Archive | January 2017

Review: How to Date a Douchebag: The Failing Hours by Sara Ney

Title: How To Date A Douchebag: The Failing Hours
Author: Sara Ney
Genre: New Adult, Sports Romance, College Romance

Release Date: January 31, 2017


Zeke Daniels isn’t just a douchebag; he’s an asshole. 

A total and complete jerk, Zeke keeps people at a distance. He has no interest in relationships—most assholes don’t. 

Dating? Being part of a couple? Nope. Not for him.
He’s never given any thought to what he wants in a girlfriend, because he’s never had any intention of having one. 

Shit, he barely has a relationship with his family, and they’re related; his own friends don’t even like him. 
So why does he keep thinking about Violet DeLuca? 
Sweet, quiet Violet—his opposite in every sense of the word.

The light to his dark, even her damn name sounds like rays of sunshine and happiness and shit.

And that pisses him off, too.

Best Read of 2017! A one click must for any lover of hot, sexy romance done RIGHT ! [This] story is the quintessential slow burn effect…Zeke will come to own your body and soul–I am OBSESSED with this series and The Failing Hours has just shot to my ‘Best of All Time’ list. Be prepared to fall in love with a douche bag and the woman who sets him straight. ” – Books and Boys Book Blog
“That was EVERYTHING I expected, wanted, dreamed of. . . this is a MUST FREAKING READ. UNFORGETTABLE goodness. NA romance at it’s best.”  – Angie’s Dreamy Reads
“Sara Ney has delivered a sexy, jerkwad douchebag with soul-deep feelings and the sweet, kind, unassuming girl to reach his hidden heart in one of the best NA romantic comedies I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. Ney’s impeccable writing, fresh characters, and feel-good story will stick with you forever.” – Bestselling Author Staci Hart
“I took so much pleasure in Zeke’s looming destruction (insert evil laugh)….” – The Reading Belles

The clock on the wall counts the seconds, steady as the rhythm of my beating heart, which thumps wildly within my chest until the glass door to the library opens, propelled by a gust of wind.


Some new fallen leaves flutter in, the heavy doors slamming from the draft.


Along with them? Zeke Daniels.


He shuffles in, dark gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, black Iowa Wrestling hoodie pulled up over his head, the university’s bright yellow mascot screen-printed across the chest. Backpack slung over one shoulder, black athletic flip-flops, and a pair of black sunglasses perched on the bridge of his strong nose complete the overall ensemble.

He is utterly…ridiculous. 


Unapproachable. 


Daunting.


His arrogance knows no bounds; I can see it in his loose gait, the exaggerated swagger, and the too-casual way he’s dragging his flip-flops across the cold, marble tile floor. It’s noisy, irritating, and completely uncalled for. 


In the moment, my mind drifts to his personal life, and I theorize that he listens to heavy metal music to sooth his foul temperament, drinks his coffee black—as black as his soul—and his liquor straight up. I imagine once he’s had sex with someone, they’re never invited back. I go one step further and theorize that they’re never invited to spend the night at his place, either.


Zeke Daniels makes his way to a table at the far end of the room, near the periodicals, one out of the way with plenty of privacy.


Sets his bag down in one of the four wooden chairs. Flicks on the small study lamp. Plugs his laptop cord into the base and stands. 


Turns.


Our eyes would have met then were it not for those ludicrous sunglasses. I choose the exact moment he lifts his gaze to look down at the ground. Busy myself with shuffling papers on the counter. Count to ten instead of chanting, Please don’t come over, please don’t come over, please don’t come over…


But luck isn’t on my side because he most decidedly does. 


Makes his way over like a predator at a pace so deliberate, I’m convinced he’s doing it on purpose. As if he suspects I’m watching from under my long lashes, dreading his imminent arrival.


He basks in my discomfort.


The distance between us closes, his strides purposeful.


Twenty feet.


Fifteen.


Ten.


Eight.


Three.


His large hand reaches up, pushing down the hood of his sweatshirt, his fingertips pinching the earpiece of his sunglasses and pulling them off his face. My eyes follow the movements as he folds them closed, hanging them on the neckline of his hoodie. 


