Tuesday, March 29, 2016

~~Blog Tour, Review & a Giveaway!!~~ Fire & Ice by Jessica Prince

Title: Fire & Ice
Series: The Locklaine Boys (Book #1)
Author: Jessica Prince
Genre: Contemporary Romantic Comedy

Pepper O’Malley isn’t one to be toyed with. Fool her once, shame on you. Fool her twice and they’ll have trouble finding your body. She used to dream of white picket fences and happily-ever-afters, but now she lives in the real world. As the saying goes, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, especially when that woman is a redheaded spitfire.
Griffin Locklaine always viewed commitment as a four letter word. He was clear about what he wanted from the start and made no apologies for it. He didn’t care if he came off cold as ice. He lived for his job, his family, and his friends. He had no desire for a relationship. That was, until he saw the once-young-and-scrawny Pepper all grown up.
They’re like oil and water, fire and ice. A volatile combination that should never work together. Unfortunately fate has other ideas. A spark like theirs left ignored has a tendency to burn out of control, leaving everyone to wonder who will be left standing when it finally explodes. Only one thing is certain. When they finally come together it’s going to be epic.
**Fire & Ice is Griffin and Pepper’s story. It is book 1 in a spin off series for characters introduced in Love Hate Relationship. It is recommended you read Love Hate Relationship first**

A sudden bang from the direction of my kitchen caused me to freeze instantly. Sheer panic filled my veins like ice.
Someone was in my apartment.
Holy shit! Someone was in my apartment!
Now, a rational person would have grabbed the phone and called 911. Or at the very least, found a safe hiding spot so as not to get hacked to pieces by a potential ax murderer. But I’d never been described as rational, and my hungover state only made that worse.
Bypassing my cellphone completely, I quietly pulled my nightstand drawer open and reached for my Taser. That’s right. I was a single woman living on her own in New York City. Fuck pepper spray. If someone was going to screw with me I was hitting them with fifty thousand volts. I didn’t mess around.


I absolutely loved Pepper and Griffin, their banter, chemistry and the tension between the two made Fire & Ice the perfect package for this well written romantic comedy. You will laugh, maybe cry a little and even want to throw your kindle a time or two but it will be so worth it to get to the amazing end. Fire & Ice takes you on a wild journey of two people so perfectly wrong together that they just fit. A true testament to opposites attract.

Jessica Prince did a fantastic job with this story, the characters are strong, the secondary characters are just as fabulous and bringing in the others from the rest of the books made it all that more entertaining. Fire & Ice is the perfect blend of humor, sass and sexiness, don't miss out on this one folks!!

Born and raised around Houston Texas, Jessica spent most of her life complaining about the heat, humidity, and all around pain in the ass weather. It was only as an adult that she quickly realized the cost of living in Houston made up for not being able to breathe when she stepped outside. That’s why God created central air, after all.
Jessica is the mother of a perfect little boy–she refuses to accept that he inherited her attitude and sarcastic nature no matter what her husband says.
In addition to being a wife and mom, she’s also a wino, a coffee addict, and an avid lover of all types of books–romances still being her all time favs. Her husband likes to claim that reading is her obsession but she just says it’s a passion…there’s a difference. Not that she’d expect a boy to understand.
Jessica has been writing since she was a little girl, but thankfully grew out of drawing her own pictures for her stories before ever publishing her first book. Because an artist she is not.
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Monday, March 28, 2016

~~Release Blitz!!~~ Logan Kade by Tijan

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Logan Kade is FINALLY here!  #sexmachine #fallencrest #logankade

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You think you know me?
Manwhore. Partier. Fighter.
You know what? You’re right. I’m all those things. F*ck with what’s mine and I’ll f*ck you ten times harder. Suspensions. Arrests. You think I care?

So yeah, I may fit the bad boy image, but there’s so much more you don’t know.

I'm loyal to a damned fault. I'll never leave your side. The real Logan Kade isn’t a manwhore. When I love, I love hard and completely.

Taylor saw that side of me. Inside of me. She saw my darkness and pain, and the second she did, she owned me.

You may think you know me…
…but she’s the only one who sees me.


