Friday, December 4, 2015

New Releases from Faith S. Lynn, Liv Rancourt, & Lucy Parker

Title: Human Intervention
Series: The Intervention Series #1 
Author: Faith S. Lynn
Genre: Young Adult/Sci-Fi
 Release Date: November 28, 2015


Some things in our lives we don’t put much thought into because we either think they don’t hold much importance, or maybe we just don’t want to put in the effort to find out just how wrong our little worlds are.

My name is Sadie, and this is how I have survived all eighteen years of my life. I have ignored the things that I shouldn’t have, and didn’t ask the questions I should have. I am a Norm. Just an average Joe, living in a world obsessed with genetic enhancements.

He... he is everything. Gorgeous, smart, and a Norm as well. He is also my new science teacher. And when he came into our small little town… hell came with him.

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Author Bio

I published my first book, From Lies to Promises in 2014. Since then I can't stop the stories from coming. Stories from all different types of genres, New Adult, Young Adult, Sci-Fi, and Fantasy.

I have an obsession with anything people consider odd and I can never get enough knowledge. I have an Associates degree in Business Management and I work full time as an account specialist.

When I'm not working or writing I am busy being a wife to the best husband of the freaking universe and mother to 3 majorly awesome kids! Reading, Xbox, cooking and WINE just barely scrape the surface of my favorite things. Everyone who knows me will say I am a nerd... and I would agree. Want to know a secret? I am a super hero. True story!

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Release Day Blitz


Book Title: The Secret of Obedience 
Author: Liv Rancourt 
Genre: M/M romance 
Release Date: November 30, 2015 
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

Book Blurb

Can a jock find love with a hot little hipster? Opposites attract, but secrets divide.

Ronnie Durand is a country boy who transfers to the University of Washington after two years at Central. He'll have to give up playing football, though finishing his education at a major university in Seattle - and being out and proud without having to look over his shoulder - makes the sacrifice worthwhile.

But finding friends at a huge school is tough, especially when the hottest guy Ronnie meets makes him doubt his own sanity.

Sang's been on his own a long time. He's only a couple steps away from living on the street, and he's got dreams so big they don't leave space for a steady boyfriend. Then he meets Ronnie, who just might be strong enough to break through his long as Sang lets him in on one big secret.


My bike's parked right in front of the club. "Are we going far?" I ask.

"Four or five blocks."

I hand him the helmet. "Get on."

He slides the helmet on, and I help him tighten the buckles. He chitters a laugh, making the moment silly and a little awkward. I straddle the bike, and when he climbs on behind me it turns me on so bad I almost come again. Damn. I want to be stretched out in a bed with Sang, both of us naked, with a box of condoms and a Costco-sized bottle of lube.

With nudges and hand signals, he guides me to a big brick apartment building about a quarter mile away. I park, and he springs off, leaving me with a sharp shiver at the loss of his heat. By the time I get the bike locked up, he's on the front door phone.

"I need your bed, chica."

"I'm in it." The voice is muffled, most likely female, and laughing rather than annoyed.

"Then your couch."

The phone clicks and goes to dial tone, and the door buzzes. I follow Sang through the lobby, where the dark burgundy carpet could be original to the 1940s. We jog up a couple flights of stairs and down a hall to an open apartment door.

"Go." He hustles me in, then throws the deadbolt and taps on a closed door to our right. "Thanks, baby."

An indistinct bleat answers him, likely from the location of the occupied bed. The rest of the apartment is one room with a kitchenette in the corner. It's dark except for the streetlights outside, but Sang knows where to find candles and a match. We're quiet, wordless, working with borrowed solitude. Compared with the thrash of the nightclub and the sleazy bathroom stall, I'll take it.

I dump my jacket and helmet on the dining table. Sang sets two candles on the tiny bookcase, hauls me over to the couch, and pushes me down. I'm laughing, because for a little guy, he's bossy as hell. Then he straddles me, and I want to kiss him without pissing him off. I drag him close and nuzzle his neck, tasting, testing, planting not-kisses in a hot line down his throat. He sighs, and I take it as permission to keep going.