His gaze lingers—those clear gray eyes famous around campus—and finds the shiny silver bellhop bell perched on the counter with the sign next to it that reads, Ring for help.


Ding. 


The tip of his forefinger presses down on the small bell.


Ding.


He hits it again, despite me standing not three feet in front of him.


What an ass.

Review:

I looooved this book! I cracked up from the first page, especially since the quotes heading each chapter were real. Zeke, the hero, if you call an always angry douchebag a hero, was fantastic. Too handsome, too shallow, and he hated people-all people. Zeke loved to bet but always lost. Absolutely nothing redeemable about him. The girls on campus loved to hate him. Hit it and quit it could be Zeke’s motto. His coach had enough. He forced Zeke to be a big brother. Coach wanted that chip on his shoulder gone. He figured on showing Zeke he didn’t have it so bad.

Violet was shy, quiet and stuttered when she talked.  She had to tutor Zeke. She lied to get out of tutoring him but he returned. Zeke scared the shit out of her! But if she wanted to keep her job, she had to do it. Violet just knew Zeke would embarrass her. Violet was right, he did. So how did he manage to captivate her?

Violet had no boobs and she looked ready to blow away. She always a damned do gooder. She loved kids, kept her nose clean, Zeke could go on and on. So why did she fascinate him?

Seeing Zeke with his little, seeing the gambling for what it was, seeing the pain in his eyes, Violet took a chance on opening her heart. But really, once an asshole, ALWAYS an asshole!

Hilarious and tender, watching Zeke attempt to grow had me howling with laughter. I even managed to get a little teary eyed. (I couldn’t help it, he was such an ass to Violet!) Definitely worth the time to read.

Then I find out it is the second in a series. Sniff. Now I HAVE to get the first one. So don’t miss this!

Purveyor of all things witty & romantic, I love: iced latte’s, traveling, and bright, bold colors. On any given day, you can find me in my office, lovingly gazing at my bookshelf or shuffling my Bic felt-tip pen collection. I love hand writing letters, and sarcasm. 


I live in the midwest, but “Will Write for Travel,” and believe everyone should follow their dreams, no matter how big or small. My favorite authors include Cindy Miles, S Walden, Suzanne Enoch, Tessa Dare (to name a few). I am a glutton for Historical, RomCom, Sports and MC romance.


One husband. Two daughters. Plenty of chaos.

HOSTED BY:

Within the Essence

withintheessence-v5Within the Essence (The Division: Book One)

By Connie L. Smith

$3.99

ISBN: 978-1-945910-02-9

 

Buy Links:

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/within-the-essence

Amazon:

 

 

Blurb:

As the demons near, the Essences rise…

AJ had never been particularly athletic or coordinated, so waking up to realize she suddenly has super-human strength is a massive, mind-shaking shock. Finding that she’s gained a stalker overnight is another mark in the unusual category, and when she discovers she’s always had the essence of a werewolf in her blood, her world all but shifts beneath her.

Demons, she’s told, are looming in the world’s future, and the only hope humanity has of surviving their arrival is if she and teenagers like her surrender their humanity to dive into their mythical essences. Fairies, dragons, dwarves, mermaids… The remnants of seventeen different fantasy species must come to life to save the lives of everyone.

Someway, an army of supernatural teenagers must prepare to meet the demons escaping from their dimensional banishment, or everything ends. Can these teens succeed and save the world?

 

 

About the Author:

Connie L. Smith spends a decent amount of time with her mind wandering in fictional places. She reads too much, likes to bake, and might forever be sad that she doesn’t have fairy wings. And that she can’t swing dance. Much of her preferred music is severely outdated, and as an adult she’s kind of obsessed with Power Rangers. She has her BA from Northern Kentucky University in Speech Communication and History (she doesn’t totally get the connection either), and her MA in English and Creative Writing.

 

Websites:

Main Site: http://conniesmithbooks.weebly.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/clsmithbooks

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Connie-L.-Smith/e/B00E8969DG/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1474405833&sr=8-1

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7257320.Connie_L_Smith

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CLSmithbooks

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/clsmithbooks/

Sewing/Quilting Blog: http://www.sewingmachinesplus.com/sewblog/author/conniesmith/

Sale Sunday!