Someone new had arrived at the party, and turning around, I assumed it was Logan Kade. I could only see the back of him. He was talking to a group of guys right outside the back door, and someone motioned in our direction.
Jason groaned.
Logan lifted his head, looking right at us.
From the back, he was the finest specimen I’d seen in a long time. Tall. Lean. Broad shoulders. Trim waist. His shirt clung to his form, outlining his lithe build. He was obviously an athlete. Guys couldn’t get that look unless they played sports on an almost-daily basis and for hours at a time. Others might try to mold and sculpt their bodies to look as good as this one, but their efforts never played out.
Even the back of his neck was delicious. His shirt hugged the muscles of his shoulder and the ridges where his neck and shoulders became one. His hair had a crew cut. When he finally glanced over his shoulder again, looking in the direction the other guy had pointed, his eyes found mine. They held firm.
I swallowed, feeling like I’d just gotten the wind knocked out of me. He was breathtaking.
Dark chocolate eyes. Long eyelashes I would’ve killed for when I was younger—hell, I still would. He had an angular face with high cheekbones, and the front of him matched his back. His biceps bulged, and his shirtsleeves tightened around them for a second before they relaxed. The outline of washboard abs was visible through his shirt. His jeans sealed the image, making my mouth water, and I finally pulled my eyes away.
I had to. I hadn’t reacted to a guy like this in a long time.

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“Get Logan,” someone yelled.
Another girl asked, “Where is Logan?”
I heard other people saying the same thing, but I focused on the girl.
She raised her chin, and a warning flashed in her eyes. “Touch me. I dare you.”
There were three of them, all tall and, not to be stereotypical, but they looked like preppy douchebags. Each was good looking, with bodies built like they rowed every morning for hours. They looked like money. It practically dripped from their clothes. Their jawlines were rigid enough to form glaciers.
Their eyes were icy, too, as they stared back at the girl. They weren’t backing down.
I broke from the crowd, planning to go stand next to her. But before I could move, the crowd broke in half. An actual opening formed, and Logan Kade strode forward.
My foot jerked back into its spot, stepping back as he brushed past me.
Kade stopped beside her, and the three guys turned their attention to him. They didn’t move or say anything, but the air shifted. It’d been dark and ominous before, and I still felt a battle brewing.
“Kade starts fights, and he finishes them.”
A low tingle went through me, warming me. I remembered what Jason said and the nerves/anger/excitement took on a whole other feeling. My mouth was almost watering. I wanted to see what would happen. I wanted to see this Logan Kade in action, and for some reason, I was thirsting to see this fight.
“Kade,” one of them grated out his name.
Kade glanced at the girl, and then settled back on the spokesman. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s a party. We were invited.”
“And that’s why you’re facing off with Sam?” He moved forward a step.
“We weren’t facing off...”
Samantha folded her arms over her chest. “Yeah, right. You were just walking past me? That’s why you wouldn’t let me get past you to the car. We just ‘happened’ to block each other and you didn’t hear me when I told you to move.”
A little laugh slipped from me.
Kade threw me a sideways look.
I should’ve clamped a hand over my mouth. I should’ve let them know I wasn’t involved, because really, I wasn’t. I didn’t know this girl. It wasn’t my place to say anything or join in, but I didn’t. A dark part of me had opened up, seeing that this girl might need help. I wanted something to happen. I was almost egging it on in my head and as Kade watched me, his eyes lingering, the dark part grew into something else. My body grew warm and my pulse started to pick up. It was like he knew what was going on in me, and I swallowed over a lump, because that wasn’t right. He couldn’t know. He didn’t even know me...
But I felt like he did. I felt like he knew exactly what was going on in me, and a flash of anger flared up in me. I turned away. He could see inside of me, and that was too much. I didn’t want that so I slipped back into the crowd. As I pulled further away, enough so I wasn’t on the front line, my insides were still charged up.

