Wednesday, November 30, 2016

November 30, 2016 New Releases

Tasty Virtual Book Tour/Giveaway: Raphael's Fling by Alix Nichols


a swoony
bad-boy hero, laugh-out-loud moments 


and a happily-ever-after.


RAPHAEL'S FLING
A Darcy Brother's Romance
Alix Nichols
Released Nov 17th, 2016




My name
is Mia Stoll and I dream about publishing a monograph on medieval Paris.
Problem is, I’m better qualified for writing a handbook on how to go from a
budding scholar to a pregnant runaway in three easy steps. 


- - -

My sister Eva carries a torch for the wrong man. Here’s the gist of my sermons
to her: “Drooling over your hunky astronaut boss is a loser’s trek to Calamity
with three stops along the way: Heartbreak, Job Loss, and Spinsterhood.”



The thing is, I’m in a terrible—you could even say impossible—position to
lecture Eva.



I’m attracted to my own boss.



Raphael d’Arcy is funny, smart, and uber-rich. He’s also smoking hot. That
alone should have scared me away, were I not such a dolt, my academic
achievements notwithstanding.



But there’s more.



Raphael is France’s most notorious playboy who doesn’t do relationships. He
does one-night stands. If sufficiently intrigued, he might do a fling. Which is
the most I could ever hope to have with him—a short-lived fling.



So what, right? It’s not the end of the world.



But consider this: Getting my heart broken by Raphael d’Arcy is the least of
my worries. Some very serious merde has been piling up in my
life lately.



And it’s about to hit the fan.



RAPHAEL'S FLING is a sexy standalone romantic comedy. No cliffhangers.
GUARANTEED: a swoony bad-boy hero, laugh-out-loud moments and a
happily-ever-after.