His pants are stretch leggings, so it doesn't take much to get them worked down over his hips to free his dick. It's so elegant, tapered and smooth. I want to suck on it again, to bring him off and make him sputter in Korean or Chinese or whatever language he babbled in last time. If he wanted me to, I'd fuck him, but he'd have to ask. I'm not really much for butt sex. If a guy's into it, I'll do what he wants, but my own preference is for hands and mouths, everything slick with spit and lube. I like messy sex. And kissing. I really like kissing.

I stroke him, rubbing my thumb over the head of his dick, and he flops against me like I've disconnected his spinal cord. The room smells of smoke and roses, and he's fumbling at my zipper, those delicate hands all trembling and raw, so I reach in and help. My hand's big enough to wrap around both of us, the heat of his thrust enough to drive both of us crazy. His lace shirt is tangling in my fingers and around our shafts, so I undo the buttons and shove it off his shoulders. My black silk is already kinda trashed, but he does the same for me, exposing my chest.

Our thrusting goes from eager to urgent to needy, his heavy-lidded gaze trapping me. His climax hits like a rocket, like fireworks going off in a black July sky. I follow, but it's more of a tease, dragged out, slow and seductive until I can't breathe and I arch off the couch. Sang crawls up my chest, hanging on, laying open-mouthed kisses over my ear, down my jaw.

If I'm lucky, this night will never end.

"We need to go soon."

His whisper hits me like a slap. "I'd bring you back to my dorm," I say, "but I haven't given my roommate the homophobia quiz yet."

He raises up and smirks at me. "I don't like him already."

I run a hand over his shoulder, smoothing his ruffled feathers. My calloused fingertips catch in the lace, and I wonder how something so old fits like it was made for him.

"What are you studying in that big school, anyway?" His question is tentative, cautious.

"Exercise science or maybe business. I haven't chosen a major yet." I pause, giving him a chance to ask a follow-up question. When he doesn't I step up. "What about you? What are you studying at that big school?"

He grimaces and shakes his head. "Nothing. I'm not at your school."

"Oh, it's my school now?"

He pats my cheek. "Yes. Your school."

"I see you every day in World History."

"No one sees me.” His lower lip softens, and he catches it with the tips of his teeth. “They see the clothes.” He reaches for the lace blouse, shaking it out and tossing it over his shoulders. “They see a girl or a scenester or a queer.” He stands, shakes his junk back into his stretchy pants, does a little hootchie dance to organize things. “No one sees me. Not even my family.”

Old pain erodes his effervescence, showing through the cracks like basalt under soil. I'm stretched over the couch, on display, my shirt open and my dick hanging out of my jeans. He covers my eyes with his hand, but I knock it away.

“I think you look real good. I’d like to see a lot more of you.”

Which sounds really kind of lame and try-hard, but this is what I came to Seattle for, too. Adventure. Maybe even romance, the kind I can show off in public.

“I want to,” he says.

For a moment he shows me his profile, private, thoughtful, and I give him some space to go on.

“And if I was going to see someone,” he continues with more laughter in his tone, “he’d be a lot like you.”

“So let’s do it.”

I should probably feel bad when he doesn’t respond, but the back-to-back orgasms catch up with me. I tip my head back and close my eyes, fighting sleep. Sang’s rummaging around the apartment. Haven't a clue why he’s lying about school and why he won’t take me up on my offer, but after two evenings he's an itch I won't be able to scratch on my own, so I let it go. Country boys are known for their determination.

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Meet the Author

I write romance: m/f, m/m, and v/h, where the h is for human and the v is for vampire…or sometimes demon, and I lean more towards funny than angst. When I’m not writing I take care of tiny premature babies or teenagers, depending on whether I’m at home or at work. My husband is a soul of patience, my dog’s cuteness is legendary, and we share the homestead with three ferrets. Who steal things. Because they’re brats.

