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January 22, 2015

****Cover/Prologue Reveal***Without Me - Men of Inked #5 by Chelle Bliss

Without Me Cover Reveal & Prologue

 Without Me Ebook nook 

Series: Men of Inked  

Author: Chelle Bliss 

Book Number: 5 - Final Book in the Series  

Character: Anthony Gallo  

Genre: Erotica, Erotic Romance, Contemporary

 Release Date: Late March/Early April 2015

**BLURB**
I’d led a selfish existence. I liked who I was. Hell, I loved myself. Women threw themselves at me and I took what they offered without remorse. I promised them nothing. I sank my teeth into life, holding on to the bitch like my very existence depended on it. Time passed. Women came and went. The second I let my guard down and released the hold I had on life… What was my award for such carelessness? A love so spectacular and heart wrenching that it threw me for a loop. When I was in too deep to escape, my greatest fears became reality. This is my story. My downfall. My salvation.

★★Click here to read the Prologue★★

Bliss
USA Today bestselling author Chelle Bliss crafts stories about real-life scenarios with fantasy Alpha males. Her writing includes humor as well as steamy sex. 

 **GIVEAWAY**  
Cover information: Photo by Eric Battershell Photography 
Cover Model - Thomas Yarborough Training 
 Cover Design - MGBookCovers

(*)RELEASE DAY BLITZ(*)POST BREAKUP SEX by Sibylla Matilde

Post Breakup Sex Banner  Post Break up Sex  
 *** Mature Content; Strong Language; Strong Sexual Content with m/f, m/f/m, and a taste of f/f/m***  
She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. Pure class. Old money. I never stood a chance... until she broke up with her dickhead of a boyfriend and went off the rails. Brannon Forrester doesn't expect much from life. He coasts through aimlessly. No real ties. Nothing to hold him back. Hanging out with his best friend, lead singer of a local bar band, he lives for pleasure, out of the spotlight but with all the excess of the band's small-town fame. After all, why should he be good when the only woman he really wants will never give him the time of day? Then, one night at an after party, Sophie Buchanan walks through the door. In an attempt to throw caution to the wind and dream out loud, she looks to him as a guide to the wild side. As someone who can show her all the excitement and recklessness her world has been missing. He plunges her into a reality of fervent passion... and heartbreaking betrayal. Their roles have been set. He has only ever been a good time. She has only ever been a pretty face. It would be insane for them to fall in love. But when emotion complicates lust, can the caution of the mind suppress the will of the heart?
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  As I Came To copy     kryptonite copy  

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   Sibylla Matilde
Sibylla Matilde grew up in the mountain valleys of Southwest Montana exploring the dusty Old West gold country on the back of a horse. She attended a two-room schoolhouse beginning in 1st grade & had the same teacher until she changed schools after 7th. Beginning at about age 12, Sibylla discovered historical romance, feeding off of work of Jude Deveraux & Lisa Kleypas. She loves a book that can make the reader run the gamut of emotions, from the sweet glow of new love to gut-wrenching heartache. She is a true romantic & always has stories floating around in her head, living in a fantasyland until she writes them down to free them.
Music is her emotional trigger. Growing up with a Wagnarian-loving mother, Sibylla was raised to treasure music that digs deep into the psyche, drawing out elation, sorrow, grief, desire. The soundtrack to her life includes many genres spanning centuries. She looooooooves Thirty Seconds to Mars (rather obsessively, actually… but, really, how can you NOT be crazy about this guy!? Jared Leto. Shhh. ) & pimps them out to all her friends through Spotify. She also delights in Met Opera HD broadcasts at her local movie theater & hopes (listening Met?) to someday see Diana Damrau reprise her role as Mozart’s Queen of the Night in Die Zauberflöte. Sibylla lives with her husband and hero who saved her from her own calamitous, young-adult self. He makes her laugh daily, even when things are tough. He’s proved to her that love really can heal a shattered soul. In 18 years, they have never had a fight, although argue regularly with their two teenage kids who have, unfortunately, inherited their father’s quick wit (unfortunate as it is a quick wit that Sibylla, herself, definitely does not possess – there is a reason she is a writer & not a stand-up comedian). They live a quiet life with their two weird little rescued Chiweenies. Wait… teenagers & little yap-dogs? OK, maybe not so quiet.

<><><><><><><>BENEATH THIS INK COVER REVEAL BY MEGHAN MARCH<><><><><><><>


Meghan March Beneath This Ink 
Releasing: February 12th, 2015

Another book that I have not so patiently waiting for is from Meghan March, Beneath This Ink.  The first book in this series was on my Top 10 list for 2014! (If you haven't read it I suggest you get to it).  I am so excited to show you all this cover.  Isn't it beautiful?!











