Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Harper Voyager Presents ~ Stray Magic - A Strays Novel by Kelly Meding


Harper Voyager Presents:

STRAY MAGIC: A Strays Novel

by the prolific author Kelly Meding 

(On-sale June 19, 2018; E-book)

About the Book:




Shiloh Harrison was hoping for a few days off to recover from a particularly nasty assignment, preferably with the help of the talented hands (and, well, the rest of his body too) of her sexy boyfriend, Vincent. But when a group of vampires takes an entire trailer park hostage, there’s nothing to do but make her apologies and get to the scene.

Such is the life of a Federal Marshal in the Paranormal Investigators Unit.

Yet this isn’t like her typical track-and-nab case: something is going on that has vampires scared, and it takes all her strength not to imagine what could frighten such powerful creatures. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have that option. Her boss is MIA, someone is snatching vampires, and there’s a ticking clock that can only end one way: a bloodbath.

Unless she can stop it.





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Excerpt:

“A bunch of vampires are holding a trailer park hostage.”

I nearly dropped my phone. While it wasn’t the strangest phone call I’ve ever gotten in the middle of the night, it certainly ranked in the top five. And if the voice on the other end of the line wasn’t from Novak, our team’s third-in-command, I’d have accused the caller of playing a sick 2:00 a.m. joke. But as a disgraced incubus, Novak’s rare displays of humor leaned toward the bawdy side. Hostage-taking vampires just wasn’t his style.

“Which trailer park?” I asked as though the taking of small communities was an everyday occurrence. I padded across the room and yanked open a dresser drawer, knowing without saying that my time off—my time with Vincent—was officially revoked.

“Little place called Myrtle’s Acres.”

“Am I supposed to have heard of it?”

Novak snorted in my ear. “I’m surprised the vamps heard of it. Forty-six trailers, rough population of a hundred and twenty people, in the middle of Nowhere, Delaware, surrounded by forest and two cornfields of all blessed things.”

“And they’ve got the whole trailer park?”

“Surrounded and locked down. It’s blessing unreal.”

Years of practice made the act of putting on panties and jeans one-handed relatively easy. The bra was going to be harder. So far, Vincent hadn’t commented. He accepted my job as a US Marshal in the Paranormal Investigations Unit and the odd hours I kept, and I appreciated him for not asking questions I couldn’t answer. Questions about the creatures I encountered on a daily basis, the methods we used to trap the nasties, the lengths we’d go to save the nice ones, and most importantly, why I was part of it.

In the nine months Vincent and I had been together, the whole “my father was an earth djinn and I inherited some of his powers” conversation hadn’t been broached. Even though we’d been intimate in both the hold-my-hair-while-I-barf way, and in the much more exciting lick-me-until-I-scream way, I wanted to keep my parentage under wraps as long as possible. It had a nasty habit of being used against me when people found out I could grant wishes.

“Shiloh?”

I snapped back to the phone. Had Novak been talking? “What?”

“I said how long before you can be at the crux?”

“I’m almost dressed, so fifteen minutes. I’ll call you when I’m there.”

“’Kay.”

I hung up, tucked the phone into my jeans pocket, and finished dressing. Green lace camisole under a fitted black jacket. Over the jeans, it seemed a little dressy, but our unit boss Julius Almeida never stood on formality. He cared more about how we did our jobs than what we wore while we did it. Plus the jacket hid my shoulder holster and gun, its clip filled with standard issue silver-jacket bullets.
“Real estate problems?” Vincent asked.

“That’s an understatement.”

From STRAY MAGIC.  Used with permission of Harper Voyager. Copyright © 2018 by Kelly Meding.


About the Author:

Born and raised in Southern Delaware, Kelly Meding survived five years in the hustle and bustle of Northern Virginia, only to retreat back to the peace and sanity of the Eastern Shore. An avid reader and film buff, she discovered Freddy Krueger at a very young age, and has since had a lifelong obsession with horror, science fiction, and fantasy, on which she blames her interest in vampires, psychic powers, superheroes, and all things paranormal.

Hosted By:
Harper Voyager

Raven's Ghost - Raven's Shadow: Book 2 by R. L. Weeks


Raven's
Ghost
Raven's
Shadow Book 2
by
R.L. Weeks


Genre:
YA Paranormal Mystery

Award
Winning author, R. L. Weeks, brings you Raven's Ghost - Book Two in
the Young Adult Victorian Paranormal Mystery Series.


