Cover Reveal & Giveaway!

***COVER REVEAL #GIVEAWAY!***It’s finally (well, almost) here! And today, you get the cover! Dark City Designs did such an amazing job with this!

Screwing the Mob, the highly anticipated mafia romance by USA Today bestselling author Kristen Luciani is now available for preorder! Only 99 cents until release! Get it here–>

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When the allure of the forbidden takes a deadly turn…

He never cared about me. He never would. He was always on the take, but this time he took too much.

I betrayed my family tonight. I lost my virginity tonight. I was ready to give it all up tonight.

I loved him, and he treated me like I was no better than the dirt on the bottom of his Louboutin loafer. Big mistake. One thought makes me smile through the hot tears streaming down my face.

I could have him killed.

I only wanted to f*ck her. I tried to convince myself that’s all it was. But I’m a damn liar. I lied to myself about how I feel, and I lied to her when I told her I wanted her to leave.

I didn’t. I wanted her…no, needed her…to stay.

Now I’m dodging calls from her maniacal brother, who, if he found out I’d so much as seen her in that sexy as hell lingerie, would wrap his beefy hands around my throat and squeeze until my eyeballs popped out of the sockets.

And yeah, I’ve seen my best friend do just that for a hell of a lot less.

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#Read A Dirty #Excerpt Of Joint Venture By Kristen Luciani & #Win

Welcome to my steamy hop stop! Sometimes, it’s just about the sex. So, here’s a scorcher for you…a little teaser from Joint Venture, available only in the Hot & Sinful Nights boxed set. And, there’s MORE! Post a comment below, and you’ll be entered to win a $10 Amazon gift card! Smut AND prizes???? You can’t beat that!


The Testarossa squealed to a halt in front of Lisa’s house. The past twenty minutes had been sheer torture and he couldn’t wait a second more. His fingers gripped the steering wheel, itching to slide up her firm thighs. Time to pull it together or he’d blow his load faster than a horny, sex-deprived teenager.

The short walk to the front door felt like the million mile march. Silence was deafening… maddening, really. Every second that ticked by was one more that he wasn’t pressed against her. But the ache was different, it felt deeper, conflicted. One night would never be enough. He knew it long before their gazes locked in the restaurant, knew it when he told her he didn’t do relationships, knew it the second his lips met hers in that elevator.

Fuck the consequences.

Moonbeams cast a soft glow on her hair. His fingers curled around a loose tendril, his face inching closer and closer. A light, floral scent enveloped his senses, his heart thudding with an unfamiliar force. Overwhelmed by need, intoxicated by desire.

“A.J.,” she breathed as his lips grazed hers. Soft, warm, inviting… just like he remembered and longed for since that first kiss.

Lust commanded all conscious thought. His hands tangled in the glossy waves, lips hot and hungry against hers. God, her mouth was so greedy, drinking him in, and orchestrating the beginning of a scene that would most certainly require the privacy of her house. With any luck, it was one that would loop throughout the night.

She pulled away, a sultry smile lifting her now-swollen lips. “I think it’s time to go inside.”

Merely agreeing would be so very weak. Overly eager was a gross understatement. The door slammed. Jackets flew across the foyer, shoes bounced off the walls; buttons and zippers ripped apart, all while they devoured each other with the voracity of great white sharks at mealtime.

With a quick and final tug of the zipper, Lisa’s dress pooled at her feet, leaving her clad in only a light pink lace bra and matching thong. The effect was taunting innocence and she couldn’t have been one degree hotter if her body had been swathed in a black leather garter belt, whip firmly in hand. His cock stiffened at the mere sight, straining against his boxer briefs, the ache almost too much to bear.

Both hands cradled her flushed face, his lips once again in search of hers. Electricity crackled between their heated bodies, sending shivers to his core. This girl… fuck, she had him inside out. For the first time in his life, he didn’t give a damn about his own urges. She was all that mattered and somehow, he needed to make her believe it.

With a flick of his fingers, her bra fell to the floor, exposing heaving breasts. He kneaded them, toying with the erect pink buds, his bulge swelling with each mewl that escaped her perfect lips. “Take me inside,” he whispered against her ear.

She backed away, leading him down a dimmed hallway and into a bedroom. At least, he guessed that’s what it was. It didn’t matter. He’d gladly take her right on the floor. A sly smile appeared on her face. “Okay, so now what are you going to do with me?”

