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Excerpt from Boss (Trinity #1) by J. L. Lora w/a rafflecopter giveaway! @jtothelove @JLLora


by J.L. Lora
Trinity, #1
Publication Date: March 6, 2017
Genres: Adult, Romantic Suspense, Cartel, Organized Crime



Determined to avoid the violence that claimed her family and friends, Carissa Elliott flees her hometown with a dangerous plan. She has proof that Calum DeMateo killed her father—now she just has to catch him. To do so, she’ll have to transform herself from small-town ingénue to New York crime boss.

When her path crosses with Alec McLean, the sexy stranger with whom she once shared a steamy nightclub kiss, things take an unexpected turn. Alec heads his family’s criminal organization, the kind of made man Carissa should want nothing to do with. But he also has a plan to take down Calum, and the flames that flicker between them are irresistible.

Will their vengeful quests jeopardize their chance at lasting love?





Alec looked somewhere over her shoulder, the flirting gone. Carissa didn’t get to fully inhale before he pushed her down behind the chaise lounge. She landed on her knees. Shock seized her heart, and she could do nothing but gasp before stuttering, “W-what the fuck are—”

A long, loud burst stopped her. Tufts of white foam exploded from the sofas in front them. Glass

rained down from the lights hanging above. A knot rose high in Carissa’s chest, lodging itself in her throat.

Without a doubt, a machine gun was going off.

People scrambled for cover in all directions and bodies hit the floor. The screams of the club-goers mixed with the music created a bizarre, hair-raising beat that spurred Carissa’s pulse. “Are they shooting at me or you?” she shouted over the racket of the weapon.

Alec reached beneath the hem of his pants and pulled a Glock 9mm out of a holster. “Me.”

He was a made man. It was in the familiar way he held the gun, the quick and thorough way his eyes darted everywhere at once, over the glass dance floor to the bar and the ceiling.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Another criminal.

Carissa reached down and pulled off her shoes, hooking the straps on her fingers.

Alec finally looked at her with a Tuesday-at-the-office, nothing out of the ordinary, expression, his gaze drifting to the shoes for a blink and then back at her face. “We’re getting out of here, Elvira. Just follow my lead.”

Ice flashed through her veins. “Again, it’s Carissa. Tell me what you have in mind.”

“When he finishes the round after this one, I’m going to fire at the disco ball to distract him. When I tell you to go, run past the bar as fast as you can. Keep your head down. Stay left and run to the exit. I’ll be right behind you.”

She looked around for the little door she saw earlier while trying to escape the rum-breathed guy.

She scanned past the bar area to the empty DJ booth still playing, the white laptop shot sideways, hanging by the cord. “The door by the DJ booth is closer.”

Alec frowned, looking at the closed door she pointed out. “We don’t know if that door’s unlocked.

Let’s just get the hell out.”

“Wait.” She hiked up her dress and nodded.

He spared her legs one last look, waited for the gunfire to cease, and pointed toward the hanging

lights. He pulled the trigger, shattering the disco ball. Millions of shards and sparks rained over the venue. Carissa took off, adrenaline surging through her veins. She ran past the people coming at her, even though the raining glass pricked her skin—getting out was her single-minded goal.

A movement, a glint of metal to her right, caught her eye. Everything around her slowed to a near standstill. She turned just in time to see Alec lift his gun and land a shot in the forehead of an armed guy.

She kept running and turned her eyes back to the exit.

Outside at last, the silence was deafening, and her breath rushed out in violent wheezes. The humid air stuck to her sweaty skin. There was no one outside, but more shots rang out. She scouted the area, frantically snapping her head left and right. The sound of footsteps grew louder. She scrambled toward nearby bushes and threw herself flat on the ground.

Alec ran outside. Relief coursed through her spine, and Carissa almost called out to him.

“Alec!” yelled a different voice.

He pointed his gun in the direction of the sound. Four men ran toward him. Carissa recognized the first as his brother Noah.

Alec released an audible breath and turned back to scan the area.

His spiky hair flattened by sweat, Noah looked light years away from the carefree Romeo the girls had met earlier that night. His hand rested on Alec’s arm. “You OK?”

Alec didn’t answer but turned to the other men. “How the fuck did this happen?” He screamed the words like a drill sergeant. “Where the fuck were you?”

He stood close to one of them, toe grazing toe, until the man said, “The shooter came out of nowhere.

It’s like he was waiting. I’m sorry, Alec. We took Noah and the other two girls out of the club. They went to catch a cab. We came looking for you.”

Alec looked at the man who spoke; his hand around the gun shook. “My little brother and I almost died because of your incompetence. And you’re sorry?”

Carissa pressed her fist to her lips. He was going to shoot them. She knew it. The seconds ticked by, and she wanted to cover her eyes. She didn’t want to watch.

Instead, Alec stormed toward an SUV, telling his brother, “Send someone to look for the girl I was with tonight. Her name is Carissa. She was with your girl.”

Blood barreled through her bloodstream, and her pulse exploded. He hadn’t forgotten about her. He had every intention of finding her. She wouldn’t let that happen. These men were made, organized. She was running from one mobster already, no way in hell was she about to tangle with another.