 

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Rosinanti (The Rosinanti Series Book 1)

By Kevin J. Kessler

Genre: Fantasy Action Adventure

BLURB:

The Rosinanti Dragons are no more. Since their extinction nearly one thousand years ago these primal powerhouses have fallen into the obscurity of history’s

forgotten lore. In that time, humans have come to dominate the world of Terra, peacefully ignorant to one horrifying truth: ancient evil stirs around them, waiting to reclaim its lost world. For Valentean Burai, animus warrior of the kingdom of Kackritta,

the details surrounding humanity’s victory over the Rosinanti are more than just a history lesson. The long-buried mysteries of this archaic conflict may hold the answers that he has so desperately sought regarding his own past. As the awful truth of the Rosinanti’s

supposed demise comes to light, Valentean must stand together with Seraphina, a magically gifted princess, to embark upon a mission to maintain order and light throughout Terra. Only together can these two lifelong friends face down the resurgence of the Rosinanti

legacy, and combat the greatest threat their world has ever known.

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Also Available in Kindle Unlimited and Paperback

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ALSO AVAILABLE

Rosinanti: The Decimation of Casid (A Rosinanti Novella, Volume 1.5)
By Kevin J. Kessler

Genre: Fantasy Action Adventure

roscov.jpgWhile an entire world away, men turn into dragons and ancient magic ignites the air, Casid lived on in peaceful ignorance. This tiny village and its people existed

outside of the conflict which threatened to swallow Terra, until the day chaos itself landed upon its shores.

Now, one lone warrior seeks to protect his family, his friends, and the woman he loves as demons rise from the flames to burn everything he has ever loved to

ash. This man is no god, no fundamental force of nature. He is simply a man, alone against the fury of chaos.

Casid will be decimated, consumed by the same blaze which threatens to overtake all of Terra. But what will rise from the ashes of this once perfect haven, forged

in the fires of tragedy and loss, might become the most fearsome opponent the darkness has ever known.

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Also Available in Kindle Unlimited and Paperback

 Image may contain: 1 person, text
Abby Sullivan ran away… and found her soulmate.
The only trouble is… he’s a wolf.
Desperate to get away from a man who won’t stop telling her what to do, Abby Sullivan steals a battered boat and heads out toward what she thinks is the mainland. Instead, she arrives at another island–the home of a gorgeous, mysterious man named Aaron, who seems to be the soulmate she’s been looking for all her life.

But Aaron’s secrets go deeper than Abby could ever imagine. He’s not a recluse, or part of a group of doomsday preppers. He, and every member of his small island community, are werewolves–and the others aren’t at all happy about the arrival of a human, someone they’re sure could destroy everything they have.

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iBooks: http://apple.co/2jkWcHe

*This is an iBooks exclusive promotion.*

Blurb:

One week.
Private beach.
Invisible girl.
Jerk-faced bully.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Kaitlyn Parker has no problem being the invisible girl, which is why she finds herself hiding in various cabinets and closets all over her college campus. Despite her best efforts, she can’t escape the notice of Martin Sandeke—bad boy, jerkface bully, and the universe’s hottest, wealthiest, and most unobtainable bachelor—who also happens to be Kaitlyn’s chemistry lab partner.
Kaitlyn might be the only girl who isn’t interested in exploiting his stunning rower’s build, chiseled features, and family’s billionaire fortune. Kaitlyn wants Martin for his brain, specifically to tabulate findings of trace elements in surface water.
When Kaitlyn saves Martin from a nefarious plot, Martin uses the opportunity to push Kaitlyn out of her comfort zone: spring break, one week, house parties, bathing suits, and suntan lotion. Can she overcome her aversion to being noticed? Will he be able grow beyond his self-centered nature? Or, despite their obvious chemistry, will Martin be the one to drive Kaitlyn into the science cabinet of obscurity for good?

 

Rise of the Dragons

 

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Okay, what do you think of this cover? Is the picture of the man and woman too subtle? I’ve been working on it and this is one I like the best so far. Rise of the Dragons is in edits. Suggestions have been made and I’m expanding it. NOT into full length! It will still be a short story, but larger than I had it come out in serial. So, soon!