Blurb: 
I’ve always known she was too good for me, but that never stopped me from wanting her. 
And then I finally had her for one night.  
A night I don’t remember. 
I figured I’d blown my shot. 
But now she’s walked back into my life, and this time, I have the upper hand. I want my second chance.  
Will she be able to see the man beneath this ink? 


Excerpt:  
“Con, can you take this walk-in?” Delilah called from the front of the shop.  

I pushed back from the desk and shoved my hair away from my face. It was too damn long. I needed to get it cut, but the girl I’d been going to for the last year had basically fallen onto my cock last week, and I wasn’t going to be letting her near my jugular with scissors any time soon. She wasn’t enamored of my, ‘I don’t go there twice unless there’s something worth going back for’ mentality. I probably could have phrased it a little nicer, but why give the girl false hope when I’d all but forgotten her as soon as I’d slid the condom off my dick? I didn’t have time for bullshit, and I didn’t like to be misunderstood when I spoke. So I was firmly in the ‘tell it how it is’ camp. Women didn’t seem to appreciate my particular brand of honesty. Mostly because it didn’t line up with what they wanted to hear. Not my problem.  

I stood and headed for the door of the break room. Time to meet my newest walk-in.  

If I had to tattoo one more “YOLO” on some idiot kid, I might hang up my tattoo gun and call it a day. Thoughts like that made me feel older than thirty-one.  

I scanned the shop, looking for my next client. If I hadn’t learned a hell of a long time ago how to lock down my reactions, I might’ve missed a step.    

It was no kid.  

And if she wanted YOLO tattooed on that body, it’d be a crime against nature. Anger flared within me at the sight of her. I might not remember the night we’d spent together, but I sure as hell remembered the morning after when I’d interrupted her escape from my bedroom. We’d thrown words like grenades, and it was a miracle we’d both walked away without bloodshed. Even with that memory vividly replaying in my head, I still had to tell my dick to calm the fuck down.  

Vanessa Fucking Frost was still out of my league. Hell, out of my fucking universe. She’d been too good for me in high school, she’d been too good for me two years ago, and as sure as she was standing in my shop today, she was still too damn good for me. And I bet she’d be the first person to say it. I still couldn’t figure out how she’d ended up in my bed that night. Not because my bed didn’t see action with rich chicks—it saw plenty—but not like her. Classic elegance like Grace Kelly. Joy Leahy used to make me watch To Catch a Thief with her, and that’s exactly who Vanessa reminded me of.  

Her platinum blond hair was twisted up into some fancy ass bun, and her tan skirt suit clung to her curves in all the right places. One perfectly manicured hand toyed with the gold bracelet on her wrist. My jeans tightened uncomfortably at the peek of a lacy pink bra from beneath her pink silk blouse. 

My reaction to her pissed me off.  

Do you know what it’s like to finally get something you’ve always wanted, but not remember a single fucking detail?  

It ate away it me. The not knowing. Part of me wanted to tell her to get the hell out of my shop, but the other part of me wanted to drag her upstairs, strip her naked, and tie her to my bed so this time she couldn’t leave until I was damn good and ready. Which might be never. And that thought—that weakness—infuriated me.  

“Never thought I’d see you darken my doorway again. What can I do for you, princess?” A mocking edge colored my words. 

Her nervous twirling of her bracelet halted, and her blue eyes, several shades lighter and more vibrant than my own, met mine. Her pink tongue darted out over her perfectly plump bottom lip slicked with gloss. This nervous, off-balance look of hers raised all my red flags. I was used to the quiet, sexy-as-all-hell confidence that had always drawn me in. At least until she’d opened her mouth that infamous morning and told me what she’d really thought of me.  

“I need a few moments of your time.”  

I raised an eyebrow. Now that was a new development. She’d never sought me out.  

“Is that so?”  

“Yes, if you could spare me five minutes.” 

Some of her words from that morning, which I might as well have tattooed on my skin, came back to me: Do this again? Are you crazy? I must have been insane to do this the first time. This can never happen again. And no one can ever know. No one.   

And now she wanted a favor?  

“In this shop, the only way a woman gets my time is if she’s getting a tattoo, or is on her knees or her back.” I knew my answer was crude, but that was what she undoubtedly expected from me. And I hated to disappoint.  

A flush of color hit her cheekbones, and I wondered for a brief second whether she was remembering what it had been like to be on her knees in front of me. Fuck. I wish I remembered. Then I could just fucking move on.  

I waited for the clipped go to hell and an abrupt exit. But instead of turning and walking out, she surprised me.  

“A tattoo it is, then.”  


About Meghan March 

Meghan March is a Michigan native who has spent a good portion of her life buried in a book. Case in point: she read the entire romance section of her small town public library by age fourteen. Even after growing up (sort of) and getting a law degree, she never lost her passion for a great story, twisty plot, epic romance, and amazing characters. When she’s not writing, she’s probably reading, target shooting, drooling over fast cars, or playing with her crazy mutt. 
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