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The fight was on.
“No, no, no!” Jason shoved his way through the crowd. “Cops have been called,” he yelled. “Everyone scatter—”
Before he finished talking, sirens began to wail. They were faint, still in the distance, but he was right. They were coming.
Douchebag One reared back. He was going to hit Kade.
“Stop!” I yelled.
Kade heard me and turned to look. I pointed behind him. Before he turned around, he ducked, and Douchebag One’s arm went over his head. Kade caught it, twisted around, and rammed his elbow into the guy’s gut. He hit him with an uppercut, then bent over and tossed him over his back. The two other guys ran to their friend and pulled him away as they took off with the scattering crowd.
I watched, frowning. We weren’t in high school. We didn’t really need to worry, did we? But Jason grabbed my hand and yanked me after him.
“Come on,” he said. “There’s illegal shit here. We don’t want to get caught. Trust me.”
I was still revved up. I didn’t know what from: from Kade or from the fight, but Jason took off and I followed right behind. As we zipped past a car, Kade was right there. He was heading to a different vehicle and for a moment, our paths crossed.
Kade looked at me. His eyebrows furrowed together, like he wanted to say something, but Jason yanked on my hand and we were past him.
“Logan!” Samantha called from farther down the road.
She waved from an Escalade. Jason veered toward them, pulling me along. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he continued right past the vehicle. I glanced back and watched as Kade sprinted for it. He leaped, took hold of the top of the Escalade, and somehow threw himself into the front seat as Samantha clambered into the back.
Once inside, Kade reached out and pounded on the top of the vehicle. “Let’s go,” he barked.
The driver took off, and they were past us in two seconds, just as Claire pulled up.
Jason hurried into the passenger seat, and I threw myself into the back. Claire gunned the engine, and we turned off the block and onto another street as the cop cars began pulling up in front of the house.
“That was close.”
I wasn’t sure who said that, but it didn’t matter. We were all thinking it.
Then I grinned. I wanted to do it again.

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I didn’t quite know how to react to someone like Logan Kade.
The second he sat down next to me, others started glancing back at us, but now that he was laughing, more and more they were openly staring. A few girls down the row were almost glaring. Kade saw them too and raised a hand. “Hey.”
Their stares morphed into smiles, and they waved back. One girl asked how the party was last night, and it clicked. These girls already knew Kade. I gave them a second look. They might really know him. A couple were giving him come-hither looks.
I muttered under my breath. “So this is what it feels like.” Huh.
“What is?” He leaned back in his chair to rest against the wall behind us. His eyes pinned me down, but not in a bad way. He was curious—and amused. His mouth lifted in a grin. He was cocky. I hadn’t lied about that, but maybe I’d gotten the other part wrong. The arrogance of a narcissist was lacking with him. He just seemed to be enjoying himself.
My eyebrows bunched together as I remembered the night before. He’d had the same look. That is, until those guys had gone after his girlfriend. Dark, brooding, and dangerous had taken over then. A shiver went down my spine as I remembered him hitting that guy.
Our professor entered the room, but Logan raised an eyebrow at me. “What what feels like?”
She cleared her throat and held up a stack of papers. “Here’s your syllabus. We’re going to hand these out and go through them before we start anything else.”
I shifted back in my seat and shook my head. I was partly grateful for the interruption. Even though I’d just gotten to this college, I knew Kade was at the top of the social ladder. Hell, he probably defined the top tier.
He walked into a room and got attention.
Kade commanded this whole room. It was overwhelming, all of that power radiating from him, and having it directed at me? It was a whole new experience. I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable, but I felt torched.
“Welcome to Sociology 101, the scientific study of human society,” our professor announced.
Logan leaned over and whispered, “Or as I like to call it, the tutorial guide on how to mindfuck entire groups.”



He stared back at me for a moment, a mask over his face, before he started laughing. “You are feisty.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Do you not know me? Feisty women are my specialty.”
“You’re arrogant.”
He was full-on laughing now. “Have you not met me?"


I studied the amusement in those chocolate eyes of his. “Are you always like this?”
His smirk deepened. “Gorgeous?”


I didn’t want to move. No, actually I did, but my body didn’t. I almost cursed myself, but I felt Logan’s gaze on me. It was like he could see inside of me, right past the walls I erected.


I was fighting against a rubber band, stretched tight from me to him. The more I tried to break free, the stronger it became.


I held up my hands. “I’m not going to hurt her. I promise.”
I smirked. “But I might bang her.”


“Use my last name.” I moved him back a little so I had some breathing room. I tried not to notice how good he felt, or how strong his arm was under my touch. “It’s more appropriate.”
There it was again. Genuine confusion. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t getting defensive. He was just confused.
“What’s going on here?” He edged back one more step. “You okay?”
“No.” I waved my hand at him. “It’s you.”
"Because you're bad."
He smirked. "I know I am."