BUY NOW



How did I come to this?
I sigh, smooth my clothes one last time, and head for the cream leather-padded door.
“Mia, wait!” Raphael calls after me.
I halt and turn around.
He opens his chiseled mouth as if to say something, then shuts it, and gives me a tight smile. The smile of a person having second thoughts on the advisability of what he was going to say.
Well, I’m not waiting around for the result of his inner deliberation.
There are two bulky reports on my desk and a few dozen emails I need to go through before I can leave tonight. Ergo, time is of the essence. Ergo, I resume my hike across Raphael’s vast office until I reach the door. It unlocks smoothly and without a sound, bless its high-tech heart. A sneak peek into the hall to check if the coast is clear, and I slip away without saying good-bye to Raphael or Anne-Marie, his faithful PA.
Just like a lawbreaker.
Well, maybe not a lawbreaker, but definitely a reoffending violator of the Workplace Code of Honor. In particular, of Rule #1 which says: “Workers shall not have sexual intercourse with their hierarchical superiors, inferiors, or posteriors.”
While there’s some controversy over the exact meaning of “inferiors” and “posteriors,” everyone knows that a “superior” is more than just your immediate boss. The concept also covers your boss’s boss, your boss’s boss’s boss’s boss and the Boss of Them All, the CEO.
It’s a very sensible provision, by the way, and one which I totally approve of and adhere to.
As I rush down the hallway, my heels clicking on the marble floor, I realize I should’ve put my observation in the past tense. As in “I used to adhere to.”
Having repeatedly broken the Code’s first rule since March makes me a rogue and a hypocrite of the worst kind.
How did I fall so low?
Here’s a clue: it’s Rudolph the Reindeer’s fault.
God knows, I hadn’t planned on this when I landed the world’s most unexceptional job as assistant to the daily bulletin editor at DCA Paris. DCA stands for “D’Arcy Consulting and Audit.” Yup, the “d’Arcy” that’s sandwiched between “Raphael” and the rest of his fancy name on my lover’s official letterhead paper.
Having sexual intercourse with Raphael d’Arcy du Grand-Thouars de Saint-Maurice, a gentleman and a libertine, was the last thing on my mind when I started at DCA. In fact, it was nowhere near my mind.
Despite my murky past, that’s not who I am. Nor does my life need more complications right now.
Trust me.
Pauline Cordier’s familiar silhouette takes shape at the end of the hallway just as I reach the elevator and push the button. My heart skips a beat. If my direct supervisor sees me on this floor, she’ll assume one of the following two things: A. My presence here is work-related, meaning I’m going over her head; B. My presence here has nothing to do with work, meaning I’m sleeping with one of the senior managers.
Needless to say, both alternatives are equally conducive to me getting sidelined, ostracized, and ultimately fired.
I take a deep breath and give the approaching figure a furtive glance.
It isn’t Pauline.
The woman doesn’t even look like her at this distance.
Phew.
You may not believe me, but I wasn’t sure what Raphael d’Arcy looked like when DCA hired me. Having scanned his official bio in preparation for my job interview, I had formed a vague image which boiled down to “young, well-born and well-dressed.” The specifics of the Founding CEO’s background and appearance hadn’t lingered in my mind. I doubt they’d even entered it.
Because they were not important.
All I wanted from Monsieur d’Arcy was a job at his firm that gave me a monthly paycheck to complement the pittance my school calls a scholarship. That way, I could finish my doctoral program without having to sleep under bridges or borrow money.
Parisian bridges can be drafty, you see. And damp. As for the stench courtesy of well-groomed dogs and ill-groomed humans, don’t even get me started! On top of all that, bridges offer no suitable storage space for research notes, photocopies, and books.
In short, they suck as accommodations.
As for the borrowing, my parents taught Eva and me that debt must be avoided at all costs. Their “debt is bad” precept proved stronger than the knowledge that everyone lives on credit in Western societies today.
Except my parents, that is.
Then again, they live in rural Alsace. Life’s a lot cheaper there than in la capitale, so they were able to make it into their fifties without a single loan to cloud their horizon.
My phone rings as I step off the elevator on the second floor, relieved that no one saw me in Top Management’s heavenly quarters. Considering that I’ve been sneaking out like this for two months already, the probability that someone will see me and that it’ll reach Pauline’s ears is growing by the day.
And it freaks me out more than I care to admit.
As I answer the phone, Raphael’s deep, sexy timbre breaks me from my worries.
“You left your panties here,” he says, sounding amused and smug at the same time. In short, his usual self.
“No, I didn’t—”
Oh crap. I did.
“I got five minutes before the managerial,” he says, “so if you want to come back and collect—”
“No!” I look around and lower my voice, “It’s OK. I’m sure I can make it through the afternoon without them.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that. The question is whether I can make it through the afternoon with the knowledge you’re without them.” He pauses, as if pondering the question and then adds, “And with them in my pocket.”
My stomach flips.
Something achingly—yet delightfully—heavy gathers in my low abdomen, reminding me of what Raphael and I were up to a mere half hour ago. Suddenly, every step I take makes me aware of my pantyless condition. The friction of my skirt’s silky lining against my bare skin makes it prickle. My breathing becomes strained, and my heart thumps in my chest.
As I struggle to calm myself before entering the office I share with two other assistants, I picture myself in Strasbourg in our family physician’s immaculate office.
“What’s my diagnosis, doctor?” I’d ask after he’s examined me.
“Not to worry, mon petit! You’ll live.” He’d push his regular glasses to his forehead and put on his reading glasses. “You have a textbook case of lustium irresistiblum.”
“Please, can you make it go away?”
He’d smile and shake his head, updating my file on his computer. “It’s like a viral cold, mon petit. It’ll clear up on it’s own, eventually.”
And that, my friends, is the second clue to the mystery of how I got here.
It appears I have caught a virulent strain of lustium irresistiblum for lady-killer Raphael d’Arcy. And with my luck, we’ll likely get caught before it clears.
“Got to go,” I whisper into the phone and hang up.
I take a few long breaths to chase my arousal away before I enter the office.
Easier said than done.
The things Raphael says, the things he does to me… They don’t just excite—they break into my brain and muddle it up on a deep, molecular level. Throwing ethical norms against that kind of invasion has been as effective as attempting to shoot down the Death Star with foam darts.
But I’ll keep on trying.
Till the bitter end.








Alix
Nichols 
is an unapologetic caffeine addict and a longtime
fan of Mr. Darcy, especially in his Colin Firth incarnation. She is a Kindle
Scout and Dante Rossetti Award winning author of critically acclaimed romantic
comedies.



At the age of six, she released her first rom com. It featured highly creative
spelling on a dozen pages stitched together and bound in velvet paper.



Decades later, she still loves the romance genre. Her spelling has improved
(somewhat), and her books have made Amazon bestseller lists, climbing as high
as #1. She lives in France with her family and their almost-human dog.



For exclusive content, giveaways and special offers, including a bonus book,
subscribe to the monthly newsletter on her author website: www.alixnichols.com.






a Rafflecopter giveaway









Monday, November 28, 2016

Tasty Release Blast and Give away: Blue Satin Sashes Favorite Things Trilogy #2 By: Millenia Black



A searing story of passion, desperation and vengeance…


BLUE SATIN SASHES
Favorite Things Trilogy: Book Two
Millenia Black
Releasing Nov 28th, 2016



From
the #1 bestselling author of The Great Pretender comes the highly anticipated
second book in the captivating Favorite Things Trilogy—Blue Satin Sashes is a
searing story of passion, desperation and vengeance…

What happens when you fall in love
with someone else?

Paris, France. Corporate brand
designer Michael Frost knows he’s found a once in a lifetime love in
professional illustrator Priscilla Bauer, the granddaughter of a legendary
Hollywood icon—but Michael must now cross an ocean of regrets to repair damage
inflicted by his heartbroken high school sweetheart Amber Holland, whose
increasingly extreme attempts at sabotage may know no bounds…

How will she win? How will she lose?