Another
serial killer is raising hell on the streets of London and Raven
believes it's all her fault. All the victims have blonde hair and
blue eyes like her, and the killer is none other than her uncle. 
His
mind had been warped and twisted by heartbreak and betrayal and his
hatred for women is driving him to kill more and more each
week. 
Raven
wants to stop him at all costs. However, there is one big problem
standing in her way. No one can see, hear, or feel her. 
With
the help of her new friend, Elizabeth, and Emmett who is desperately
trying to contact Raven's Ghost, can Raven find her way back from the
other side to save the world from the notorious serial killer?
Or
will the Shadow Men, drawn back to their world by darkness, fade her
away before she get's the chance?







Raven's
Sight
Raven's
Shadow Book 1

Award
Winning author, R. L. Weeks, brings you Raven's Sight - a Young Adult
Victorian Paranormal Mystery. Book One can be read as a standalone
and as part of the series.


Raven
looks out over the small, industrial town of Cogsworth and imagines a
life beyond the confines of her Grandmother's mansion.

However,
Raven holds a dark secret that prevents her from leaving. One which
comes to light after her father's untimely death. Now an orphan,
Raven must do her best to hide her gifts of sight if she's to survive
the cruel Victorian society she lives in.

However,
when a ghost of a child comes to her for help, Raven finds herself in
the gas lit streets of London, on the trail of a female serial
killer. As she tries to solve the string of murders, she realizes
that the murders are almost identical to those from a case left
unsolved years before she was born.

In
a race against time, Raven is thrown into a world she doesn't know.
With her crush, Tom, now a ghost, her friend, Emmett, now a suspect,
and an uncle who runs illicit groups and hates women, Raven will have
to unravel the mysteries quickly before she becomes their next
victim.







R
L Weeks

is the bestselling and award-winning author of the Dead Loves Life
Series, Bloodlust, The Fallen, Willow Woods Academy for Witches,
Cursed, and the owner of Enchanted Anthologies, publisher of
Fractured Fairytales Books 1 & 2, A Deadly World: Vampires in
Paris, Things Only the Darkness Knows, and Christmas Nightmares.

She
lives in a small village in the UK.
When
she's not writing, she's traveling, reading (paranormal, fantasy and
horror being her go to genres) and designing covers for Dark Wish
Designs.







Follow
the tour HERE
for exclusive content and a giveaway!






Breathless by New York Times Bestselling Authors Celeste Bradley and Susan Donovan


Breathless

by

New York Times Bestselling Authors
Celeste Bradley and Susan Donovan

SUMMARY: 
In Breathless, bestselling authors Celeste Bradley and Susan Donovan will sweep you away—across continents and centuries, combining the best of all worlds in one unforgettable romantic saga.

She was “the Swan.” London’s premiere courtesan. Men want to be with her. Women loathe her success and yet admire her beauty, her riches, her independence. But when the jealous wife of her lover moves to have the Swan banished from her home on the high seas, she winds up crashed against Spain’s rocky coast with no shoes, no clothes—and no name. Taken in by a tortured, sensuous man known as The Artist, the Swan comes to know the woman she wants to be—her artist’s siren.

When Art Professor Brenna Anderson is in danger of losing her post at Harvard, the rule-following, prim professor is at a loss of how to salvage the shreds of her life. But when a new painting in the mysterious Siren collection is discovered in a dusty old house in France, Brenna does the unthinkable—hops on a plane to uncover the identity of the beautiful, enigmatic woman who is the subject of the paintings.

There’s just one hitch—the frustrating, irritating, bold and beautiful art hunter Fitch Wilder is also looking for the Siren. He’s been a thorn in Brenna’s professional side for years, but when their individual quests lead them to team up despite being enemies, a whole new sumptuous world of art and culture opens up for the two of them. And with it, they enter a realm of passion and love…

Chapter One


Paris

Door hinges groaned with age and disuse as Fitch Wilder got his first peek of history.

“Un capsule temporal…” his employer had whispered those words only moments before, as they’d climbed the narrow stairs of the vintage Paris apartment building and waited for the flat’s door to be unlocked. Yet even as Fitch’s eyes adjusted to the murky light, he could tell these rooms were more than a time capsule—he was about to step into a fine art wormhole.