He dragged his hands down her lean torso, over the curves of her hips, halting on the smooth globes of her ass. Words exploded in his mind like bullets on a firing range as he considered all the possibilities, but none emerged. “The real question is what aren’t I going to do with you?”

“Sounds like this may take some time.”

“I hope you didn’t have a hot date planned.”

“I’ll text him later if you can’t get the job done.”

His grip tightened. “No chance of that, gorgeous.”

She leaned in, grazing his ear with her teeth, sending pangs straight to his groin. “Good.” Her hand slipped into the front of his boxer briefs, grasping his cock before pushing the fabric to the floor. It throbbed against her fingers, each pumping motion making him near-ready to explode. Holy hell, how could this be happening already? She knew just how to touch him, to stroke his length with increasing intensity, to ignite the desire coursing through his veins. His eyes squeezed shut, body shuddering against hers. Wet heat blanketed the swollen head as her eager mouth encased him. Her fingers cupped his balls, kneading them as she suckled, teasing his slit with her merciless tongue. No, no, no… he wasn’t coming from less than thirty seconds of a blowjob. Was he fifteen again? Hell fucking no.

His silent plea was met and her mouth slid upward, leaving every inch of skin ablaze in its wake. Her hands caressed his biceps, tracing the indentations of each taut muscle as her lips made their way back to his. He needed to taste her, to drink in her desire, to make her scream in ecstasy. With one swift motion, she was on her back, legs spread out before him, half-hooded gaze making his chest tighten. The scraps of lacy fabric still covering her were off in a blink, fluttering to the floor at his feet. His tongue grazed the sensitive area between her thighs, making her writhe under the control of his mouth. Hands fisted his hair, pushing him closer to the lust pooling within, her arousal filling him with an insatiable need to prolong her pleasure. Loud whimpers broke the silence, her passion fueling his own.

The overwhelming need to taste every inch of her heated body had a crippling effect, but it couldn’t even compete with the anticipation of plunging into her depths. To close that space between them, to become one, to feel the warmth of her body tight against his… that was what he wanted. All he wanted.

Fuck, his pants were still by the front door. Double fuck. No condom.

“I don’t have—”

A red lacquered fingernail pointed at the nightstand. He fumbled around the contents of the drawer and grabbed a shiny foil packet. With a rocketing heart, his gaze met hers. Those gleaming green eyes held so much emotion… very different from the sex kitten demeanor that normally prevailed. No relationships. That’s what she’d said. But her eyes told a different story. One night… could she handle that? Could he? All rational thought halted when his erection grazed her opening, then slowly entered, stretching her, filling her inch-by-inch. Warmth encased him with each thrust, her channel tightening around him. It was impossible to get close enough, futile to deny his feelings any longer.

She gripped his hips, her nails digging into his flesh. Their bodies rocked together, perfectly in sync. His lips silenced her cries as he plunged deeper and with increasing fervor until he was drowning in all-consuming waves, swept away into a vast sea of unresolved emotions with no lifeline within reach. Faster, harder… the toe-curling sensations shot out to each extremity, firing every last nerve ending. Short, raspy breaths came fast and furious. Tremors erupted within, his body shuddering from the powerful and pummeling force of the most exhilarating release his body had ever known. But nothing could prepare him for the realization that had sent his mind reeling. Unconfirmed feelings were easy to dismiss, but when the truth finally emerged; it was impossible to ignore. The only option was to succumb.

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About Hot & Sinful Nights

The curtains are drawn, and the sheets are rumpled…

Prepare to melt for 22 tales of lustful abandon that will fulfill your deepest, darkest, most secret desires on many HOT & SINFUL NIGHTS.

Inside, you’ll find over one million words of sexy and steamy romance! These wanton and wicked novels promise happily ever afters and enough heat to set more than your heart aflame with bikers, bad boys, fighters, dashing rogues, rock stars, athletes, doctors, billionaires, and more!

One-click for only 99 cents!

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Cover Reveal! Hard Time By Kristen Luciani


Title: Hard Time

Author: Kristen Luciani

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Cover Design: Book Cover Couture

Release Date: September 12, 2017



A man’s need for revenge. A woman’s career ambition. Will their love change everything?

Ex-con Jeff Torres trusted the wrong guy, and now he wants revenge. After five years in prison, he knows he can’t pull off his scheme alone. But who can he trust?