I’d never had sex in a bar, but Logan made me wonder why not.


If I love you, then I’ll do almost anything to protect you.


A guy like Logan Kade is very dangerous to a girl like you

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Author Information
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I didn't begin writing until after undergraduate college. There'd been storylines and characters in my head all my life, but it came to a boiling point one day and I HAD to get them out of me. So the computer was booted up and I FINALLY felt it click. Writing is what I needed to do. After that, I had to teach myself how to write. I can't blame my teachers for not teaching me all those years in school. It was my fault. I was one of the students that was wishing I was anywhere but at school! So after that day, it took me lots of work until I was able to put together something that resembled a novel. I'm hoping I got it right since someone must be reading this profile! And I hope you keep enjoying my future stories.

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Friday, March 25, 2016

~~Blog Tour & Giveaway!!~~ Kept by Jim Arnold


blog tour

Book Title: Kept 
Author: Jim Arnold 
Genre: LGBT/Mystery-suspense 
Release Date: March 20, 2016
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions


book blurb
“Kept” is a (crime mystery) desert neo-noir about George and Connor, two young gay men who get mixed up in a deadly Palm Springs real estate scam and fight to survive in a twisted world of desire, double-cross and deception.

Palm Springs: Jorge Gomez leaves his poor family behind and remakes himself as ambitious George Gomes.

Soon young gay George is picked up by Connor Hurst, who takes him to an empty mansion for a night of lust. Connor convinces George to work alongside him in a scam targeting gullible retirees with classic desert homes.

George appears to be on a strange path to the American Dream, until his help covering up a violent death propels him toward bigger risks—perhaps even murder, one that seems justified, one promising a sizable payday.

George doesn't know his role is to take the fall.

Yet he isn’t as stupid as everyone thinks. Left alone, literally hanging on a wire with a corpse, George must fight enemies real and imagined if he has any hope of finding his dream—or even staying alive long enough to enjoy it.

Pilar Greco’s folks never trusted Sy.

Parents sometimes came in dreams like messengers, gods of the old world, those Aztec gods—warriors, yes, but also the odd cannibal and baby killer. Which made her shudder.

Pilar Greco’s father could get away with wearing that kind of Mexican native monumental headdress—he had the features for it, even if he wasn’t wearing anything other than a simple sensible suburban shirt and shorts in her dream. She, in turn, took after her mother—small, finely featured, but with the very same jet-black hair, now accentuated a tiny bit with each salon visit.

In her dream, they sat around the pool in the backyard of their Scottsdale home. Mr. Galindez never understood why his Pilar had married an Italian, a Jew Italian, but that was the least of his worries. He was wary of Sy Greco even as he appreciated his better qualities. It was in the eyes; it was always in the eyes.

“You just have to look, look hard, mija. In the eyes.”

Such was the memory that surfaced when the nosy Desert Sun reporter Nancy Argento called the office. Pilar didn’t usually answer the phone; she was distracted after nibbling on a Godiva someone left at reception. Worrying it might discolor her teeth, and what could be more disgusting than little brown bits stuck in dental work?

She was distracted, so she answered the call, and it was this Nancy. Told an impossible tale of deceit by a crazy old bag woman; she must be a stupid writer to believe such a thing. From someone who lived under a bridge!

This reporter Nancy wanted to talk to Sy; he was even there, present in the office. But Pilar was the one who did the talking for them. Sy didn’t know when to shut up; he always gave out just a shred more information than he had to. Information that could and would come back and bite them both in the ass.

Pilar knew this Nancy was fishing, but there wasn’t going to be anything ever caught on that line. Greco & Greco invested in classic mid-century homes; what was strange about that? Everyone with a little bit of cash was doing the same thing—the new century’s version of a baby boomer gold mine.

So there was no excuse when she got a little flustered, and who could blame her, anyway? There seemed to be a conflict of interest, Nancy Argento said. What was a realty company doing in the home-remodeling business, anyway?

Whenever Pilar took a difficult call like this she focused on the photo framed on her desk, the one of her and Sy with their son, Angel Greco, sitting down in front, taken just a few weeks before he died. If she’d just held on to him like in the photo, her hand on his shoulder, squeezing his bony twelve-year-old flesh. His hair had been as dark as hers, but it had a little curl in it, courtesy of his dad’s DNA.

