathroom. You’ll feel a little tender for a few days.”

Richie heard the humour and smug satisfaction in Daddy’s voice as he did as he was told. He squirmed at the cold of the silky cream on the warmth of Daddy’s hand when it touched his overheated skin. Sensations spread down the crack of his arse. He spread apart his legs in an invitation. He wondered where the boldness came from, but Richie didn’t question it.



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Let me introduce myself, my name is Jayne, I’m a lady of a certain age (50, bites fingernails). I am an identical twin, the younger one of course by 7 minutes. I am married to a wonderfully complicated man, or as he puts it, off his rocker Rob. We celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary recently. I have one daughter and two grandbabies one boy and one girl.

I was born in the Isle of Man; this makes me Manx (not British or English). I moved to the UK for several years, and as a child, I lived in Italy for a while. But, the island calls to me so I returned home in 1998. I love the sea and now it’s only a stone’s throw from my home.

I have worked in the caring profession for 34 years and have been a hospital nurse manager, out of hours, for the past couple of years. I made the decision to work part time nights in 2016 so that I could pursue my lifelong dream of becoming a writer.

I have always believed that I could and would write a book, but life just seemed to get in the way. Until someone asked me the question, “What do I want?” The answer was easy, the hard part was making it happen. Well, it did and it has and it was life-changing for me.

So over two years later, my career path has changed and so has my life. I found my happiness again in something that just brightens my day. Now I won’t say it’s been a breeze because those who write know it’s not a total blast all the time, but it has been fun and exciting.

I am asked a lot why did I choose to write a gay romance. I went to a creative writing group (couldn’t recommend this enough for new writers); anyway, the course leader gave me these words of advice. “Put your inner critic aside, put pen to paper and just write, don’t worry about what comes out, just write.” I was a bit, really that works, but I decided to give it a go with it. Ignored all the research I did, which said to write about what you know because that just wasn’t working for me for many reasons. 
The answer it seemed was to try something different and I found it flowed out and 6 weeks later I had the bones of my first book (113,000 words). Writing something so different to what I was doing in my life, freed me.

My island is steeped in folklore and I have used some of this in my writing, particularly Where it all Began: Manx Cat Guardians Origins. The book, I have to say I love the most, if I had to choose right now, but that might change ☺

Writing has unleashed a beast in my mind and now I can’t switch it off. I follow a lot of authors and I listen to them talking about their characters talking to them. I so get this now, I find myself muttering and talking at odd times. I wake up at 3 am in the morning, with bits of story wanting a voice.

I have six books written currently with two more in the pipeline and a couple of ideas for future series, so you never know what will come next. I have lots of places you can stalker me if you’re interested in finding out more.

http://jpsayle.com/ Website address


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Release Blitz: Excerpt + Giveaway - MELTING FOR YOU by A.M. Arthur

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Melting For You
Neighborhood Shindig Series, Book #1
A.M. Arthur
Contemporary MM Romance
Release Date: 06.13.19

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Cover Designer: Sloan J Designs/https://www.facebook.com/sloanjdesigns/


Blurb

After his father’s heart attack, Isaiah Morrell gave up cooking in his own high-end Atlanta restaurant to return home to Reynolds, North Carolina, in order to help his father Thomas heal and to keep an eye on his business Neighborhood Shindig. A collection of food trucks and other small businesses, Shindig is a popular destination in this college town, but Isaiah longs for the fast pace of a big-city kitchen. Until he meets Joel…

Joel Fisher has been out of commission from a serious illness for the better part of a year, but now he’s ready to reclaim his life—except his apartment has been sublet, his partner is missing, and their shared food truck is stripped of everything not attached. In short, Joel has nothing. After an uncomfortable night sleeping on the food truck floor, Isaiah and Thomas Morrell give Joel an offer he can’t refuse: a rented room in their house, as well as their help creating a new food truck concept. Joel hates accepting charity, but he’s hit rock bottom and has nowhere to go but up.

Working with seemingly uptight Isaiah is actually pretty fun, and the pair bonds over a challenge to create a unique grilled cheese sandwich. Light flirting melts into a deeper connection neither man expects, but Isaiah isn’t in Reynolds for much longer, and Joel can’t get attached to the gorgeous professional chef. As Isaiah’s feelings for Joel strengthen and grow, he entertains the idea of staying in Neighborhood Shindig for good—but Joel hasn’t asked him to…

Welcome to Neighborhood Shindig, a friendly place where you can snack on a lamb kebab while getting your hair done, pick up your favorite herbal tea blend, and then go listen to live music under the pavilion. We’re happy to have you.

