Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Book Promo: To Protect & Serve: Heroes In Uniform ~ An Igniting Attraction (Book 1) and An Arresting Attraction (Book 2) by Stef Ann Holm

To Protect & Serve: Heroes In Uniform

By Stef Ann Holm

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Tour Organizer: N K Author Services

About An Igniting Attraction:

Fireman Tony Cruz faces the charred ruins of his life. Burned by his adulteress wife, Tony just lost his precious step-daughter in the resulting divorce.

Across the street, Natalie Goodwin is enjoying her empty nest. The ink dry on her divorce papers and her daughter now in college, Natalie is realizing her dream: opening her very own flower shop. Life is finally going right, until Tony Cruz walks in the door.

Now sparks of desire are flying everywhere, each one threatening to ignite Natalie's own fire. But falling for a hunky fireman nine years her junior is not part of the plan.

Previously Titled: Leaving Normal

Purchase Links:

Amazon- An Igniting Attraction (To Protect and Serve, Heroes in Uniform Series, Book 1)

Nook- http://tinyurl.com/q2lgdvt

Kobo- http://tinyurl.com/qzoclx5

iTunes- http://tinyurl.com/pqu8b6x

About An Arresting Attraction, Book 2:

Burned-out Miami PD detective Paul Cabrera is determined to slow down. Reporting for a deputy job in Majestic, Colorado, where the most exciting police work will be writing parking tickets, Paul didn’t plan on

falling in lust with the very sexy Deputy Lanie Prescott.

Lanie Prescott wants respect. But that word isn't in the Chief of Police's vocabulary. Determined to be taken seriously as a police officer, Lanie ignores her smokin' hot replacement and packs her bags for a law-

enforcement job in the city.

But an emerging crime wave temporarily puts Lanie back on the Majestic force, and what began as an arresting attraction between Paul and Lanie just may become a long-term incarceration of the heart.

Previously titled: Undressed

Purchase Links:

Amazon- An Arresting Attraction (To Protect and Serve, Heroes in Uniform Series, Book 2)

Nook- http://tinyurl.com/nkvz2xc



About the Author:

USA Today Bestselling author Stef Ann Holm walked the same high-school stage as Kevin Spacey and Val Kilmer and landed a "C" in Drama and an "A"in Creative Writing. Now a highly acclaimed author, Stef Ann enjoys life in Idaho with her husband and their squirrel-crazy Yorkshire terrier, Cocoa Puff.

New Adult Romance Tour & #Giveaway: Black Dog Nights (Part One) by Ren Monterrey

Genre: New Adult Romance

About Black Dog Nights, Part One:

My student loans are due and I still haven’t found a job that pays more than minimum wage. So I decide to make an arrangement through The Club. I’ll get what I need…money to pay my loans. And he’ll get what he wants…access to my body…whenever and however he wants it.

ROSE COLLINS is a recent art school graduate with overwhelming student loan debt and no way to pay it.

JAE ROTHKO is a wealthy and renowned artist who doesn’t have the time or patience for a relationship.

Jae joins The Club so he can have one woman when he wants and how he wants with no attachments and no expectations.

He selects Rose to be that woman.

BLACK DOG NIGHTS is a SERIAL NOVEL, which unfolds in THREE PARTS (approximately 75 pages each). EACH PART has a CLIFFHANGER and EACH PART is .99 cents. (That’s $2.97 for ALL THREE PARTS.)

Read An Excerpt:

By the time we get to The Rock Stop it’s already crowded with twenty-somethings, who all look eager to hook up with anyone who’s willing.

I pass by two guys, who are already half-drunk and gawking at my breasts, before I hit the relative safety of the bar area.

“What do you want to drink?” Cali yells over the loud Top Forty music.

“Would I look too conspicuous just holding a glass of water?”

Cali purses her lips at me. I tell her she looks like a duck when she does that but it doesn’t stop her.

“I’ll get you a beer. You don’t have to drink it but I don’t want you to embarrass me or yourself.”

“Yes, Daffy,” I tease.

“I do not have duck lips,” she insists.

“You do when you pucker them like that.”

“I think you’re on crack.”

“Just get the beer.”

She waves in order to get the bartender’s attention but no such luck. He’s busy with a group of girls at the other end of the bar.

“Hey, Babe.” An arm reaches over Cali’s shoulder. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you tonight.”

David nods in my direction. “What’s up?”

He never addresses me by my name even though he’s been hooking up with Cali for over a year and I’ve seen him dozens of times.