Oh, mon Dieu!” Jean-Louis Rasmussen gestured madly, pointing as if Fitch couldn’t see the eerie sight for himself—a richly appointed tomb, still as death, undisturbed for seventy-five years.

Until right at that instant.

The indirect light of the hallway began to illuminate the details. Fitch saw heavy velvet drapes and Persian carpets, a gilt bronze writing desk, ornately carved tables covered in figurines, clocks, and blown glass. Paintings in gilded frames were stacked six-deep against Louis XV chairs. Sculptures hid in shadowy corners. Vases lined the fireplace mantel like soldiers from mismatched armies. It looked as if someone had planned a seriously badass rummage sale and then decided against it.

Perhaps not so far from the truth.

As he had recently learned, a young woman inherited this apartment from her grandmother on June 11, 1940. Talk about rotten timing. The very next day, Paris braced itself for the Nazi invasion, and the young mademoiselle locked down her grandmother’s residence in the 9th arrondissement and fled to the south of France, never to return. Through the following decades, the woman’s solicitor paid the taxes and insurance on the apartment until his client passed away just weeks ago at the age of ninety-three. In her will, the never-married woman carried out the wishes of her long-gone grandmother and bequeathed the apartment’s contents to a variety of foundations, universities, and museums.

That was where Fitch came in. One of his occasional employers, the private Musee de Michel-Blanc, was among the beneficiaries, and he’d been hired to advise them during acquisition. In addition to tracing the provenance and rightful ownership of each work, Fitch would also oversee laboratory testing to verify age and authorship. He was the museum’s insurance policy against the worst offense within the world of art: display of a forgery or a stolen work.

Allez! What are you waiting for?” Jean-Louis jabbed his bony fingers into Fitch’s side, nudging him onward.

Pressing a firm hand on the curator’s shoulder, Fitch turned his attention to the attorney who had unlocked the door. “May we proceed, monsieur?”

The lawyer gestured listlessly, as if opening a crypt was just another day at the office. “Apres vous.”

Jean-Louis shoved past Fitch and into the apartment. “We are the first!”

Fitch stepped inside, resting the heel of his cowboy boot on the decades-dusted parquet floor. He wanted to savor the moment, since this was the kind of once-in-a-lifetime treasure hunt every art investigator dreamed of. More than that, he wanted to honor it. Fitch knew he was about to take a breath of history itself.

And he wondered … whose lungs last pulled oxygen from the air of these rooms? Whose fingertips had last brushed across these chairs or drew closed the draperies? He’d been told that the solicitors had never entered the apartment, as requested in the will, and it was unknown whether the granddaughter ever had a chance to examine her inheritance before she escaped the city. All things considered, Fitch knew it was possible that the grandmother—a woman born during Napoleon III’s reign—had been the last human being to walk these floors.

Astounding.

Fitch drew in the stale air, and blew it out.

With an excited outburst of French, Jean-Louis flung open the drapes. And just like that, a beam of morning light split the dim room, illuminating every corner. Millions of dust particles twirled in the sudden air current.

In his agitated state, the curator stumbled, then gasped in horror. Fitch tried not to laugh, but the sight of Jean-Louis cowering under a seven-foot-tall taxidermied ostrich wasn’t an everyday occurrence.

Fitch tossed his employer a pair of white cotton gloves, then shoved his own hands into an identical set. “Let’s keep moving. We don’t have much time.”

A random lottery had given the Michel-Blanc first access to the apartment. Like each of the sixteen beneficiaries, they were allotted four hours to locate the items bequeathed to them, conclusively match each item to the inventory within the grandmother’s original 1940 will, crate the works, and exit the premises.

Fitch knew why Jean-Louis was so twitchy. Among the items earmarked for the little museum was a signed Rembrandt in black and red chalk, dated 1631, and given the decidedly generic title of “Mother and Child.” From the moment Fitch arrived at baggage claim at de Gaulle yesterday, Jean-Louis had spoken of little else, going on about how the drawing would be a major coup for the small museum. He was right, of course, but only if he found it to be authentic, and Fitch knew signed-and-dated Rembrandts from that period were exceedingly rare. He told his employer to keep the celebratory champagne corked until he’d finished with the X-rays.