So, would the cover draw you in? Or not? What do you like or don’t like about it?

Flightless ~ L Duarte

Title: Flightless
By: L. Duarte
Publication Date: January 23, 2017
Publisher: LD Publishing LLC
Genre: Romance
Cover Designer: Okay Creations
#flightlesstour

Everyone has a story.Mine went like this: Once upon a time, I met a boy. He was the most handsome fella in the land. I fell in love. Together, we had cosmic chemistry. I believed I would live a life of unending bliss. Until he broke my heart. Shattered it to pieces. And I lived unhappily ever after instead. The end.

Or so I thought.

Life found a way to reunite us. But to change that unhappy ending, I had to learn how to forgive. And my heart seemed unable to do so.

This is a love story. But it is also, much more. It’s the story of how I coped with my shortcomings, my fears and rewrote my destiny. Everyone has a story. This is mine.

AMAZON UK – https://goo.gl/usJ3w4
AMAZON CA – https://goo.gl/VPrQMu
AMAZON AU – https://goo.gl/ItxgHI
Check out these other amazing books from L. Duarte

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 AMAZON  – http://amzn.to/2jLA6ly
Chapter One
I stepped back. Not literally, just figuratively. I did that with every concert. I allowed my mind’s eyes to hover over me and my fans while I analyzed and dissected the unique relationship between us.
As I watched the multitude of people—a beautiful kaleidoscope of different races and social statuses—my heart, in utter bliss, roared.
The audience held their hands upwards as if in an offering or a request. I never knew which. In perfect synchrony, their arms rolled in waves like the swaying of a stormy sea. Their voices cried out my name, and the smell of their sweat and the heat of their mingled bodies emanated from them, unfurling to me like the sweet perfume of incense.
I held the mic near my motionless lips and stared at them. At that moment, I became one with thousands. At that moment, I took back from the crowd all the energy I had fed them. And their vibe made me high and drunk. It was my personal Nirvana. The kind of rapture that can only be attained through uttermost intimacy. A oneness I had only felt with one other person. A person who had severed that connection and shattered my heart into a million shards of pain.
I worshiped them as they adored me. The exchange of atomic energy contained nuclear power. I was drained from giving. They were wasted from receiving. But we were both impossibly happy and satisfied.
My motionless lips finally moved, uttering the final words for the night. The parting words. “Good night, Sydney!” I waved a hand back at them. “You looked beautiful tonight. All forty thousand of you.”
I bowed. They deserved my reverence. People had spent their time camped outside the venue waiting for a closer glance at me. They had spent their precious earned money to see my performance. They were worthy of my respect and gratitude.
Another wave of a hand. A kiss. Another bow. And I was out. Another show was done. Eight more to go.
I jogged backstage and gave the mic to Jeremy, my makeup artist, in exchange for a bottled water. He opened a portable case containing all the potions that would quickly improve my appearance for the meet and greet. 
Before I took a swig from the bottle, Clara, my assistant, brusquely interrupted my post-concert ritual. She snatched the bottle from my hand and returned it to a confused Jeremy. “Gray. With me,” she demanded, grabbing my elbow and urging me toward my changing room.
I glanced back at the stunned face of Jeremy. It was time for meet and greet with the VIP’s. I needed to freshen up. My makeup had all but melted under the stage lights.
Once inside the privacy of the room, I demanded, “What’s going on?”
She raised a finger and said, “Wait.”
I opened my mouth to protest. Instead, I swallowed the words. Clara was usually a chatterbox; her clipped words quickly clued me in that something was seriously wrong.
As I waited, Clara dialed a number on her phone. Her silence became as unnerving as the red glare of an alarm light.
“Betty, I have Gray,” Clara said. Wordlessly, she shoved the device in my hand. The door closed with a thud after she exited in a flurry of silent drama. 
“Mama?” I asked holding the phone to my ear.
“Hey, Puppy,” Mama said in a soft, almost regretful tone.
“What’s going on?” I asked. Silence filled the other end of the line, only increasing my concern. Mama knew I had just left the stage. She followed my tour from home. Minute by minute. It was unusual for her to call me so soon following a show.
“How was, um, the, um, concert?” she asked.
“Mama, did you call me to ask how the show went?” I furrowed my brows and every hair on my body stood at attention. Mama knew my routine during a tour. After a performance, I had a brief meet with fans and then I would go on hours of silence to rest my vocal cords. Although she knew she could call me at any time, she never called until at least ten hours following a show.
“Mama?” I prodded after a long silence.
“I have cancer,” she said bluntly.
The phone connection was perfect. No static. But Mama’s words hummed in my ear with a tunnel-like quality. Distorted, altered, garbled. My mind, however, had remained sharp and alert. Without much thought and after a brief pause, I uttered the words, “I’m coming home.” I hadn’t said those words in over a decade. Somehow, they didn’t taste as foreign as I had imagined they would.

