by Angela Smith | May 3, 2016 | Introspective
Craving by Helen Hardt
Steel Brothers Saga; Book 1
288 Pages
Published: May 3, 2016
Published by: Waterhouse Press
Blurb:
After being left at the altar, Jade Roberts seeks solace at her best friend’s ranch on the Colorado western slope. Her humiliation still ripe, she doesn’t expect to be attracted to her friend’s reticent brother, but when the gorgeous cowboy kisses her, all bets are off.
Talon Steel is broken. Having never fully healed from a horrific childhood trauma, he simply exists, taking from women what is offered and giving nothing in return…until Jade Roberts catapults into his life. She is beautiful, sweet, and giving, and his desire for her becomes a craving he fears he’ll never be able to satisfy.
Passion sizzles between the two lovers…but long-buried secrets haunt them both and may eventually tear them apart.
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Excerpt:
His words crept under my skin, and my hackles rose. Why did everything he said cut through me like an ice pick?
“You know, you hardly know me. Why are you being so judgmental?”
“I know you more than you think, blue eyes. I know you’ve had a life so full of privilege that the worst thing in the world that has ever happened to you is you got humiliated on your wedding day.”
“For your information, my life has not been full of privilege. I had a modest upbringing”—I did a one-eighty around his gourmet kitchen, Viking stove and all—“which clearly you did not.”
He chuckled again, and goddamnit, my dander rose.
“Blue eyes, there are some things money can’t buy. Modest upbringing or not, you had a college education. You had a law school education. Once you pass the bar, you’ll be able to get a job that pays decent money. And with your looks and that luscious body of yours, you’ll have no problem attracting another guy in no time. So don’t tell me you don’t have privilege.”
I had to think to understand his last words. I was stuck on the “looks and luscious body” part. Was he attracted to me? This western god? Attracted to me?
I opened my mouth to speak, but before any words came out, he grabbed my arm, pulled me toward him, and crushed his mouth to mine.
The kiss was raw. He forced his tongue between my lips and took, just took.
My legs quivered. Oh, God…
Seven years of kissing Colin…and it had never been like this.
He devoured me, and I melted into him. He grabbed the back of my hair and yanked on it as he continued to plunder my mouth. Electric jolts arrowed straight to my pussy. No man had ever yanked on my hair before, and oh my God… I returned his kiss with greed. Such a soothing salve for my shattered ego. This man…found me attractive… Was kissing me—
He ripped his mouth from mine and sucked on my neck, trailing tiny kisses up to my earlobe.
“God, blue eyes…”
My legs nearly gave way, but he steadied me.
“That guy you almost married,” he whispered into my ear. “Did he ever kiss you like this, blue eyes?”
Meet Helen Hardt~
Helen Hardt is an attorney and stay-at-home mom turned award-winning author. She’s been writing stories since the first grade, when her aspiring writer father encouraged her and gave her a small metal file cabinet with “Helen’s Story Box” written on it in permanent marker. She began her first novel, a young adult romance, in the eighth grade. Although it will never see the light of day, she still has the manuscript that she typed on the old IBM Selectric.
She stopped writing to attend college and law school. She met her real-life hero in law school, and they live in Colorado with her two teenage sons. Helen writes contemporary, historical, paranormal, and erotic romance. Her non-writing interest include Harley rides with her husband, attending her sons’ sports and music performances, traveling, and Taekwondo (she’s a blackbelt.)
Connect with Helen~
~Enter our month long Giveaway~
by Angela Smith | May 2, 2016 | Introspective
Ravel by Shari J. Ryan
272 Pages
Published: November 12, 2015
Published By: Gravity – A Booktrope Imprint
Blurb:
At twenty-three, I’m left with a decision. The outcome could be life or death.
Trent hit me once, and I cried. Then he hit me again. And again. After a while, I got used to it, as I slept on the floor beside his bed, night after night.
Everyone told me to leave him, but I can’t. He won’t let me.
The moment I wanted to give up on myself and any form of hope, Kemper—a tall, sexy Marine just home from Afghanistan walked into my bar. With one look in his eyes, I saw pain that mirrored my own.
At first, I thought maybe he would be my prince charming, riding in to save me, but all it took was one tragedy for me to remember…fairy tales don’t exist in real life.
*The content in this book discusses domestic violence and is suitable for readers over 18*
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Excerpt:
“That’s twice in one day I’ve had to save you,” Kemper says, his soft voice soothing my nerves as he presses a cool compress against my forehead. His other hand is cupped around my cheek. No one has ever cared enough to save me. Kemper’s face is inches from mine and I can smell the cool mint on his breath from the gum he’s been chewing.
“I guess so,” I mutter, falling a little deeper into his gaze.