L.A. publicist Ariana Carlson is an ambitious career woman. Working seven days a week has led to cold sheets at night. When she meets the strong, confident, and secretive Jeff, she wonders if her evening luck might be changing…

Jeff enlists her help in his quest for revenge, but Ariana can tell that something is off. Of course, she’s got a few secrets of her own that could make romance impossible. As Jeff begins to crave Ariana more than his payback, will the publicist’s true motives take their love to the next level or send the ex-con back to jail?

Hard Time is a standalone romantic suspense novel. If you like sizzling chemistry, fast-paced thrills, and tales of revenge, then you’ll love bestselling author Kristen Luciani’s passionate story.



 Enter here to win a $25 Amazon Gift Card –


Hot & Sinful Nights Spotlight: Shattered By Sylvie Fox

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The curtains are drawn, and the sheets are rumpled…

Prepare to melt for 22 tales of lustful abandon that will fulfill your deepest, darkest, most secret desires on many HOT & SINFUL NIGHTS.

Inside, you’ll find over one million words of sexy and steamy romance from today’s NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY, and International bestselling authors!

These wanton and wicked novels promise happily ever afters and enough heat to set more than your heart aflame with bikers, bad boys, fighters, dashing rogues, rock stars, athletes, doctors, billionaires, and more!

Don’t worry – there are plenty of book boyfriends to go around! So go on…be a bad girl…and preorder your copy today!


Two shattered lives. Can they help each other put the pieces back together?


Shattered by Sexy Contemporary Romance Author, Sylvie Fox will join twenty one other smoking novels in the September release Hot and Sinful Nights.

Ex-child star Gemma Hart is sick and tired of hiding—from the paparazzi, from her thieving relatives, and from the ex who made a sex tape public—with her center stage. She wants to move on with her life, on her own terms. And she knows just the man to help her…

Adonis Andreis likes his work as contractor to the stars. He gets to work in beautiful surroundings on interesting projects. Of course, he knows he’d better keep his eyes and his desires strictly off of his lovely boss. Gemma Hart is way out of his league. Adonis also has bigger problems, like getting his sister to speak to him again. He killed her best friend driving drunk, and they haven’t spoken since. And don’t even get him started on his father—who is having all the romantic adventures Adonis isn’t.

Can two shattered people find their way back to life, together?




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Sylvie-white-backgroundSylvie Fox is the author of smart women’s fiction. Her compelling stories are boldly told, designed to keep readers turning the pages. Whether you’re reading Sylvie’s romantic women’s fiction or legal thrillers, penned as Aime Austin, she wants you to enjoy the heroine’s journey. She splits her time between Los Angeles and Budapest, where she enjoys yoga, knitting, farm-to-table cooking, and life with her husband and son. When she’s not writing, her nose is stuck in a book.
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | BookBub | Instagram | Pinterest | Tumblr



Are You Ready For Some Sizzle???

Twenty-two authors. Twenty-two sexy contemporary romances in Hot and Sinful Nights!



The curtains are drawn, and the sheets are rumpled…

Prepare to melt for 22 tales of lustful abandon that will fulfill your deepest, darkest, most secret desires on many HOT & SINFUL NIGHTS.

Inside, you’ll find over one million words of sexy and steamy romance from today’s NEW YORK TIMES, USA TODAY, and International bestselling authors!

These wanton and wicked novels promise happily ever afters and enough heat to set more than your heart aflame with bikers, bad boys, fighters, dashing rogues, rock stars, athletes, doctors, billionaires, and more!

Don’t worry – there are plenty of book boyfriends to go around! So go on…be a bad girl…and preorder your copy today!




Read The First Chapter Of Hard Time!

You don’t have to wait any longer…at least to read the first chapter! LOL.

Sorry, I know I’m a terrible tease. But trust me, Hard Time will be worth the wait. Jeff and Ari are finally making their way back onto Kindles…only a few more weeks to go!

Here’s the first chapter. If you love it, comment below! Actually, if you hate it, I want you to comment as well! I want to hear EVERYTHING!!! <3

Chapter One



Five fucking years down the drain, and for what? To win a pissing contest against the schmuck who got my ass terminated and destroyed my life?

I take one final deep breath to blunt the feelings of rage that always bubble to the surface whenever I think of that bastard. The prison alarm blares, making my ears ring for what I sure as hell hope will be the last time. The automatic metal door creaks open, and I step into the warm late afternoon sunshine, finally seconds away from freedom.

