Tuesday, January 31, 2017

  plus one rdl ban Today we’re having the release day blitz for Plus One by M.N. Forgy writing as Missy Blake. I am so excited to bring you this sexy contemporary romance! Check it out and be sure to get your copy today!your plus-one_amazon Title: Plus One Author: M.N. Forgy writing as Missy Blake Genre: Romantic Comedy   About Plus One: No feelings. No lies of calling the next day, and no empty promises of not banging anyone’s mother. If I could act like I’ve never met a set of twins I screwed on the same night, thinking they were the same person, then I could do this. It was the perfect set up for a fake relationship and it was simple. We faked our smiles, we faked our laughs; hell, we even faked our love. It wasn’t real. But that kiss was anything but fake, and the orgasm was anything but pretend.   Somehow my plus one had become more, and now I’m standing here with my underwear around my ankles wondering what in the hell to do next.

plus one teaser 2

Get Your Copy:

Amazon: http://a.co/fVMArQr

B&N: http://bit.ly/2iRkcWE

iTunes: Pending

  Exclusive Excerpt: I turn around to ask for one of his shirts and find him shirtless and tugging down his jeans. Holy back porn. It’s outlined in muscle and is a golden tan. Holy shit he has lower back dimples too. My eyes skim along his bare skin, wishing it were my hands instead. My hands strangle themselves, my mouth parting to allow the labored breathing to pass. His jeans drop to his feet, and he bends over to kick them off. That round ass on display for my pleasure. My eyes scan the white tight briefs cleaning to his tight—. Wait, are those bananas? “What are you wearing?” Using the back of my hand I try to hide my smile. Standing upright he looks over his shoulder, a devilish look crosses his face. “These?” He tugs on the elastic band of his briefs, making the banana prints dance. “They’re underwear,” he responds like I should know that. “I know they’re underwear. I just didn’t peg you for a banana-wearing kind of guy,” I laugh again. “I bring a whole new meaning to banana hammock, baby.” He turns and the smile on my face is wiped clean when I see the length and girth of that bulge in his underwear.   plus one teaser 3 About Missy Blake: Bestselling author M.N. Forgy known for her suspense gritty romances has decided to take a walk on a different side of things writing under pen name Missy Missy Blake is the perfect outlet to express her sassy, funny, romantic side of M.N. Forgy. So with a glass of wine in her hand, she trudges forward to deliver the perfect book boyfriend in a variety of worlds. Connect with Missy: Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/M-N-Forgy/625362330873655 Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/m.n._forgy_author/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/M_N_FORGY   M.N. Forgy's page: http://bit.ly/MNForgyFaceBook Missy Blake Page: https://www.facebook.com/missy.blake.37454 plus one teaser 1   Enter Missy’s Giveaway: a Rafflecopter giveaway
Title: Out of the Storm
Author: J.B. McGee
Genre: Romantic Suspense
THEO
There's an eerie calm before the storm,
And my best friend is in the direct path of the hit.
I have to protect him, no matter the cost.
He's like a brother to me.
I'll do whatever it takes to make sure he's safe.
Even if that means being pulled into the vortex that is Jules Hemingway,
A sexy, fiery tempest that has the potential to destroy everything in her wake. 
All I want is to dive in, take my chances. 
But first, I must complete the mission—save my friend.
Though it may mean losing what really matters,
The only woman worth drowning for.
JULES
Something's amiss—strange and ominous, 
And I can't quite put my finger on it. 
When Theo Katawhateverhisnameis comes thundering in,
It's like lightning to my heart, my body, my soul.
It's a shock—a jolt, as I realize my life is a scam,
A scheme with no winners.
I'm in over my head, treading in a sea of lies, 
Leery of whom to trust,
Only looking to protect myself, my heart.
Together, we're wreckage, debris, 
but are we collateral damage in this perfect storm?
"Passionate. Angsty. Mind-blowing. A masterful tale of intrigue, lust, and jaw-dropping sex...Yep. It's one of my hottest reads this year." -Ilsa Madden-Mills, Wall Street Journal Best-Selling Author