His thumb runs down the length of my nose, and while most of me is feeling pain, that sensation still drives quivers through my body. “Does that hurt?” he asks.
I shake my head, “Not too much,” I say, noticing a slight ache in my neck.
His thumb moves over to my right cheekbone and he presses gently. “How about that?” All I feel is the warmth from his skin. I shake my head again. He does the same for my left cheekbone. This time I wince. It hurts. I clench my eyes and I hear him yell to someone to grab ice. “Is this the first time he’s hit you?” Kemper’s brows are bowed toward his nose while his thumb continues to trace small circles around my cheek. I’d rather lean into his hand than respond.
In truth, I just don’t want to answer him, but he’s still staring at me, waiting for a response. I look down, away from his gaze. The ache in my chest, mixed with feeling like a weak woman, makes me want to cry, but I won’t cry in front of all these people. His finger curls under my chin and he tilts my face back up to look at him. His eyes are kind and caring, yet pained at the same time. The light is hitting them at the perfect angle, giving them the slightest shimmer in the center of each pupil. Then there are his lips—I can’t stop looking at those either. They’re full and capable. They look like they have the ability to kiss in a way I’ve definitely never been kissed. I want to touch his lips, but I belong to Trent—the asshole that just hit me.
Meet Shari J Ryan~
International Bestselling Author, Shari J. Ryan, hails from Central Massachusetts where she lives with her husband and two lively little boys.
Shari has always had an active imagination and enjoys losing herself in the fictional worlds she creates.
When Shari isn’t writing or designing book covers, she can usually be found cleaning toys up off the floor.
Connect with Shari~
~Enter our month long Giveaway~
by Angela Smith | May 1, 2016 | Introspective
Soldier’s Heart by Megan Green
Wounded Love; Book 2
205 Pages
Published: March 29, 2016
Published by: Megan Green
Blurb:
Isaiah Wright is broken. So broken he’s positive he’ll never be fixed again. Surviving every soldier’s worst nightmare is enough for him to want nothing more than to give into the blackness that plagues him.
Emma Nicholls knows pain. Four years after the devastating loss of her fiancé, she’s set up her own business providing service dogs to veterans in an attempt to put her own life back together.
Circumstance brings Isaiah into her life, but neither are prepared for the fire that burns between them. It’s immediate, one broken soul finding solace in another, but it’s also… terrifying.
His soldier’s heart is surrounded by walls ten feet high. But maybe, just maybe, Emma and her brood of trainee service dogs can break through and be the light he so desperately needs.
Purchase Links:
Excerpt:
“Just through here,” I say confidently.
“Are you sure, Wright? I have a bad feeling about this place. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Trust me. We’ve been watching this area for weeks. The men we’re looking for are on the other side of this wall.”
My men line up, preparing to enter the room.
I lift my hand.
On my count.
One.
Two.
I kick open the door, falling back as I let my men charge into the room.
Everything happens so fast.
A shout in Arabic.
A gunshot.
A clamor of English.
An explosion.
***
I jerk from my bed, my arms raising in a defensive position as I take in the room around me. It’s pitch black, the only semblance of light coming from the digital alarm clock glowing in the corner. By its faint light, I’m able to make out my bed. The chair in the corner covered in yesterday’s clothes. My dresser. I’m in my bedroom. I’m home.
I repeat the words over and over to myself, but they do nothing to calm my frayed nerves. My heart races, my breathing ragged. I feel as if I’m going to crawl right out of my skin. I bring my trembling hand to my face, wiping my sweat-soaked brow.
I sit on the edge of my bed, tucking my head between my knees and taking several deep breaths, like my therapist suggested for when these moments occur. And like every other time this has happened, cowering and deep breathing does jack shit. I stomp out of my bedroom, heading for the medicine cabinet in the hall bathroom. I fling open the cabinet door, grabbing for the pills she gave me for when the breathing exercises don’t work. Fuck breathing exercises. I don’t believe for a minute that shit works for anyone.
I swallow two of the pills, not bothering with water, before placing the bottle back on the shelf and swinging the mirrored door shut. I stare at my reflection. I look like shit. My eyes are bloodshot, the dark circles surrounding them deepening every day. The pallor of my normally copper skin is shocking, even to my own eyes. I splash some water on my face, rubbing at my tired, aching eyes.
My thoughts return to my dream. The same one I’ve had every night for the past six months. I hear the voices. The sound of gunfire. I see the flash of the grenade exploding.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, grabbing the pills again and swallowing three more, this time with a small sip of water from the sink. It’s more than Beth wants me to take. But I need some fucking sleep. I need some fucking silence. I need some fucking oblivion.
I stagger out to the couch, feeling the rush of calm already settling over me. I honestly don’t know why I don’t take these damn pills all the time. They’re so much fucking better than the alternative. I collapse on the couch, pulling a blanket around me before allowing the sweet serenity of sleep to take over.