All I need to do is walk through those tall wrought iron gates, the ones wrapped in barbed, electrified wire. There were always stories floating around about inmates who’d felt the need to test out the silent threat, but ended up roasting themselves. Same idiots who weren’t smart enough not to get caught. Five years was a damn long time, but not enough of a sentence that would make me risk deep-frying my balls. And yeah, even though I got out early on good behavior, I was one of those idiots. I did get caught.

Gone is the bright orange jumpsuit. I look normal, even though I feel anything but. The Nevada desert air is dry, stagnant, and still. In any other situation, it’d be thick enough to choke me, but being on the other side, the free side? It’s so fucking sweet. I adjust my belt, several notches too big. Being in lockdown takes more than a few inches off the waistline, mainly due to grueling daily workouts, food that was best described as maggot meal, lamenting, and plotting…mostly plotting.

The alarm sounds again, shattering the blissful silence, and the large gates swing open, allowing me access to the outside world. So many thoughts run through my mind about what had gone wrong on that fateful night. Almost everything had been within my control, but I overlooked a single detail, and it was fucking major. I lost my focus. Didn’t see the signs. Walked right into the goddamned trap.

So, now, there’s a score to settle. A big one. Because the last time stripped me of everything.

I turn and look back at the dark gray concrete building known as San Pedro State Penitentiary, my home of the last five years.

No fucking way will I be back here again. Ever.

Idiots have nothing to lose. I have everything to gain.

My partner Remo is waiting for me at the exit in a beat-up, navy blue Honda Accord. The car is as non-descript as they come. Remo on the other hand? He towers over me, over most people, at almost seven feet tall. Dark hair, dark skin, menacing eyes. He looks like a badass motherfucker, but he’s one of the best guys I know. Huge heart in a very unexpected package. I peer in the windows of his car, furrowing my brow at the paper bags scattered on the backseat. He also has an unhealthy obsession with saturated fat. Remo gives a half-shrug as I open the passenger side door. “I’m trying to run it into the ground before I buy something new.”

“Better to have a getaway car like this than the pimped out Hummer that Rand drives.” I yank the door handle and pull it open, sinking into the bucket seat. The stale stench of fast food immediately assaults my nose. “Jesus, Remo. This shit’ll kill you,” I say, kicking at the bags surrounding my feet.

“It’s how I fuel up. You know that. I think best loaded up on grease and salt.”

“Yeah, well, it’s too bad I made you skip dinner the night I got pinched. Maybe things might’ve gone differently.”

“And now you’ve paid the price. I bet you’ll never make me skip another meal again.” He puts the key in the ignition and the car coughs its way to life. “How was the clink?”

A loaded question. To say it’s full of interesting characters is a gross understatement. The shadiest ones had their own personal lines to the outside, and with a little bit of cash, you can get a lot of shit from them. But I didn’t care about things like porn, smokes, or booze. I wanted information, which was harder, and more expensive, to get. But like minds always come together, and I used my steady stream of cash to get me exactly what I needed to concoct a plan, the plan that would make me whole again. “Not horrible. Gave me time to clear my head.”

Remo sticks his hand in a grease-stained bag on the console and digs around, producing a fistful of soggy french fries. “Want some? Looks like you can use some food.”

I stare at his hand and then at him. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Not good enough for ya, huh? Even after five years of choking down that horseshit they’ve been shoveling onto your plate?”

I snicker. “I am starving. How about a beer? And I’m talking about a cold one, not one you pull from some magical hiding place in this shit heap.”

“Is that the way you talk to the only guy who volunteered to pick your ass up in Nevada and drive you all the way back to LA?” Remo shakes his head and pulls the clunker onto the freeway heading south. “Jesus Christ, in about twenty minutes, I’ll be an accomplice to your parole violation. Not to mention I’m the only one who has the inside scoop about where the star of our upcoming show is gonna be later tonight, and guess what? A Grammy ain’t the only thing she’ll be wrapping her hands around and squeezing.”



“We’re getting married!”

Even though my head is blissfully thick with cobwebs, courtesy of the gallon of vodka I’ve already consumed, those words reverberate between my ears like clanging symbols. I can’t drown them out, and believe me, I’ve tried. For hours.