I can be found on-line at all hours of the day and night at my website & blog (, on Facebook (, or on Twitter ( Come find me. We’ll have fun!

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Act Like It
by Lucy Parker
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Carina Press
Release Date: November 30, 2015

This just in: romance takes center stage as West End theatre's Richard Troy steps out with none other than castmate Elaine Graham

Richard Troy used to be the hottest actor in London, but the only thing firing up lately is his temper. We all love to love a bad boy, but Richard's antics have made him Enemy Number One, breaking the hearts of fans across the city.

Have the tides turned? Has English rose Lainie Graham made him into a new man?

Sources say the mismatched pair has been spotted at multiple events, arm in arm and hip to hip. From fits of jealousy to longing looks and heated whispers, onlookers are stunned by this blooming romance.

Could the rumors be right? Could this unlikely romance be the real thing? Or are these gifted stage actors playing us all?

Richard was poking at a chipped teapot on the table for the white elephant stall. “This is junk,” he said, without even bothering to lower his voice.
“It’s a white elephant stall. That’s kind of the point. And who are you, the Antiques Roadshow?” Lainie cast a quick, embarrassed look around. She would estimate the ratio of people staring at Richard to be about ninety percent. It was too much to hope they were all hard of hearing. “If you could develop some sort of filter and a volume button in the next thirty seconds, it would really help me out.”
“Exactly how long do we have to stay?” Richard stared in disbelief as a pig walked past with a blue prize ribbon around its neck.
“Until the last cup of tea is drunk and we’ve helped with the cleanup.” Lainie was rapidly losing her sense of humour about the situation. “These people are kindly giving up their time, money and goodwill to help out a charity that means a lot to me. And sulking at a fund-raiser for children with cancer is a total dick move. FYI.”
Once again, Richard reddened slightly. A week ago, she wouldn’t have thought him capable of changing colour without the aid of cosmetics. He thrust a hand through his tumbled black curls and looked away from her. All broody in an open-necked white shirt, and set against a pastoral background, he looked like a still from Wuthering Heights. She refused to be softened by the image. He could look as handsome as he wanted; it didn’t make his behaviour any more attractive.
And he needed a shave. There was a fine line between designer stubble and scruffiness.
“Of course I’ll support the cause,” he muttered, and then added impatiently, “but I don’t see why we can’t just write a cheque.” He repeated his derisive survey of the merrymaking. “You’ll be lucky to break a thousand quid with this lot.”
Lainie wasn’t sure whether “this lot” referred to the fairground goods for sale or the villagers themselves. It was offensive either way.
“Because there are dozens of people here who care enough to want to contribute—” and a good hundred more who’ve come along for the sole purpose of seeing your sour face, thanks to the social media grapevine “—and they can’t all afford to just ‘write a cheque.’” She had the satisfaction of seeing his flush deepen. “And all of these events help raise the profile of the charity. We’re trying to turn a spotlight on Shining Light. Not on the fact that Richard Troy has opened his fat wallet for something more philanthropic than a new sports car.”
His face was unreadable. “You’ve made your point.”
Not quite. “For the record, you’re behaving exactly the way Will would.”
Not that she would have got Will down here in a million years, PR stunt or no.
A nerve twitched above Richard’s right eyebrow. “Is that blatant insult supposed to make me re-evaluate my life choices?”
She shrugged. “It would make me think twice.”

Lucy Parker lives in the gorgeous Central Otago region of New Zealand, where she feels lucky every day to look out at mountains, lakes, and vineyards. She has a degree in Art History, loves museums and art galleries, and doodles unrecognizable flowers when she has writer’s block.

When she’s not writing, working or sleeping, she happily tackles the towering pile of to-be-read books that never gets any smaller. Thankfully, there’s always another story waiting.

Her interest in romantic fiction began with a pre-teen viewing of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (Firth-style), which prompted her to read the book as well. A family friend introduced her to Georgette Heyer, and the rest was history.

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