Meet Megan Green ~
Megan lives in northern Utah with her husband, Adam, and incredibly spoiled dog, Tucker. She spends far too much time reading anything and everything she can get her hands on.
Connect with Megan~
~Enter our month long Giveaway~
by Angela Smith | Apr 30, 2016 | Introspective
Exciting news for the month of May! I’m honored to be a part of a blog tour for the entire month of May, featuring books in tribute of our military. The theme of these stories is that the hero, (or maybe even the heroine), is a soldier or retired vet. There are going to be daily posts featuring a book, an excerpt, etc., throughout many blogs and Facebook pages, including this one, and the women putting this on, from Paging through the Days, are offering many giveaways.
And, because I have two novellas that feature Vietnam Vets, I am offering a bit of my own surprise. Throughout the month, I will be giving away my own stories, music, gift cards, and other fun things (you’ll have to stay tuned to find out). All you have to do is comment, like, or share my posts (not all of them, although the more you do, the more you are entered to win). Also, anyone who signs up for my newsletter this month will be entered to win all of my published novels (in mobi or PDF format), along with the newest one being released in August!
So join me tomorrow for the first post, as We Salute Our Military!
by Angela Smith | Mar 26, 2016 | Introspective, Writing
I can’t believe it’s been a month since my last post! So many things have happened. Hubby and I have been busy with our remodel, working full time, and my writing. I have a new contract for a new book, and we’re getting ready for a pretty big trial at work.
I took a vacation this past week to just try to get some stuff done at home, on my story, and a little free time for myself before I had a major burn out at work. Which was close, believe me. Some days, you just need to take some time off and get away from it all, but hubby and I couldn’t take an actual vacation at this time. He would still be working, and it wasn’t good timing for us.
I had plans and goals for my days off, even plotted out the rest of my story (which is basically unheard of in my world), but I was quickly struck, quite literally, with the realization that none of that mattered. I had a small injury/accident that could have been huge, but it took me away from my writing for a few days. Not only that, but once I got the ability to write again, I didn’t want to. I have these 3 ideas, trying to work on most of them, and I had absolutely no interest. There were moments I just sat staring at the sky. It was those moments I realized I needed the most. When I told my husband I should be doing this and that and I’m not getting any work on the house (remodeling) done, he reminded me of why I fell in love with him. He told me it’s my vacation, and that I shouldn’t feel like I should be accomplishing something every hour. I could write something outside of my interest, like horror, or I should be doing something like a hobby, or a nap. A nap? What in the world is a nap? And I was so close to burn out that I had forgotten what a hobby even was, or how to enjoy one.
But alas, the downtime helped tremendously. I surrounded myself with peace and quiet, with positive self-talk, yoga, and even positive podcasts, and lots of Vitamin D. I had a doctor appointment on one of those days, and treated myself to a hair appointment, and wrote some on my phone. Something I’d never been able to do before either. After all, I need my office and a computer, or at least the outdoors and a notebook. I got outside my comfort zone, several times, and that’s exactly what I needed.
So my writing tip of the day is to get outside of your comfort zone. Go somewhere different. Even if it’s a day, a half day, or an hour. If you have a town river and an hour lunch break, go there for lunch (something I used to do all the time that I no longer do). If you work full time and write, it’s really, really hard. If you work full time and do anything, it’s really, really hard.
My husband and I were able to take a half a day off and go Jeeping off-road, something we love to do that we haven’t done in a long time. It was a fabulous break, but the break I had, all alone during the week, was just what I needed to get my head back on straight so that I could actually enjoy this day trip. So if you’re feeling burned out from writing or work or anything, don’t be afraid to take a break. For writers, the pressure to write every day, to produce something every few months, is overwhelming, sometimes to the point of never getting started. If you can only write a book a year, it’s something! So don’t be afraid to take breaks!
One more thing I learned while on vacation. I spent a lot of times outdoors with the cats I take care of. They have taught me so much over the years, but the one thing I leave you with today is:
Cats are always eager! Eager to explore, eat, taste, relish life, experience, and especially play! So be eager to experience life and to do new things.
And if you get stuck, be eager to dig yourself out, even if the path is a bit rocky! Either that, or just get on that rock and kick back for a while!
by Angela Smith | Feb 12, 2016 | Books, Introspective
I love Valentine’s Day! The red, the hearts, the love quotes! Funny thing is, I don’t celebrate. Maybe because it’s way too close to my birthday, among several other family member’s birthdays, or because my husband and I don’t see the need to anymore since we’ve been together so long. I think it’s a great time for new lovers, those who need that extra push, and even children! I always loved it as a child, and I think it’s a great time to show appreciation and respect to those we love (it doesn’t always have to be romance)!