Pulsating beats vibrate the lacquered floor beneath my stilettos as I make a futile attempt to dance away the hollow feeling in my heart. A stream of perspiration drizzles down the back of my neck, making me cringe. I’m alone…alone in the most frivolous and artificial world I can imagine. Hollywood. La La Land. Tinseltown. Call it what you want. It’s still a big ass bubble of superficiality.

I’m jaded. At twenty-eight. Of course, out here, that’s pretty damned ancient, not that I have any delusions about a career in acting or modeling. Nope, I don’t have any aspirations to be one of those diva bitches. My goal is simple. Keep said bitches out of the media. Note, I said nothing about keeping them out of trouble. My very expensive services only cover so much. I’m not their babysitter.

I’m a publicist.

A swift hip check jolts me from my scattered thoughts. “Hey! You’re dry.” My assistant Layna points to the empty highball glass in my hand.

“It’s not doing any good. I think I’ve drunk myself sober.”

Layna snickers. “Good! Grammy after-parties always equate to paparazzi poison for our clients, so it’s probably better if you’re sober. I sure as hell hope you’re ready to do some serious damage control.”

I let out a deep sigh. “Aren’t I always?”

Layna’s smile fades. “You’re still upset, aren’t you?” It was a question, but the tone of her voice made it sound more like a statement. She’d never understand, not that I’d ever bothered to explain the deep-rooted feelings I didn’t even want to acknowledge to myself.

“It’s just a little fast, that’s all. Can you blame me for being apprehensive?”

“I get it. I just think you need to let things go. She’s not you, Ari.”

No, she definitely isn’t.

I manage a weak smile and wave my glass at Layna. “Maybe it is time for another drink.”

“As long as you promise me that you won’t be dragging me into the office at three o’clock in the morning to handle disaster recovery for our leading ladies.”

“That’s part of the job, love. You signed up for that shit day one.” I link my arm through hers and push through the throng of sweaty bodies grinding to the deafening music. Groping hands slither over my hips and ass as we move, one even has the audacity to pinch. I spin around, narrowing my eyes at the leering dumbass. Pretty boy. Fucking stupid as hell though. I grit my teeth. It’s bad enough my clients cause tsunamis with their less-than-aboveboard antics, I don’t need my good name spiraling down after them. I have to be careful. Social media can crush me if I make a single wrong move. And I can’t afford to have that kind of negative attention on me right now.

Still…I don’t have patience for this crap.

I lean toward his tall, built frame, my lips curling into a saccharin sweet smile. “Did you need something?”

He grins, swaying toward me. “Just a dance. Then maybe a fuck.”

I squeeze Layna’s hand and avert my eyes in an attempt to look demure before I knock him on his cocky ass. “I’m pretty sure that a guy who looks like you can get a girl to drop her panties without having to manhandle her.” I flutter my eyelashes and move in for the kill. “But I can’t say she’d be too eager to screw you once she finds out your dick’s the size of a peanut. Because really, if it wasn’t, wouldn’t you be waiting for me to come to you?” I wink. “Try not to overcompensate too much. In this town, you need an air of mystery. Especially with a small penis.”

I don’t use brute force unless I absolutely have to. I’m better with words. It’s why I get away with charging such exorbitant retainers to preserve livelihoods.

And, despite everything polluting my mind, tonight is a good night. One of my clients walked away with the Grammy for Best Female Pop Vocalist. It’s celebration time for a job well done, all around.

The bar is packed. We stand around, pressed together like a bunch of slimy sardines in a can, since the air in the club is drenched with humidity. A whiff of Prada cologne floats under my nose and I stifle an inward groan.

“Ariana Carlson?”

I paste on a smile and twist in the direction of the gruff voice to my right. You never know whose tarnished reputation is in need of polishing, which is another reason why I don’t go around pummeling drunk, handsy dipshits in bars. I’m always on the job.


Dark eyes crinkle in the corners as they narrow at me, full lips stretched into a tight line. Tall, menacing yet delectable, and, built like a brick shithouse. I can work with this, provided he hasn’t killed anyone. I’m good, but I know my limits.

“You need to follow me.”

I snort and turn back to my assistant Layna, who’s waving a fifty at the bartender as she flirts madly with her boobs. “I don’t think so.”

He steps closer, completely invading my space, his breath hot against my ear. “My boss has a message for you. He’s asked to speak to you privately.”