  ***

“Gray,” I said. The word hovered on my tongue, saturating my taste buds with an acrid taste. “Gray,” I repeated, letting it roll off my tongue. I did that a lot. It was my name.
Often, I mused about my name. It hadn’t been given to me because it was fashionable. Nevertheless, it had a history. My history.
When I was little, I liked to fancy its origin. The sky, I would think, was painted gray the day I was born. I loved the theory. The unattainability of the infinite mass of gray made it a great namesake. Whenever gray clouds hovered in the sky, I would lay on my back and stare at them, dreaming that when I grew up, I would build an enormous ladder, climb it, and touch the gray painted dome. It was all, of course, a foolish child’s dream, born out of vain imagination. I wasn’t born during the day, nor was the sky gray. And it was most definitely not the inspiration behind the choosing of my name.
I was born in a graveyard. Serene Hills Cemetery, it was called, though its surface was flat. It was a fall night, October 20th, approximately 11 pm.
They found me covered in vernix. I used the term ‘they’ loosely. A dog found me. A female German Shepherd mix that went by the name of Sunshine. Her fur was golden. Shiny like sun rays. I had a newspaper cut-out of her. It’s black and white, but it described her that way. In the shot, she looked straight at the camera, two vivid round eyes dotting a long and alert face. She had the knowing stare of someone who was aware she had done a good deed.
Obviously, I don’t recall the details surrounding my birth. I was an infant. But I had Mama tell me the story so many times, which after a while, the images ingrained in my brain like the roots of a tree embedded in the fertile soil. They became so real in my imagination that it felt as if they were my recollections.
I was a born a preemie. Weak, small, and blotchy-faced. I was skin and bones with a mop of black spiky hair, and a bad case of a cold.   
A miracle, they called me. But I knew I was no wonder. I happened to have the perfect concoction of healthy lungs and a loud cry. These, and the sharp canine sense of hearing and smelling had saved me. I didn’t believe in miracles. Not anymore.
When they found me, decay from the trees covered the ground on a fascinating palette of colors—an array of red, yellow, purple, brown, orange, golden, bronze.
I used to question why the leaves change colors and fall off the branches. According to a scientific explanation, leaves are a weak and feeble part of a plant. So, before the weather gets severely cold, the trees should toughen up to protect themselves. Or simply dispose of the leaves, the weak part.
Personally, I believe they turn colors before falling as revenge. A personal vendetta. And for that I applaud them. They turn their death into a poetic and alluring sight. That line of thought made me believe death was beautiful. It fascinated me. It’s more interesting than birth, although similar.
I had been abandoned under a pile of dead foliage. According to the police investigation, it appeared my birth mother had buried me under the leaves. Hid me. Like a criminal attempting to cover its tracks. Supposedly, I spent the night under a cocoon of leaves. The tree’s decay was soaked with blood and amniotic fluid.
According to Sunshine’s owner, they were walking on the sidewalk by the cemetery when she heard a whizzing sound. Sunshine’s owner discarded the noise as being the cry of squirrels.
Sunshine didn’t. At odds with her sweet nature, she became agitated and broke loose. She squeezed through a small gap in the fence and disappeared between the gravestones, leaving her owner in a frenzy.