As a child, I always loved the old shoe boxes we decorated, and the care we took in slipping each Valentine card into those boxes. My coworkers and I were just talking about that today, and how memorable and fun it was, and she mentioned her son’s class doesn’t do that. I’m not sure if school stopped doing that or what, but I think it’s sad.
This Valentine’s Weekend, I have big plans. I’m helping host a baby shower for a friend on Saturday, and my husband and I are actually going out on Valentine’s Day, but that’s only to see Deadpool! Can’t wait to see it! Then, of course, there’s the new episode of The Walking Dead! And let’s not forget the big news: Liberation’s release day!
To celebrate here, I wanted to share a snippet of Valentine’s Day from Burn on the Western Slope.
In this scene, we see our hero, Garret, up on stage singing karaoke, and our heroine, Rayma, thinking of…well, read the excerpt and you’ll see. We also meet Chayton, the bartender and Garret’s brother, and Naomi, Reagan’s cousin. Those two end up together in the next novel, Fatal Snag. Join me tomorrow for an excerpt from their story, and on Sunday for a special excerpt from Liberation!
In this particular scene, Chayton, who owns a bar, is hosting a Valentine’s party. If you like what you see, you can always pick up a copy of Burn on the Western Slope here.
Without further ado…
Excerpt:
That weekend, Reagan and Naomi went to Air Dog, sporting grins and laughter. She tried to convince herself she wouldn’t care if Garret didn’t make it to the Valentine’s Party at Air Dog. It’d be best if he didn’t. Something about the red hearts gave Reagan a crazy longing to truly experience love and devotion. To have red roses and dark chocolate delivered to her door. Silly, silly thinking.
Red lights glimmered across the ceiling, emitting low, sexy illumination. A beam of lights corralled atop the dance floor, emanating a stream of colors. Tables flaunted small red candles and white bears.
The décor wasn’t set for sweet. It was set for sexy.
Chayton stood behind the bar with a bright red jersey shirt advertising the number sixty-nine. Only he could look good wearing a shirt like that. With extra help, he tended a flurry of customers. The other bartender was the woman she knew as Simone. The lights flickered off blonde and cherry streaks to make it appear outrageous in an appealing way.
Just the kind of woman Chayton would like. Reagan perceived Naomi’s sigh more than she heard it.
“Ladies, ladies, welcome.” Chayton retrieved two glasses hanging above the counter. “What can I get you? You want to try my Valentine Rose?”
“What’s that?” Naomi asked.
“My specialty. You have to try at least one.”
“Hit me,” Naomi said, and glared when Chayton winked. And here Reagan thought they were getting along.
“And you, Reagan?”
“I’ll try it,” she said, trying not to be too conspicuous as she searched for Garret. Even if it was best he didn’t come, she longed to see him. It wouldn’t be hard to blend in here. Masses of people swarmed the bar and the dance floor brimmed with patrons.
Reagan watched Chayton concoct the beverages. Naomi focused her attention away from the bar.
“I thought you and Chayton were friends,” Reagan said.
Naomi nodded. “We are.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Chayton returned, furnishing their requested beverages.
Reagan popped a couple bucks in the tip jar. “What’s going on tonight?” she asked.
“Entertainment night. Tourists and locals play music, tell jokes, karaoke, whatever they want to do onstage as long as it’s legal. Gets pretty crazy but it’s loads of fun.”
“Where’s Garret?” Naomi asked, as if she knew Reagan was dying to ask but wouldn’t.
He nodded behind them before turning to another customer.
Reagan swiveled her chair to look. Garret stood on stage, a guitar strapped around his neck. The loud music overhead stilled and Garret sat on a chair in the middle of the stage. The lights dimmed.
Reagan swallowed. The pulse in her throat ached. A bright flash of panic seared her eyes. She blinked.
His hair, mussed to perfection, coasted across his forehead and curled at his neck. She resisted the urge to jump him, right there on stage. Her thoughts grew naughtier as she imagined the stage lights illuminating their bodies as they made love.
Reagan gripped Naomi’s hand. “Ohmigod. He sings.”
“That’s yet to be determined,” Naomi said.
“He’s a Greek God.”
“Yes, he is.”
“And I haven’t slept with him yet.”
Naomi coughed as her drink sputtered to her nose. Reagan slapped her back with the palm of her hand. Okay, not the best move if her friend had been choking, but whatever.
“Yet?” Naomi asked.
“I should live a little dangerously, right? I can’t help that the first guy I see is fine, intelligent, and sings. Remember, I’m being wild? Leaving my safe little past behind?”
“Okay, so you’re ready to make the first move?”
“Give me a few more of these,” Reagan said as she held up her drink, “and I will.”
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