A dry laugh escapes my lips. “Well, if it’s so important, he can get off his ass and find me himself.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Ms. Carlson. You’re about to have a very big problem, and only one person can solve it. I suggest you follow me. If you don’t, your very lucrative client list will dissipate like a fart in the wind by sunrise. That’s a guarantee.”



Her expression is stony and petulant. I can see it clearly from my vantage point in the back corner of the dimly lit lounge. Good. She’ll need to channel that anger and hostility pretty damned soon. Remo nods his head in my direction and she turns toward me, her eyes narrowed and lips pursed. I maintain a steady gaze, even though my eyes beg to rake over the luscious curves storming through the crowd. They are desperate to leer, but that’s not why I’m here.

I never make personal appearances for professional reasons. Ever.

But this situation requires an exception. Nothing will be left to chance, not this time.

Her tits bounce as she walks, high heels making her leg muscles flex with each step. The tight black dress wrapped around her body like Saran Wrap makes my cock twitch, and I grit my teeth. It’s gonna be a long night, and nothing about it is even remotely sexual.

Remo disappears like the good minion that he is, and Ariana Carlson stands in front of me, arms folded, accentuating the fact that she’s about to have a wardrobe malfunction if she squeezes her arms together any tighter. I can’t say I’d be sorry to see those tits up close and personal, but now’s not really the time. We’re on the clock, starting exactly thirty-seven minutes ago. I knew my nemesis would come out of his fucking hole sooner than later, and Ariana Carlson is the one person who can help me string up that bastard by the balls.

Finding her wasn’t much of a challenge, but convincing her that I’m not the enemy is going to take some finessing, something that doesn’t come naturally to me. Especially since that is exactly what I am.

“I don’t appreciate being summoned. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

I allow a smug grin to spread across my face. “I’m the one who got you over here despite that claim.”

Her mouth drops open and then quickly closes. “Make no mistake. I’m not intimidated by you or your thugs.”

“I’m aware of that. You’re here because you’re curious, and that’s good.” I pick up the half-full glass of scotch in front of me and swirl it around before taking a long sip. Impatience is creeping into her expression, and I know this cat and mouse shit isn’t going to work for much longer. “It might be better if you sit for this next part.”

“I’m fine right here.”

“I don’t think you want me to shout.”

She rolls her eyes and slams her hands on the table. A definite spark plug with a mouth that can spit fire. Fuck, that has so many possibilities…

“What makes you think I care?”

“Because if I mention a name that currently pays your firm $20,000 a month for representation, the same one who walked away with a very prestigious award tonight, it won’t bode well for you if anyone overhears why said name is in question.”

She sinks onto the leather bench, searing me with a glare that could slice through concrete. “Listen, you creepy mother fucker. I don’t know who the hell you are, but I’m about two seconds away from calling the cops. Don’t you dare try to dangle bullshit information in front of me and think I’ll give you the time of day!”

“Fair enough.” I pull out my iPhone and pick out one of the photos that I’d received. I hand it to her and watch the snark desert her body, deflating her with each second she stared at the image.

“How do I know this isn’t photoshopped?”

“Why hasn’t your client shown up yet? This is her after-party, isn’t it? Shouldn’t the hostess show up at some point?”

”She’s on her way.” Ariana’s shoulders are squared, voice strong and assured. But it’s her eyes that betray her. They flash a lot of fucking emotion, none of which includes certainty.

“On her way where, exactly? Because from the looks of these pictures, she’s not leaving her current location any time soon.”

She leans closer, dropping her voice, practically seething at me. Her perfumed scent wafts under my nose – sultry, spicy, and sexy as fuck. It momentarily clouds the issue at hand, and like some jackass, I allow it. I want to see the fire deep within this woman. She’s about to combust, and I want to be singed by the flames. “You think you’re the first jackass photographer who’s shown me a hacked up picture of a client and expected me to write a check for it? If you’re looking for a payoff, I’ll have my attorney so far up your ass, it’ll feel like a colonoscopy without the anesthesia. Fuck off.” She flips her hair, the smell of coconut whipping across my face, and slides away from me.

I grab her wrist and her head jerks backward, her eyes narrowed. “Take your hand off me.”

“I can’t let you go, Ariana.”

“The fuck you can’t.” She pulls her wrist away, but I keep my grip tight.

“I need your help.”