Though Fitch was looking forward to examining the Rembrandt, he was more intrigued by the less conspicuous items on the list, and, though he’d kept the thought to himself, he had a hunch one of the institutions might walk away from this Paris flat with an explosive find. Fate had smiled on this private collection. The closed-up apartment had served as a kind of a safe house during the Third Reich’s invasion of Paris, allowing the artworks to slip beneath the notice of Nazi raiders determined to plunder the city’s cultural treasures.

Only God knew what could be in this place.

Fitch set up his camera and reminded Jean-Louis not to move anything until he had documented its location.

Oui, Oui!” Jean-Louis headed into the dining room. He threw open those drapes as well, flooding the area with sunlight and exposing an even larger jumble of tapestries, oil paintings, figurines, and what looked like a carved frieze from the Middle Ages.

Jean-Louis sent his hands fluttering over his head. “Do you have your copy of the list?”

Fitch nodded, snatching it from his jacket pocket and holding it up for his employer’s reassurance.

Within the first hour, Fitch found three of their items: a Faberge egg dated 1902, a still life of lilacs in crystal signed with Manet’s telltale scrawl, and a Guangzhou period vase much like one he’d seen auctioned off for a quarter-million dollars the year prior. As Fitch was matching the vase to the solicitor’s inventory, his employer began screaming in French that he’d found the Rembrandt. He could barely compose himself enough to hand the drawing to the solicitor for verification.

“It is the real thing, oui?” Jean-Louis looked up at Fitch with a pleading expression.
Since the poor man was overwrought, Fitch didn’t mention that he’d already asked that question six times in as many minutes.

“Like I said, no red flags are jumping out at me. Everything looks right—the correct chalk pigment for the date, the appropriate type of laid paper, and an authentic-looking mark—but I won’t be sure until I’ve done research and run some tests. If I could’ve phoned in this job from Santa Fe, I would have. You know that, right?”

The curator nodded, wiping tears from his eyes. He patted Fitch on the arm. “Bien sur. You are the best and I will be patient.”

Once the crating process had begun and Jean-Louis was overseeing a team of museum workers, Fitch wandered off to continue his search. According to the list, four items had yet to be located—a series of original French political cartoons from 1899 through 1901, a female nude oil on canvas of unknown age and origin, a Japanese kimono that allegedly belonged to an 18th Century geisha, and a 1929 signed and inscribed first edition of Hemingway’s Farewell To Arms.

Ole Granny was probably one hell of an interesting dinner guest.

Fitch wandered into a breakfast nook off the vintage kitchen and winced at what he saw—a jumble of unframed canvases leaned against a window seat, a particularly unkind way to store paintings. Luckily, the apartment had been nearly airtight all these years, and the drapes had been drawn, which cut down on light damage, moisture, and dust accumulation, though Fitch knew unframed canvases were vulnerable to warp in the best of environments. He lowered himself to one knee for a closer look.

Carefully, Fitch slipped a gloved finger between two canvases, separating them. He began to divide each canvas from its neighbor, one after the next, making quick mental evaluations of each work. There were watery French country fields, seascapes, and studies of Paris street life through various decades. Though they were important and worth further study, Fitch was on the clock, and so far there had been no sign of any cartoons, kimonos, or mysterious female nudes.

The very last canvas was larger than all the others, perhaps forty-by-forty inches. It was draped with an old embroidered bed sheet, and when he gently pulled at the linen he found the painting was faced away. Its back was covered by a layer of coarse muslin, frayed and tearing along the tacked-down edges. Fitch leaned closer, frowning, his brain suddenly humming with alarm. One touch of the muslin and his heart skipped a beat.

Okay—this was nuts. He had only seen the back. He had to be fucking crazy to be thinking what he was thinking.

He set all the other canvases off to the side, stood to open the window’s shutters, and returned to the floor, where he balanced on both knees. With the benefit of better light, Fitch confirmed that his sanity was intact—there were, in fact, similarities. Was it unlikely? Hell, yes. Was it impossible? Not in his line of work.

First, he took a few photos to document exactly where the canvas had been found and in what position. Then, with a gloved finger, he pushed back a corner of the ragged muslin and turned on the flashlight app from his phone. Peering underneath, he saw how the canvas was supported by strainers of ancient olivewood and held together mortise and tenon joints—an exact match to the others.