David is the kind of guy I always hated in high school. His family has money and he’s never had to work a day in his life for anything. Cars, clothes, expensive vacations, you name it, and his parents have handed it to him on a silver platter. As a result he has a sense of entitlement that knows no bounds.

No doubt that’s why he feels like he can treat Cali any way he pleases and she just keeps coming back for more.

He runs his fingers through his short brown hair. I’m not sure whether it’s a nervous habit or if he thinks that his fingers are like some kind of comb but he does it all the time.

David is a good-looking guy in a frat-boy kind of way. Cali says he played baseball in high school and he looks like he probably still plays sports. He’s not huge but he’s definitely in good shape.

Cali met David at a frat party. Even though she’s never set foot in a college class she’s spent a lot of time at college parties. David likes to brag about the fact that he’s a business major. I don’t see what the big deal is though. I feel like business is a degree for people who don’t really know what they want to do with their lives.

Not that I have any room to talk. Apparently I earned a degree for people who don’t really want a job.

Before I know it, Cali and David have disappeared somewhere and I’m alone at the bar.


I didn’t even want to come here in the first place.

I have a choice. I can leave or I can order a drink. After the day I’ve had a drink is actually starting to sound appealing.

Purchase Online Here:

Amazon  Black Dog Nights: Part One (The Club Book 1)

Smashwords  Black Dog Nights (Part One)

Barnes and Noble


About the Author:

REN MONTERREY lives in a small town outside Phoenix, Arizona with her husband and their bloodhounds. She writes New Adult and Contemporary romance under a number of different pen names including Sierra Avalon, Savannah Young and Dakota Madison.

Find Ren Online:




Giveaway Details & Entry Form:

Ren is giving away a $5 Amazon GC to one lucky winner.

For a chance to win please fill out the rafflecopter below.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Monday, September 29, 2014

Steamy Excerpt & Spotlight: Blood Diva by VM Gautier #Giveaway

The 19th century's most infamous party-girl is undead and on the loose in the Big Apple.

About Blood Diva:

When 23 year-old Parisian courtesan, Marie Duplessis succumbed to consumption in 1847, Charles Dickens showed up for the funeral and reported the city mourned as though Joan of Arc had fallen. Marie was not only a celebrity in in her own right, but her list of lovers included Franz Liszt – the first international music superstar, and Alexandre Dumas fils, son of the creator of The Three Musketeers. Dumas fils wrote the novel The Lady of the Camellias based on their time together. The book became a play, and the play became the opera La Traviata. Later came the film versions, and the legend never died.

But what if when offered the chance for eternal life and youth, Marie grabbed it, even when the price was the regular death of mortals at her lovely hand?

Today, Marie wonders if perhaps nearly two centuries of murder, mayhem, and debauchery is enough, especially when she falls hard for a rising star she believes may be the reincarnation of the only man she ever truly loved. But is it too late for her to change? Can a soul be redeemed like a diamond necklace in hock? And even if it can, have men evolved since the 1800′s? Or does a girl’s past still mark her?

Blood Diva is a sometimes humorous, often dark and erotic look at sex, celebrity, love, death, destiny, and the arts of both self-invention and seduction. It’s a story that asks a simple question – Can a one hundred ninety year-old demimondaine find happiness in 21st century Brooklyn without regular infusions of fresh blood?

Book Details:

Blood Diva
VM Gautier

Genre: Urban Fantasy

ISBN: 978-1496027511
Nook 2940150733404
Kobo: 9781501416071
I-Books: 908464724

Number of pages: 435
Word Count: 121,000


From Chapter 2

The horrible buzzing resembled no natural sound. Alphonsine reached out, hitting the alarm clock with enough force to send plastic flying like shrapnel.
Merde,” she said, lifting the lilac-scented sleep mask to survey the damage.
The thick black curtains were closed and the room was dark, but she could feel the sun had not quite set. Next time stick to champagne, she reminded herself. The copious amount of whiskey had left her head pounding. The fruit of the vine was mother’s milk to her, but she’d never had much of a tolerance for grain alcohol, and while the effects were not seen on her face, they might be felt, especially when she awoke before it was time.
But she’d promised Pierre she wouldn’t be late. It wasn’t that she wished to please him. She simply couldn’t stand how smug he’d become about her habits. She hated being predictable.
Her headache would be gone if she waited a few more minutes till sunset, but she didn’t have the patience. She reached into her night table, grabbing a small glassine envelope, placed a bit of powder on her finger, and snorted just enough to numb the pain.
She stood up and went to the curtained wall. Despite the stories, her kind did not implode if out before sundown. It was one of many myths designed to keep them safe, not much more truthful than stories about not being able to cross water, needing an invitation to enter a residence, or having an especially strong aversion to garlic.
Daylight, however, was still to be avoided. They were by nature nocturnal, and the longing for sleep might weigh obsessively on the mind. One could use potions to stay awake – drugs in sufficient quantity to kill most mortals, but nothing could overcome the weakness and vulnerability. Worst of all, sunlight caused aging, and at an even more rapid rate than for the day-walkers. The occasional morning stroll, the rare afternoon ride, could over a century add a decade or more, and when one survived on one’s looks and charms, any diminishment was perilous. In direct daylight there would be a tingling, a warning mechanism from the body that would become more intense and unpleasant, but when it was essential to be seen, her kind could pass.
She opened the curtain revealing the island across the river, the lights of the city coming on as the orange globe went down. There was something riveting about watching its power wane. Despite her nakedness, she slid open the terrace door and stepped out to take it all in. There it was before her, the shimmering waters of the East River, and beyond it Manhattan, lit up in its glory. She felt the wind on her face and stretched out her arms. She made a sound halfway between a scream and a howl, a welcome to the moon. She could feel her energy returning. It was night, and the night was hers.
Lacking was the music of insects, birds, wildcats with their grumbling mating calls, the howls of wolves – what her people called night-song. But then, from the time she first came to Paris at fourteen, she’d always been a city girl, and cities had their own pleasures.
Her bathroom was en-suite, but could be accessed through a second door from the living room. Rosa, who came in the mornings to clean, routinely filled the bath. There was a timed heater that kept the water warm. Alphonsine slipped into the oversized tub.
She dove under the bubbles. While her kind needed to breathe, they could control respiration and stay under for hours. She enjoyed soaking this way in very hot water, allowing herself to think and dream. Her morning kill had been so unusual, so exciting, she wanted to relive every detail.
She hadn’t been planning to feed that night, though it had been almost four weeks. She could go five, even six in a pinch, but after that long she felt so fatigued it was hard to distinguish day from night. Pierre and she were planning to get out of town to feast together. He often chided her for her recklessness, pointing out it was not like the old days. Trains, planes, and automobiles made it easy to place distance between oneself and one’s prey. No reason to kill where one lived, but sometimes, one couldn’t help oneself.
She had left the party feeling a particular restlessness. At first believing sex alone might be enough to stave off the hunger, her plan had been to head downtown or back to Brooklyn to find some pretty thing to hook up with. Then she caught a scent, felt something unique was waiting. Violent images flooded her mind as she entered the bar. It was coming into focus – a mortal who killed, not in war, but for fun. While her telepathic powers were weak – she was after all still quite young, she could sense emotions, especially strong ones, and he had been a seething caldron of barely suppressed rage.
Under the warm water, she could still taste it on her tongue, his blood, his essence – all of that delicious hate, and yet in the intimacy of the death-grip, she felt more, his humanity, as though they both were spiraling backwards in time to a moment when even he was innocent.
She’d given him peace. It had been a good death for him. True, she had frightened him when she jumped out. They said in the best hunts the prey never suspected, never felt a moment of unease, but allowances had to be made. After all, he believed he had killed her. She couldn’t let him go to his grave thinking that.
Blood was more than nourishment. It was a sacrament. Some said the blood itself contained the very soul. She doubted such a thing existed. She only knew it had something – a power, a magic like nothing else. Strange how easily satisfied beings like her were, hardly the monsters depicted in myth. As pleasurable as it might be to hunt and feast every night, like the noble lion, they only did so when hungry.
No two people tasted the same – not father and son, nor brother and sister, not even twins. This she knew from her own experience. Children’s blood had a sweetness like the candied grapes young men once brought her as tokens between acts at the opera. There was a freshness to young blood, like apples picked in the summer at a perfect moment of ripeness. Teenaged girls tasted of secrets, and boys of lust. Women, pretty ones, whose hearts had been broken had a certain tenderness and resignation, especially if you came to them when their looks were fading, and there wasn’t much hope. There were men who had an edge like a wine with a bitter after taste, while others were warm and smooth. The old, whom she wasn’t fond of, tasted of sadness, disappointment, and defeat, though they would certainly do when convenient. Human blood, like the human voice, had different timbres. Some had the richness and depth of a bass-baritone while others were light but agile like a coloratura soprano.