“What you need is a class that’ll teach you how to deal with people.” She yanks again, to no avail. Answers are what she wants, but she can’t have them. At least, not yet.

“Here’s the deal, Ari. If you walk away right now, you’re in for the biggest shitstorm you’ve never experienced in your professional career. This problem your client has wandered into will snowball very quickly, and unless we get in front of it, your reputation will go up in smoke by the time the first headline flashes on the morning news.”

“Let go of my arm,” she growls. I comply, partly to test her. Reading people comes pretty easily to me, and despite her bullshit I’ve-got-everything-under-control façade, I know she’s flipping the fuck out. And rightly so.

“Why should I trust you? I don’t even know your name.”

“Names aren’t important right now. And you should trust me because I’m the only one who can save the livelihood of your star client, America’s newest pop tart sweetheart, the one who’s on her knees right now with a dildo shoved up her skirt and a dick plugging her in the ass.”

<3 <3 <3

Summer Sizzle & A Gift Card Giveaway!

This summer has been super busy, and we’re only halfway through JULY!!! Yikes! So much to do, and never enough time to get it all done.

I’m really excited about my upcoming releases, Fatal Lies and Hard Time. Fatal Lies comes out in a few short weeks, and it’s my very first romantic suspense story. You can check out the first chapter on Wattpad by clicking here.

And Hard Time is the full saga of Ariana and Jeff, who made their sexy debut appearance in the Drunk In Love anthology to benefit St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital. I use the word saga because, at almost 70K words, it’s the longest book I’ve ever written. LOL!

So, to make sure you don’t miss a single update on theses releases, I’m hosting a GIVEAWAY!!!! Click here to enter! Multiple chances to win! The contest closes on July 20, and the winner will be notified by email.


Hot & Sinful Nights Spotlight: Damaged By Jeanne St. James

Today, I’m going to give you all a sneak peek into one of the sinfully sexy books you’re going to get in the Hot & Sinful Nights boxed set! Available for preorder NOW!


By Jeanne St. James

Genre: Erotic Romance with Suspense Elements

Available in the Hot &amp; Sinful Boxed Set!

Preorder NOW for only 99¢


Two scarred souls: one physically, one mentally. Both on the mend, hiding from their


Mace Walker can’t wait to get home.

Being buried deep undercover for the past two years, on the most complex case of his

career, has torn him down physically and mentally. Now the FBI agent has come home

to recover after having his leg badly injured from a gunshot wound. Arriving home late

one night, his relief is short-lived as he’s faced with a stranger pointing a gun to his

head, acting like he is the one who doesn’t belong there!

Colby Parks, a biochemist at the local university, had come to town a year earlier to

escape an abusive relationship. She vows never to put herself in that situation again.

Then the perfect opportunity comes along: house-sitting for Mace’s sister while making

the house she purchased habitable. But she couldn’t anticipate this big snag: the one

wearing the tight Levis and worn leather jacket, looking like he had just escaped prison.

Being forced to share a house creates sparks between them in more ways than one.

However, things take a turn when their pasts catch up to them, threatening to pull them

apart forever.


As Mace Walker slid the key into the lock, an immediate sense of relief washed over

him. He hadn’t been home in…Hell, forever. Even though he owned the house and

considered it his home, he felt like a stranger when he opened the front door. He

chucked his keys on the table by the door with a sigh. He’d been home for a whole thirty

seconds and restlessness already ate at him.

The house was quiet, and he wondered where his sister was. Probably sleeping,

dummy, since it was—he glanced at his watch—freaking one in the morning. Most

normal folk slept at this hour. But then, he wasn’t normal. He couldn’t be to do his job.

But, he couldn’t do his job right now, anyway. He’d been forced home to heal.

Against his wishes.

Fucking bullshit.

The foyer was dark, but he didn’t need to hit the light. He still knew the house well

enough. He made his way to the stairs where he dumped his duffle bags on the floor

and ran a hand through his too-long hair.

Those two small duffels held little evidence of his life for the past couple years—just

some toiletries and a few basic items of clothing.

He turned toward the kitchen, and the foyer lit up, blinding him for a second. He

blinked against the harsh light, and a young voice rang out from the top of the steps.

“Hold it right there! Put your arms up and back away from the stairs.”

What the fuck?

Mace had expected to see his sister bounding down the stairway of his two-story

colonial, excited after not seeing him for the past two years. Actually, more like one

year, eleven months, and fifteen days. Not that he’d counted.