“Holy God,” he whispered to no one. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

His hands trembled slightly as he turned the canvas to face him. It was upside down. He set it upright. The shock of what he saw sent him back on his heels, his breath coming fast. In the bottom right corner was the familiar mark of an “L” and “A” done in a bold cursive hand.

Fitch grabbed the list and double-checked the wording … “female nude oil on canvas of unknown age and origin.” Of course it had been unknown back in 1940! The Siren Series hadn’t been assembled as a collection of five paintings until after the war and even then … well, hell, that was all that had ever been “known” about anything. Even today, the artist, muse, setting, and date were a mystery.

He shoved the printed list back into his pocket and tried to get his brain and his breath to slow down.

Fitch heard himself laugh out loud.

He couldn’t deny it. Everything was there. This painting had the lively brushstroke, familiar play of light and shadow and the golden touch of sunshine on the model’s warm skin. Fitch recognized the boudoir, too, with its wide windowsill framing the sea, the rugged stone walls and the unvarnished oak of the simple bureau.

But it was the subject he knew best of all—her tumble of sun-streaked blond hair, her smoldering, powder-blue eyes, the sleek curve of her shoulder. And there was the fantail birthmark on the side of her right breast, exactly where it should be. That mermaid-shaped mark had inspired the only name by which this outrageously sensual muse had ever been known.

The Siren.

But Fitch had never seen her like this. No one had.

She was pregnant. The Siren leaned back on her hands at the edge of an unmade bed, as if the painter had caught her in the process of pushing herself to stand after a long and luxurious rest. Her full breasts and slightly rounded belly were gilded by the sun. Her lean legs stretched out before her as she gazed directly into the soul of the artist.

Any shred of doubt Fitch might have been harboring was gone. The Siren’s bold eye contact with the painter—and the intense sexual connection it revealed—was what set these paintings apart from nearly everything else in the art world. That heated connection was the trademark of this unknown painter’s work. And of his muse.

Fitch didn’t call for Jean-Louis right away, and instead allowed himself a few moments of quiet study. This painting was as technically brilliant as the other five, to be sure. The colors were as luminous and rich. The wash of light and hint of movement were the same. And yet … this painting was more than the others. The sum of all its elements had created something tangibly alive. It was as if the woman’s gaze had burned through the artist himself, onto the canvas, and through time to reach Fitch.

The Siren wasn’t daring him, exactly. It was more of an invitation.

I have a story to tell. Are you prepared to listen?

The sound of approaching footsteps jolted Fitch from his trance.

“Where are you? We need to—” The curator stopped behind him. “Qu’este-ce? No! It cannot be! Is this—?”

“Without question, my friend.”

“But…” He leaned over Fitch’s shoulder and pointed at the canvas. “She is with child here. This is … this has never been seen before!”

Fitch nodded.

His instincts had always told him there were more than just the five paintings—and he’d been right. So if this canvas had been hiding for seventy years in an abandoned Paris apartment, how many more were hidden away and forgotten? And where on earth could they be?

“We’ve just found the sixth in the Siren Series.” Fitch turned and smiled up at his employer. “And it is now the property of the Michel-Blanc. That is, unless or until…”
“Mon Dieu!” Jean-Louis slapped a hand over his mouth. His eyes flashed in comprehension as he did the math in his head. Like everyone else in the art world, he knew this single oil painting could be worth more than several small Rembrandts, simply because of one man’s obsession. Billionaire London art collector H. Winston Guilford was unabashedly fixated with the Siren, and had spent the last twenty years acquiring all five paintings in the series. He would surely offer an obscene amount of money to get his hands on the sixth.

From the twinkle in his employer’s eye, Fitch suspected the Michel-Blanc would be only too happy to enable Guilford’s addiction.

Fitch popped to his feet, the thrill of the chase already rushing through his veins, a plan already forming in his mind. He would run tests on this painting while it was still the property of the Michel-Blanc. And if he got extremely lucky, he would find something he could use as leverage with Guilford, something that might convince that crusty old bastard to let him take the rest of the series into the lab—and perhaps even to public display.

And after that…? As always, he would wait and see where the hunt took him.