Brave the razor-sharp edges of an
intensely hot love triangle as Michael and Priscilla discover the depths of
Amber’s passion ultimately rivals their own.






They seemed to reach the Rue de Bacilli in a blink. He thrust euros at the driver and left the cab, so glad the rain had stopped. When he slipped through the gate, his steps slowed as he approached the keypad. He tried to relax. Earlier he’d been anxious, now adrenalin fueled him. Pressing the button, Michael waited. A minute later the blue light came on and he stared into the camera, breathing.
When the door buzzed he slipped inside, climbed the stairs and found Priscilla standing at the door in her PJs, giving him a questioning look. Her face was devoid of makeup, her hair in a loose bun atop her head.
Without a word, Michael approached and she stepped back. Their eyes locked. He walked into the apartment and closed the door. The air ripened around them.
Priscilla opened her mouth to speak but closed it when he took her hand and pulled her toward him.
Michael brushed his lips across hers, gently pulling the clip from her hair. When the silky mane fell, he cupped her head; and they stood that way for a long moment, neither moving. He inhaled her powdery scent. When he finally kissed her again, he was hungry for reassurance. Her hands went up his arms and she squeezed his shoulders.
Michael lifted her against his body; their kiss grew more intense. He slid the thin strap of her top off her shoulder, exposing one of the things he loved most about Priscilla’s body. He bent and took her taut, dark nipple into his mouth, making her sigh and sob at the same time. He lavished it with his tongue, sucked fervently with his lips.
As he raised her, she wrapped her legs around him as her hands worked to unzip his jacket. Carrying her down the hall, he found the bedroom purely on instinct. He laid her on the bed and quickly shed his top. Priscilla’s hooded eyes were on him and he loved what he saw there. Holding her gaze, he slid off her pajama shorts and tossed them to the floor. Then he moved the crotch of her undies to one side, exposing another of his favorite things. He caressed it gently with the pad of his thumb, up, down; her body trembling as she moaned his name and began pushing at his sweatpants. When he didn’t move fast enough to get them off, she nudged him back and slid them down herself, then she got him on his back.
As she leaned over him, Michael fiercely kicked the sweats from his ankles as her hair tickled his chest and her tight wetness inched down on him like a velvet glove, slowly, sweetly stealing his sanity.
The ride began slowly, deliciously. Michael caressed her body and raised his head to meet her nipple, sucking for dear life as the ride got faster, harder. Her honeyed breast fell from his mouth as their eyes locked and he felt the approach of his climax. His body trembled as the pleasure built up inside him, his love for her set to explode. He gripped her ass with both hands, tighter, trying to hold back. Their sighs and moans filled the room, the apartment. Her movement got deeper, more measured as she rode him at slight angles; Michael could feel she was about to come. He grit his teeth and swore, his body trembling.
When she came it was violent; her body gripped him like a vice, gushing a warmth so
wet, he came inside her immediately.
Priscilla collapsed beside him, eyes closed, body quivering. The silence that followed their intense cries was deafening.
Breathing heavily, his ears ringing, Michael pulled her into his arms, entwining their legs and kissing her lips, nose and closed eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he panted, feeling her fingers caress the hairs on his chest. Her eyes opened and he could see her tortured heart in them. “Cilla, I swear on my mother’s grave I’ll never hurt you again.” He watched as tears filled her eyes and he kissed her again, then trailed kisses down to her neck where he sucked long enough to leave a mark as she writhed and clung to him.
Caressing her nipple he whispered, “Say you believe me. It’s why I came back.” When she didn’t speak right away, he got on top of her and parted her thighs. Michael was already hard again, rubbing himself against her moist clit. Up and down, back and forth. She cried out, calling his name as her hips left the bed. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she tried to get him to slip inside.
“Say it,” he said fiercely. “Say you believe me.”
I believe you.”
He slid into her slowly, stretching her inch by inch. “Do you really?”
She tightened around him as she raised her hips. “Yes,” she whispered. “You’ll never hurt me again.”
“Cilla.” He traced her lips with his tongue. “I love you.”
“I love you,” she managed as he thrust deeper, awakening the oasis.
Before long, Michael’s movements were less rhythmic and took on urgency. Priscilla’s fingers plunged into his hair and she tensed beneath him moaning, her eyes closed.
Looking down and seeing her beautiful face rapt in pleasure, hearing her sigh his name...Michael lost control of his movements and died in her body.



Start the Trilogy for ONLY .99 cents!







No one
does family and relationship drama quite like bestselling author Millenia
Black! Heralded as a double life and relationship expert, she's been a featured
guest on radio shows across the country, discussing the 7 Smoke Signals Your
Man is Living a Double Life. 

Millenia
lives in Florida where she's currently unmarried and has never dated anyone
living a double life...

She
thinks.