But instead, he stared up into the deadly eye of a Glock. And from his viewpoint, it

looked like a model 27, a .40 caliber—a compact, but still a decent sized gun in a very

small, very uneasy hand. Instantly, the hairs on the back of his neck rose.


He’d dealt with crime bosses and their flunkies—from drug to porno rings—and had

managed to survive. Now he was going to be killed by some measly punk he surprised

while burglarizing his house when he happened to come home? The cruel irony made

him want to laugh. Instead, he did as instructed. With caution, he raised his hands

above his head before stepping back toward the middle of the foyer. He avoided

standing directly under the light, trying to get a better view of the top of the steps. But he

didn’t have much success; the upstairs hallway and the upper section of the stairway

were hidden in shadows.

If he played his cards right, this little situation would be under his control in no time

at all. He just had to keep the kid calm and make the skinny punk believe he was the

one in command. The Glock didn’t have a conventional safety. All the kid had to do was

pull the trigger and pull it again and again until all the rounds in the clip emptied into

Mace’s body. And from what he could see in the limited light, the kid’s fingers twitched

from nervousness.

Not a good sign.

Where had a young punk gotten an expensive handgun like that? It certainly hadn’t

been in the house. And if it had been, it would have been locked up in the gun safe.

If only he could see the boy’s face. He needed to see the eyes. Without seeing

those, Mace couldn’t even begin to predict what the kid would do.

“Don’t you dare move, or I’ll blow your face off!” The kid’s voice raised an octave,

making him sound more and more like…a female.

Mace tensed when the person started down the steps. At first, he could see bare

toes, a slim calf, then another. His gaze flicked to the gun before returning to the

shapely naked thighs which couldn’t belong to a kid. No fucking way. Especially not a

boy. Those smooth legs definitely belonged to a woman, and he couldn’t wait to see the

rest of her.

So far, the view almost made it worth being held at gunpoint. Almost.

Hot & Sinful Nights Boxed Set Buy Links


iTunes: nights/id1250918560?mt=11

Google Play:

Barnes and Noble:

Kobo: nights

Enter to win $100 Gift Card AND 1 Year of PassionFlix here:

About the Author

JEANNE ST. JAMES is a best-selling erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male

(or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing since it gave her an escape

from teenage angst! Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl

magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is

happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages.

Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book here:

To keep up with her busy release schedule check her website at or sign up for her newsletter:

Author Links






Amazon Author Page:



Review & Book Crew:

I Had A Dream…

Last night, I had a dream about one of my characters, Paul Emerson. He was upset about something and wouldn’t tell me what it was. I can see the setting so clearly, which is odd because I never remember my dreams. I was in his house – the one I’d created for him – and he was being really standoffish. Kind of a jackass. He ended up leaving at one point and then returning with some other guy. It could have been his best friend, AJ Morgan, but I wasn’t paying very close attention. LOL.

When I woke up, I actually remembered the dream. And in my sleep-cluttered mind, I tried to figure out why he’d appeared in my dream. And then I remembered…

But first, let me tell you a bit about this man. He has a very specific role as an arrogant prick in the first book of my series, Unlikely Venture. However, he’d also thrown his Rolex in the ring for a shot to win over Jessica, our heroine. But I’ll let you find out the rest of the story on your own.

Here’s the thing about Paul. He was the very first character I’d ever “created.” When I was plotting Unlikely Venture, I was planning it around Paul. But I ultimately decided he needed something bigger, so he had only a small role in the first book. It was enough to turn most readers into haters, and that panicked the hell out of me because I knew this guy, knew why he was the way he was, and why they needed to give him another chance, why he so desperately deserved redemption.

He’s always been my favorite. Not by a little, either. He’s so alpha, brilliant, an entrepreneur (and you know I’m passionate about entrepreneurship!), and the arrogant prick thing is right on target. His book, Venture Forward, was the hardest one I’ve ever written because I knew I needed to bring him to his knees and kick him while he was down to make his transformation that much more impactful.

Now, that was the long-winded way of telling you about my epiphany – why he was so angry. Earlier that day, I’d confided to The Stiletto Click, my Facebook reader group, that Jeff Torres (current swoony alpha of Hard Time) was nearing that top spot.

Bottom line? I think this dream was a manifestation of guilt. LOL! These guys have some hold on me, huh?

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