Fitch carried the painting to the solicitor, making a mental note to cancel his return flight to the States. It could be a while before his boots once again roamed the blue-skied streets of Santa Fe.

Copyright © 2018 by Celeste Bradley and Susan Donovan in Breathless and reprinted with permission from St. Martin’s Griffin.



BIO:


CELESTE BRADLEY is the New York Times bestselling author of the Runaway Brides, Heiress Brides, Liar’s Club, and Royal Four series. Her novel Fallen was nominated for a RITA in 2002. “When you are overendowed with imagination and underendowed with punctuality, become a writer.” Years of dreaming on the job paid off when Celeste Bradley quit the mainstream in 1999 and started writing historical romance. “Handsome heroes beat out cranky customers every time!” Bradley lives in New Mexico with her family, her desert garden and so many pets the house sometimes feels like an ark.


SUSAN DONOVAN’s novels have won accolades for being witty, sexy, and entertaining. A former newspaper reporter with journalism degrees from Northwestern University, Susan is a New York Times and USA Today bestseller whose novels have been translated into dozens of languages. Susan is a two-time RITA Award finalist, and her novel Take a Chance on Me was named Best Contemporary Romance of 2003 by RT Book Reviews Magazine. She lives in New Mexico with her family and assorted dogs.

Buy Links:

Info:
St. Martin's Griffin
Pub date: 06/12/2018
ISBN: 9781250008060
384 Pages

Social Links:

Celeste Bradley:
Twitter: @CelesteBradley_

Susan Donovan:
Twitter: @SDonovanAuthor
Facebook: @SusanDonovanFanPage



A Taker of Morrows - Caretakers by Stephen Paul Sayers


A Taker of Morrows
Stephen Paul Sayers
(Caretakers, #1)
Publication date: June 15th 2018
Genres: Adult, Horror, Supernatural, Thriller
RG Granville has his whole life in front of him…but only twenty-four hours to live it.
Beyond life’s boundaries, an enduring battle between good and evil determines the fate of earthly souls. Here, ‘caretakers’ guard and protect against the evil and vengeful ‘jumpers’ who slip back and forth between worlds to prey upon the living.
For one man, news of his impending demise sets off a deadly chain of events fueled by a jumper’s burning vengeance. Now he’s in a race against time to stop an unrelenting evil unleashed upon the earth. And if he’s to protect his family, and the world, he must breach the tenuous boundary between life and death to confront a killer—and a shocking secret from his long-buried past.
EXCERPT:
“Hello, Robert.” The stranger advanced toward him. “You’re late.”
RG steadied himself against the entryway table as his heart lurched in his chest, the air thickening like a smothering rag over his face. With gradual boldness, he slid his arm against the wall and triggered the light switch. “What the hell—?”
“I feared we’d missed each other,” the man interrupted. “That would have been a shame. You see, we have a problem to discuss.” His face hardened as he stepped forward, shoes clicking on the hardwood floor.
RG’s pulse quickened. “Who are you?”
“I wish I didn’t have to be here, Robert.” The stranger unfolded his hands from behind his back and stepped forward, “but I have a job to do.”
As the man advanced, RG backpedaled, snatching the old-school, wooden baseball bat stashed behind the coat rack. He never imagined grabbing the lumber for anything other than Tuesday night softball, but now found himself flapping it back and forth in a hardwood batter’s box.
The man took another step. “Death has come for you,” he said, shaking his head, “and no Louisville Slugger will stop it.”



Author Bio:
Stephen Paul Sayers grew up on the sands of Cape Cod and spent his first thirty-five years in New England before joining the University of Missouri as a research professor. When he’s not in his laboratory, he spends his time writing and devouring his favorite forms of genre fiction—horror, suspense, and thrillers. His short fiction has appeared in Unfading Daydream. A Taker of Morrows is his debut novel and the first in the planned Caretakers series.
Throughout his journey, he has accumulated five guitars, four herniated discs, three academic degrees, two dogs, and one wife, son, and daughter. He divides his time between Columbia, Missouri and Cape Cod writing and teaching.

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Stand & Deliver - Men of Haven by Rhenna Morgan


Security expert Beckett Tate has met his match in colleague Gia Sinclair. He’s given her time to get used to the idea of “them,” but her time is up and he’s ready to go all in on claiming what’s his. When someone attacks Gia's character and career they'll need to find a balance between her independence and his fierce desire to protect. Return to Rhenna Morgan's sexy Men of Haven series available 2018 from Carina Press!