Swiping my face with my shirt, it’s hard to ignore the searing gazes of the girls in the gym that roam to the exposed skin of my ripped abs. A small sideways smirk quirks at the corners of my lips as I duck my head down, heat rushing to my cheeks. I work damn hard for this body, and I love when someone appreciates it. I nod at Rockin’ Red, who’s licking her pouty lips like I’m a fine piece of meat she’s hoping to slowly devour. She probably has a better chance with Charlie, unfortunately for her. Of course, there’s a lot more of him to consume. The thought causes me to chortle.
Making my way to the locker room, I swing the door open. “I’m meeting Jules tomorrow night. You can have your guy do it—” They glance in the mirror at me.
I nod. “‘Sup?”
“What’s happenin’?” Their jaws tick. It may have been posed as a question, but it was definitely a statement.
“I heard you overtalkin’ out there. You know I was engaged once. Never again. I say, get as much ass as you can while you can, man.”
Charlie’s eyes narrow at me as he sizes me up, but he’s more than six inches shorter than me. “It’s not nice to eavesdrop.”
“Didn’t mean to. Normally, I have my iPod with me, but I forgot it. And, if it was a secret, maybe you shouldn’t be talking so loudly I could hear you two machines over. But anyway, I’m not here to socialize.” I glance down at my pecs and abs as I pull my shirt over my head. “In case you can’t tell.”
“Right.” He laughs. “And as for my fiancée. If you saw her, you’d understand why I wanted the best of both fucking worlds, man. Have a nice night.” Charlie pats Tattoo Guy on the back. “Let’s get outta here, Angelo.” Ah. Charlie looks back over his shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name. I’m Charlie Hawke.”
I didn’t miss that he didn’t extend his hand to me, so I push mine out toward him. “Theo. Theo Kataigída.”
“Greek, huh?”
I nod, smiling. “You got it."
He never takes my hand. They both just give me a look that screams ‘go fuck yourself’ before walking out. Yeah. The feeling is fucking mutual fuckers.
J.B. McGee is a mother, wife, and the Amazon Top 100 author of the best-selling This Series. Amazon Crossing acquired the German rights to her debut novel, Broken. Heartfall, her coming of age novel about a bullied ballerina, is a #1 best seller in the Teen and Young Adult Performing Arts genre. Skipping Stones, a military romance about a young woman strongly influenced by her faith and her family all the while searching for her true love, is a #1 best seller in Women's Christian Fiction.
When J.B.'s not writing, she enjoys reading as well as watching and live-chatting her favorite television shows with her friends. Her favorite shows are Quantico, Blindspot, Grey’s Anatomy, The Bachelor/Bachelorette, Below Deck, The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, and Scandal (mainly because of her love of Scott Foley).
Born and raised in Aiken, South Carolina, she attended Converse College and eventually earned her Bachelor of Arts degree in Early Childhood Education from The University of South Carolina-Aiken in 2006.
In college, she was told by her children’s literature professor she would be the one student from her class to be an author. McGee shook her head and laughed. But in 2012, over six years after that statement was made and after a love of reading had been reignited, she gave writing a shot. J.B. gladly ate crow when she emailed her first book to the above mentioned children’s literature professor thanking her and acknowledging the accuracy of her prophecy.
In 2011, it was discovered that not only do both of her children, but also she and her husband, have mitochondrial disease. Affecting 1 in 2500 people, it has no cure or treatments. Being a writer allows J.B. to care for her family’s unique needs while also providing a platform for raising awareness for this disease.
She is a hopeless romantic who loves to escape into fairy tales—some she reads and some she creates.
J.B. McGee and her family now reside in Buford, Georgia.
Check out J.B. McGee's Release Day Event Giveaways
over on her Facebook Author Page
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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.
 
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.
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