Less than a minute later, Sunshine returned. Her mouth muzzled around my small waist, my umbilical cord dragging, rattling the decayed leaves.
I found my story fascinating, unique. Or so I told myself whenever I got teased at school.
The hospital staff called me the Graveyard Miracle. Soon after, Gray for short. It stuck.
I spent three months in the hospital. That’s where Mama worked. The graveyard shift. She fed me. She bathed me. She caressed my skin. “My heart had not a chance. It fell madly in love with you,” she said, whenever she told me my story. Her pale hand, dotted with freckles, caressing my black, straight hair.
 When I became her child officially, she quit the night job. “I had brought home my very own Graveyard Miracle.”
She found a day job at a pediatric clinic, occasionally helping at the hospital for extra income. She continued working at the clinic throughout my childhood, adolescence, and after I left home. She remained there until cancer said, “No more.” Until cancer said, “I want your time. From now on, you are going to dedicate every waking hour to me. I’m egocentric. I want it all. I want your flesh and the total sum of your soul.”
That’s why I was there, sitting in the back of a limousine Clara had rented to pick me up from JFK airport and take me home.
“When should I schedule your flight to LA?” she had asked. “Only a one-way ticket for now,” I responded.
32 Lorelai Lane, my childhood home. It was a small Victorian-style house, built in 1929. The colorful foliage of a maple tree and an oak tree framed the dwelling as if it was extracted from the pages of a fairy tale book. When I was little, I used to fancy my house was lovely. The most enchanting place in all realms. Staring at the house, I discovered that I still thought that. It was the most magical place in the world because it was the place that humans refer to it as ‘home’. And home is a thing of fairy tales. Rare and pure.
The car door was wide open, awaiting me. I climbed out. The driver stood straight as a pole. His hands perfectly folded in front of him, his face impassive. I wondered how long he had stood there, waiting for me, questioning my sanity. The luggage was lined up at the front porch. His face remained expressionless when I pulled a generous tip from my purse and handed it to him. “Thank you,” I murmured.
He drove off, the sound of the engine trailing off into the quiet street. It was late at night. The crisp air smelled of burnt wood and autumn, reminiscent of bonfires and fireplaces.
I crossed the stone path leading to the front steps.
The hinges of the front door squeaked, and Mama slowly appeared as light spilled out from inside the house. She leaned against the doorframe, cocked her head, her eyes fixed on me. She knew me so well. She knew I needed the time.
I peered up, carefully examining Mama’s face. It had been only two months since I had last seen her, but she appeared decades older. Even under the porch’s pale yellowed light, I could detect the lines circling her mouth. Small bags sagged under her eyes, and her plump skin appeared loose, dripping like melting wax. Her hair showed inches of gray and her usual square and proud shoulders were smaller, fragile. But what got my attention the most were her eyes. Their vivid green had turned opaque.
The grief and sorrow in her stare set my feet in motion, and I climbed the steps.
When mama stepped forward, the old wooden floor groaned and creaked under her feet. She came to a halt at the top of the stairs. Her lips curved into a small smile, and her arms spread open in an inviting hug.
As I stepped forward, my legs felt wobbly with the weight of so many years of absence.