About Stand & Deliver:
Title: Stand & Deliver
Author: Rhenna Morgan
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: June 11th, 2018
Publisher: Carina Press
Series: Men of Haven
Format: Digital eBook / Print
Digital ISBN: B076ZV47MC
Print ISBN: 9781335948304

Synopsis:

Live hard, f*ck harder and make their own rules. Those are the cornerstones the six Men of Haven bleed by, taking what they want, always watching each other’s backs and loving the women they claim with unyielding tenderness and fierce.

Security expert Beckett Tate has met his match in colleague Gia Sinclair. He longs to run his hands over each and every one of her lush curves. She’s wicked smart and wicked hot. He’s given her time to get used to the idea of “them,” but her time is up and he’s ready to go all in on claiming what’s his.

Despite her love of all things girlie, Gia’s no typical Southern belle. She’s built her skills and reputation in a field normally dominated by men, and now she has a kick-ass career she loves. She certainly doesn’t need a man to take care of her—especially not one who’s pure alpha. Still, Beckett’s the one man who can satisfy the desires she’s hidden under her tough exterior, and she’s hooked.

Letting Beckett take the lead in the bedroom comes naturally to Gia—not constantly proving herself to him professionally is more of a struggle. And when someone attacks her character and career, Gia and Beckett will have to find a balance: her willingness to let go just a little, with his trust in her abilities and his deep, primal need to protect his woman.

Add to your TBR list:  Goodreads

Available at:  Amazon  |  Barnes and Noble  |  Kobo  |  iTunes

Rhenna Morgan’s STAND & DELIVER Giveaway

Carina Press is offer three lucky winner’s a digital bundle of the first four (4) books in Rhenna Morgan’s Men of Haven series! Titles in the digital bundle include: Rough & Tumble (Book #1), Wild & Sweet (Book #2), Claim & Protect (Book #3), and Tempted & Taken (Book #4). To enter, simply fill out the Rafflecopter below:



Copyright© 2018 Stand & Deliver
Rhenna Morgan

As light as Gia was, getting her in the house was a breeze, and thanks to Knox, her alarm didn’t pose a problem either. Thank God, he’d actually convinced her to let his company be the one to install the system when she moved in. Otherwise, he’d have had a whole different set of problems to juggle.
            Soft lamplight spilled from the corner of the living room, so Beckett aimed that direction and laid Gia out on the couch. Once settled, he crouched beside her and smoothed her hair away from her face.
            The impact hit him instantly, the soft and silky strands jolting his amplified need for touch into high gear and tempting him like a junkie on a four-day dry spell. As out as she was, he could toy with the long strands and sample the skin on her face and neck for hours and she’d likely never remember a thing. The thing was, if he ever got the chance to touch her that way, he’d want her to remember. Would want to see the response in her eyes and learn how her body reacted to his touch.
            He braced on hand on the couch above her head instead. The fabric was nowhere near as luxurious as her hair, but it was soft like the chairs he kept at his place and kept him from giving into touching where he shouldn’t.
            That was the thing about people like him. Touch was everything. The thing he needed to stay in balance and keep his head and impulses in check. While his sensory processing disorder—or SPD—wasn’t as debilitating as it was for some people, he’d sure as hell learned not to underestimate it.
            He leaned in and lowered his voice, knowing full well she probably wouldn’t hear or understand a word he said. “How about you chill here for a bit, gorgeous. Let me go get things ready for you upstairs.”
            Gia moaned and rolled to one side, tucking her hands beneath her cheek.
            He couldn’t help but chuckle. The pose was cute. Totally innocent and sweet. Which meant she’d be mortified if she had any clue he’d seen it. “I’m gonna take that for a yes.”

About Rhenna Morgan:


A native Oklahoman, Rhenna Morgan is a certified romance junkie. Whether it’s contemporary, paranormal, or fantasy you’re after, Rhenna’s stories pack romantic escape full of new, exciting worlds, and strong, intuitive men who fight to keep the women they want. For advance release news and exclusive content, sign up for her newsletter at http://RhennaMorgan.com. You'll also find all of her social links there, along with her smoking hot inspiration boards.

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