Universal Link: 



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Excerpt

Joel found a parking spot near his building and got out, grateful to stretch sore, aching limbs. Long car rides were more difficult for him now, and he’d tried to stop as infrequently as possible, so eager to surprise Steve. Joel scanned the lot for Steve’s hatchback. It was midday on Tuesday, so the Shindig lot was closed—it gave not only the small business owners who rented pods, but also the owner/manager one full day off a week. Didn’t mean Steve had to be home, though.

Their unit was on the fourth floor, no elevator, and Joel hated that he was panting a bit by the time he got there. Definitely needed to start working out more, get back into shape. He was already tall and lean, but he’d lost about fifteen pounds of muscle this past year.

Excitement rolled through his belly as he put his key into their unit’s lock and turned—except it didn’t unlock. He double-checked, but yeah, right door and right key.

That’s weird.

Maybe Steve had needed to change the locks for some reason? He pushed the doorbell and waited, trying to fight back a big smile. The knob rattled and a chain slid back. The door opened about a foot and a dark-haired woman stared at him. “Can I help you?” she asked.

Joel blinked hard. “Um, does Steve Winslow live here?”

Don’t I live here?

“Not since the first of the month,” the woman replied. “He had to move suddenly, so I’m sub-leasing it through the end of the month, until my place is ready downstairs. Who are you?”

“Joel. I live here.”

“Oh, right, you’re the ex he mentioned.”

“Ex?” Ex what? He’d texted Steve yesterday about frivolous things, and Steve hadn’t said a damned thing about sub-leasing their place. A place Joel had paid this month’s rent on. “What do you mean ex?”

“He said you guys broke up, so you moved back to live with your parents in Virginia, and he’s moving…somewhere, I don’t think he said where. But your stuff is still here. He packed it up and left it in the hall closet.”

Joel did not understand what was happening right now. “We didn’t break up. We have a business together for God’s sake. I don’t understand.”

“Listen, do you want to come inside and sit? You look pale.”

“Um, yeah, thanks.”

The apartment was small, one-bedroom and only about six hundred square feet. It had come furnished, so none of the big stuff was his, and he’d taken clothing and his electronics with him to Virginia. Those personal things were in his car right now, waiting to be unpacked.

He sat on the familiar sofa, legs suddenly trembling, and tried to wrap his brain around what was happening.

The woman appeared with a bottle of water. “Here. I’m Emily, by the way.”

“Joel.” Had he already said that? “Steve never told me he moved out.”

“Oh, wow, that’s harsh. He ditched your place without telling you?”

“At least the lease isn’t up until August.” It gave him time to plan, even if it meant a strange female roommate for a few weeks. He couldn’t really afford the place on his own, and he still had no clue what was going on with the food truck.

“Um…” Emily chewed on her bottom lip. “The lease is month-to-month. It’s over in, like ten days, and I have a document with the landlord stating I’m the tenant.”

Joel gaped. “But…this is my place.”

“My place, dude, and no offense, but I do not know you, and I make it a point not to live with strange men.”

“How the hell can he change the lease without me…signing…? Fuck.” Because he dealt with college students, the building’s manager had multiple lease options. Year-long, which is what Joel always signed, but also college-term leases that lasted the length of the college’s school year, and then month-to-month options for the summer, or for temporary tenants. When Steve said he’d renewed the lease last summer while Joel was sick, Joel had assumed he’d done another full-year contract.

Joke’s on me.

“If you don’t believe me, I can get a copy of the lease,” Emily said.

“I believe you. I just don’t understand why he’d do this. Why he wouldn’t at least call and tell me he was leaving, or that if I came back I’d be homeless.”



  AM Arthur Avi Logo

A.M. Arthur was born and raised in the same kind of small town that she likes to write about, a stone's throw from both beach resorts and generational farmland. She's been creating stories in her head since she was a child and scribbling them down nearly as long, in a losing battle to make the fictional voices stop. She credits an early fascination with male friendships (bromance hadn't been coined yet back then) with her later discovery of and subsequent love affair with m/m romance stories. A.M. Arthur's work is available from Carina Press, SMP Swerve, and Briggs-King Books.

When not exorcising the voices in her head, she toils away in a retail job that tests her patience and gives her lots of story fodder. She can also be found in her kitchen, pretending she's an amateur chef and trying to not poison herself or others with her cuisine experiments.



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