 

I have found that there is only one thing better than reading, and that is writing. I am always torn between the two. I am also frequently torn between chocolate and coffee. However, I emphatically do not like the month of February, lies, and flies. For me, bravery is defined by the courage to do what we fear the most. I live in Connecticut with my husband and two children. Drop a few lines. I would love to hear from you.

Rogue ~ Release Blitz

51fh769dymlRogue by Steve Soderquist and Laura Ranger

Chris and Lexi Denton led what they considered a normal life.

Lexi worked as a dance instructor at a local studio, and Chris was a successful broker at a firm in downtown Miami, Florida.

When Chris gets entangled with a crime boss who utilizes his talent for numbers to cover up deadly secrets, the pair soon discover much more than just Carlos Mandini’s dark secrets, they discover their own.

Chris and Lexi Denton are not who they believed.

As they run for their lives from Mandini and his organization, who they are and what they are capable of, begins to surface. Their pasts are remembered, memories the government thought they had wiped out; the very government that created them.

Now locked in a struggle for their right to even exist, they soon find themselves combating others like them—enhanced government projects created since birth to supplement and aid other military projects. In a run for their lives they discover what they’re capable of, incredible feats of mental and physical strength and skill.

Those in charge neglected to factor in the most important lesson Chris and Lexi learned on their own…

Love supersedes science.

Culminating in an explosive ending that will leave the reader breathless, the two make it their mission to do what they know must be done—assure the Lz Project is not only destroyed, but can never be reactivated…

Even if it means they sacrifice themselves.

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Trailer: https://youtu.be/ZwSry3jbnlo

https://www.amazon.com/Rogue-Steve-Soderquist-ebook/dp/B00ZCVODZK/
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/rogue-55
https://www.scribd.com/book/296491235/Rogue
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/rogue-steve-soderquist/1122089314?ean=9781680461091
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/547015
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/rogue/id1086412280?mt=11


******

steve-soderquistSteve Soderquist was quite a successful musician twenty-odd years ago and spent many years on the road. He was with numerous bands before finally settling down to a more regular life. However, the writing bug kept biting at him. Steve had started a book called, ‘Mind’s Eye’ when he was seventeen and it never left him. Even though the writing muscle had certainly atrophied, he was getting that tickle like you get in the back of your throat when a cold is coming on.

Publishing his first novella ‘One for the Road’ motivated him to propel. When ‘Farm House’ was complete and those blessed two words were put down, ‘THE END’ he knew he found his calling.

Following up with the science fiction thriller, ‘Seeds’ then co-writing the romance thriller ‘Rogue’ with author Laura Ranger, Steve finished the short children’s story ‘The Littlest Princess’ and is currently working on two more titles.

https://www.facebook.com/SteveSoderquistAuthor/

******

lauraLaura Ranger is a natural storyteller. She has been turning all of life into stories since she was very young. This mother of one, grandmother of three began actually writing her fictitious stories down to the delight of her friends and family. She’s been writing her tales for over twenty years. She became a published author when she put one of her short stories in a Christmas anthology in support of feeding children around the world, entitled Eight ‘Til Christmas. Once she saw one of her stories in print, she will tell you she can’t stop.

In addition to co-authoring Rogue, she has a novel called Lessons, which is almost complete. She envisions parents reading with their children. Laura discovered while writing the book, the lessons throughout the story speak to both children and adults. Additionally, she has contracted her novel Deception with Mélange Books, LLC to be released next year. She is currently writing a novel on good versus evil called Royalty, and new stories coming to her all the time.

Laura will tell you, “God blessed me with a natural gift of storytelling; it is up to me to use that gift to the best of my ability.”

https://www.facebook.com/laurarangerauthor/

Available on KU ~ Gone ~ From USA Today bestselling author Karen Fenech

gone-cover-image-sent-to-laurie-cooper-oct-25-2014

From USA Today bestselling author Karen Fenech comes another compelling novel of romantic suspense.

FBI Special Agent Clare Marshall was separated from her sister Beth in childhood when their mother tried to kill them. Now Clare learns that Beth lives in the small town of Farley, South Carolina, but when she goes there to reunite with Beth, Clare discovers her sister is missing and that someone in the town is responsible for her disappearance.

Clare receives an offer to help with the search from fellow FBI Special Agent Jake Sutton. The offer is too good to refuse, though that is exactly what Clare wants to do. Jake is Clare’s former lover, a man she cannot forget, and who has an agenda of his own.

Now while Clare tracks her sister, someone is tracking Clare, and finding her sister may cost Clare her life.

 

GONE at Amazon . com :

https://www.amazon.com/GONE-Karen-Fenech-ebook/dp/B003UV8MJM%3FSubscriptionId%3D1QZMGW0RRJC2PX87HDR2%26tag%3Dsalranexp-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3DB003UV8MJM

GONE at Amazon . co.  uk :

https://www.amazon.co.uk/GONE-Karen-Fenech-ebook/dp/B003UV8MJM%3FSubscriptionId%3D1QZMGW0RRJC2PX87HDR2%26tag%3Dnovelrank-21%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3DB003UV8MJM