Don’t ever let go; don’t ever let that beautiful boy leave you.

Across the office, Sy stared, his mouth open, as if to ask, Why are you still on this call with this person, this person who wants to destroy us? She wanted to scream at him, slap him: She knows, you idiot; she’s on to us!

But instead, she hung up; mid-sentence, she hung up on Nancy Argento, Desert Sun reporter. Pilar felt detached from herself as her shaking hand dropped the receiver back into its cradle; it was as if she were watching one of those old-style dramas unfold in slow motion on TV.

Just as quickly her stomach sank to her ankles. Realizing what a stupid mistake that was. How she was not cool, not calm, not collected. So glad her father, Mr. Galindez, was not there to see her being the bad businesswoman, the one whose company would be destroyed because of that lapse in judgment.

She would go to the ladies’ room, put herself together and call Nancy back. They were both professionals, after all. They’d come to an understanding.

* * *

Pilar resisted driving by the Las Palmas intersection where Angel’s skateboard had met the Range Rover. Sometimes she’d park there on her way home from Greco & Greco, if she had something to think about or if she was merely avoiding Sy. Despite the violence of what had happened, it was a quiet residential street. Maybe the boy’s essence still hovered there, his spirit. He might give her comfort, might give her an answer, even.

To pressing questions.

Like, for instance, if she should divorce Angel’s father. It was true: He preferred Connor Hurst to her, but the other truth was that she, in her own way, preferred Connor to Sy. So there they were.

She smiled, a rarity these days. She watched herself through the rear view, as much to look out for other neighborhood kids being reckless—she would scare them with the tale of the death meted out here—as to check makeup. Lipstick needed a slight touch-up. The formulas still weren’t resistant to this Palm Springs brand of insane and constant inferno.

Pilar knew her feelings were all wounded pride, and misplaced pride at that. They had a good thing going, she and Sy Greco, so intertwined at this point that even the mere thought of dividing it all up exhausted her.

No, really, the alternative she and Connor had planned for him was vastly superior to any boring no-fault California divorce.

She should get home, check on the orchids. It was their day to be tended to. She glanced at the dashboard: 114 degrees! She’d brought every pot of them inside at this time of year, but supposed one or two were forgotten in that spot in back of the pool.
book trailer

meet the author
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Jim Arnold is the author of the award-winning novels Benediction (2009) and The Forest Dark (2013), as well as the new novel Kept, which launches March, 2016.

Additionally, Jim is the author of the feature screenplays Me and Mamie O’Rourke (finalist and Honorable Mention winner, One in Ten Screenplay Contest, 2007), Lovelines (second round finalist, Austin Film Festival 2005), The Lourdes Kelly Story, and Kept (finalist and Honorable Mention Winner, One in Ten Screenplay Contest, 2008).

For television, he has written the original hour-drama series and pilot Troll Palace (finalist, pilot category, Exposurama Contest, 2009).

Jim also directed the critically-acclaimed documentary short Our Brothers, Our Sons, about generational differences around HIV/AIDS in gay men, (nominated for Best Documentary at the 2002 Turin International Gay & Lesbian Film Festival).

Jim has worked extensively as a free-lance journalist and has published in Frontiers, Variety, Prime Health & Fitness, Age Appropriate and other periodicals, online and in fiction anthologies. He began his career in musical theatre and holds a BA in journalism and film from Marquette University, and has studied film production/writing in the MFA program for Cinema/TV at the University of Southern California, the Writers Program at UCLA, and at Film Arts Foundation in San Francisco.

He blogs at www.jimarnoldcommunications.com.

Jim Arnold Communications (www.jimarnoldcommunications.com) provides business to business (B2B) writing services. Jim is a veteran entertainment PR executive, having held communications management positions at Paramount Pictures, Dolby Laboratories and the American Lung Association in California.

Other Useful Information:

Jim’s a 4th Generation California Native whose ancestors came for the Gold Rush and stayed despite not finding any! He’s also a cancer survivor who has run a marathon and can literally do cartwheels. An unusual talent is that he can rollerblade backwards so don’t be shy about asking for a demo. A former teenage church organist, Jim now tries not to irritate his neighbors when playing standards from the American songbook on the piano.
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