A killer, however, especially one who dispatched his own so remorselessly, this was a rare treat indeed. The essence would hold within it all whom he had taken. For her to act so boldly, to take so many chances to have him, was a risk, but what would be the point of immortality without gambles? And she had always loved games of chance.
When she walked in and saw him, saw those thick arms, the sandy hair, could already feel what it would be like to fuck him, to take him perhaps when he was inside her, she knew she had to go through with it. The combination of lust and hunger made her almost giddy, barely able to contain herself.
Still immersed, Alphonsine began to touch her thighs, working up to her pussy, replaying the night.
As soon as she sat down at the bar it became clear he had picked her, imagined her as his next victim. It was too delicious! A chance for play-acting. Something different and rough.
Alphonsine lifted her head above the water, feeling the urge to breathe. Her breaths became quick as she felt her release, the first taste of his blood a vivid memory. Her kind not only felt everything more strongly than mortals, but could recall in full sensory detail.
It had been everything she hoped. Feeling him draining, feeling his life force leaving his body, merging into hers. That final beat of his cruel heart. A rush of something – all his anger, perhaps? It overwhelmed her for a second and then was gone. And he had looked so tranquil – transformed by death – beyond the desire to hurt and kill, beyond it all, finally at rest – a gift she had bestowed on him.
She had closed his eyes, and kissed him once softly on the lips before beginning the task of clean up.
The act of remembering left her not hungry for more blood, but still unsatisfied.
She went back to bed, and reaching over to the night table brought out a vibrator, thrusting it in and out until she finally felt normal. It was not unusual after a feeding to be as randy as a teenaged boy. It was always better to hunt with a partner, to wake together in each other’s arms, able to satisfy any remaining urges. It didn’t matter whether the bedmate was male or female, or what one usually preferred. Often, she and Pierre comforted each other after feeding, though he was naturally drawn to men, and more like an older sibling. That was another thing mortals missed, how gentle and loving they could be with each other. They were, as Pierre had once put it, the bonobos of the supernatural.
When she was ready, she rose from the bed. While her smashed clock was no help, she was sure she was running late as always. There was an important opening at the gallery – a group show of new artists, and she herself had made arrangements for the gala. There would be a poetry slam and a band, and press of course. She pictured the stern look Pierre would give her when she arrived. He kept an apartment above the gallery, and had probably been up since late afternoon, but then a man could afford to look a bit weathered, to pass for forty rather than twenty-five. She could not.
She decided to wear the red dress that night – the one that looked like the one worn by Violetta in that modern dress version of La Traviata she’d seen with Pierre. He’d get the reference.
She pulled her long hair back and expertly twisted it into a single high braid. After working on her make-up, she stepped out into the main room. It was about five hundred square feet, large only by New York standards. There was an open space separated from the small kitchen area by a black granite counter. Rosa had left the usual items out – the vase with camellias, only three, cut fresh and sent to her every day, courtesy of an old acquaintance. She grabbed a single one and pinned it in her hair. There were newspapers – The New York Times so she could learn what was happening in the world, Le Monde because wherever she wandered for however long, Paris would always be her home, and the New York Post because she loved reading about the exploits of the fashionable on Page Six, where she sometimes got a “shout-out” – or rather her current identity did. To the world she was now Camille St. Valois.
She pressed the button on her espresso machine and waited for the dark liquid to fill the cup, as she checked e-mail on her phone. How wonderful to be living in the twenty-first century, where servants were hardly even necessary, and anyone could have anything in an instant. She had once lived her life at light speed. What else could one do when diagnosed with an inevitably fatal illness while still a teenager? Time had not been an enemy for many years, and yet she still wanted to fill every night with pleasure.
She savored the odor of the Sidamo beans, recalling an Ethiopian prince she’d once known. It had made her sad to kill him, but his suspicions were dangerous and she couldn’t resist his sweet royal blood.
Her kind didn’t need food or drink to survive, but a strong cup of coffee in the dawn of the evening was almost as essential to her as the life giving elixir that flowed from the veins of still-living mortals.
Skimming through the New York papers she saw nothing about her activities the previous evening – neither the gathering she’d attended earlier, nor her feast. Despite having risen early to avoid being late, she decided to enjoy a few more quiet moments before rushing out to work.

Purchase Links:

Amazon  Blood Diva



About the Author:

VM Gautier is a pseudonym. This is not VM's first book, but it is VM's first book with fangs. VM is no one you've heard of and is not trying to fool anyone. All will probably be revealed soon, but meantime VM is enjoying the masquerade.

We are never more ourselves than when we wear a disguise.

Find the Author Online:

Web: http://www.blooddiva.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22731729-blood-diva

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Blood-Diva/1478472872374508

Twitter: https://twitter.com/VM_Gautier

GIVEAWAY: a Rafflecopter giveaway