J. L. Lora was born in Dominican Republic and came to the United States just at the age of 13. Her goal in life was always to be a writer. As a child, she told stories to her family and friends and wrote fiction about historic figures. Today, her stories explore the dark side of good characters, people living in the gray areas of life and how they cope with the cards life has dealt them. She loves strong heroines and their equally powerful love interests. She currently lives in Maryland while pursuing her dream of writing compelling, sexy, can’t-put-down stories about empowered, badass alpha heroines and take-your-breath-away alpha heroes.

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Cover Reveal for Personal Disaster (Billionaire Secrets #3) by Ainsley Booth! @ainsleyboothwrites


Title: Personal Disaster
Series: Billionaire Secrets #3
Author: Ainsley Booth
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Cover Design: Oh So Novel
Release Date: November 21, 2017
She’s looking for a story about a billionaire. He’s the park ranger standing in her way.
Poppy has done her research on Marcus. She knows how connected he is—and she knows he’ll be a very reluctant source even if she can get him to talk. What she isn’t expecting is to fall head over heels in insta-love with a grumpy, bearded mountain man who wants nothing to do with her.
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Poppy stiffens on the passenger seat beside me, and despite my best efforts to glare straight ahead, I see her out of the corner of my eye. I see her glance down at her recorder, and turn it off. I see her jaw tighten, then relax, and I see her sigh and turn to look out the window. I see her cross her legs, flashing me another few inches of
soft thigh. 
Damn it. Now my jaw is tight, too. That’s not to say I don’t like it. I do, but it’s a performance.
A trick.
If a woman is going to slide her skirt up her thighs for me, it’s gotta be because she wants me to chase the hem with my tongue. Because she wants to get lost for a few hours, and part company with a mutually fond memory.
Not because she thinks I can be distracted by my dick.
She taps her fingers on her knee, then sighs and lifts her hand to her mouth. Her lips part, pink and shiny, and she sinks her perfect white teeth into the fleshy pad of her thumb.
This was a mistake. I can’t drag her around the park with me. Another few hours of this antagonism and who the hell knows what will happen?
Maybe you can chase her through the forest and convince her to let you peek up her skirt.
Not happening.
I slam on the brakes and jerk the truck off the path. She scrambles to hang on to her recorder, her skirt, her plan of seduction. I don’t care. I point to her door. “Get out.”
“Excuse me?” She spins around, looking back up the road. Yeah, we’re a few miles from where she left her car. Not my problem.
“Get. Out.”
“You get out,” she says hotly. 
I leap out the driver’s side and stalk around to her door. More thigh greets me as she holds up her hand—clearly, she’s figured out I’m serious, and she doesn’t want me to touch her. Fine by me. I don’t want to touch her either. Not much, anyway. Definitely not in anger. I actually want to touch her way too much for a stranger who’s poking around my life.
I step back and cross my arms over my chest. “What are you playing at?”
She slithers to the ground and straightens her dress.

“With your little display in the truck.”
“What display?”
“Letting your skirt ride up. Biting your thumb. Turning off the recorder.”
Her eyes go wide as I list what she did. She stares at me, stock-still, then gasps again and shoves her hands hard against my chest. “You… you… you…”
I step back, and she shoves me again.
“You… beast!” She laughs, and shakes her head, but when her gaze collides with mine, there’s no humor there. Just angry, pissed-off woman. 
“Okay, let’s start at the top. I’m wearing a skirt. Yes. I have legs, that’s a fun fact, too. And you saw part of them. Whoop-di-fucking-doo, Ranger Boy. Second, if I was biting my thumb, it was to keep from criticizing your reckless fucking driving. And finally, I turned off my recorder because this interview is a waste of my fucking time. And if you think for a hot second that I might use my feminine wiles to get a story out of you, you’re a fucking asshole who deserves to be hunted down by paparazzi. I’ll make sure that happens just as soon as I get off this fucking godforsaken mountain.”
“You’re going to give up, just like that?” I move forward again, crowding into her personal space. “Lose your story?”
“There’s no story here,” she spits, her jaw set and her eyes glittering. “Not one worth writing.”
“Because I barked at you?”
“Because you leered at me.”
I had done that. Twice. Maybe three times. And I’d done it mostly to scare her away, but also a little bit because she itched at me. That itch now flares up, hot and red and annoyingly principled. “I was trying to scare you off.”
She laughs again without humor. “It worked, you pervert. How the fuck am I supposed to get back to my car now? Because I’m sure as hell not getting back in your truck.”
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Releasing October 24, 2017
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Author Bio
Mom by day and filthy romance writer by night, Ainsley Booth is super grateful for caffeine, blueberry muffins, and yoga pants. She is the USA Today bestselling author of Hate F*@k and Prime Minister. She also writes sexy, small town and military romance as Zoe York.
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Playlist from Wicked Beginnings (Wicked Bay #1) by L.A. Cotton w/a paperback giveaway! @authorlacotton

Wicked Beginnings (Wicked Bay #1)
The first book in a brand new YA/NA crossover series from the author who brought you Chastity Falls
Lo thought moving to Wicked Bay was the worst of her problems, but as life begins to unravel around her, she’s going to find out it’s only the beginning…

*** PLAYIST ***









Author of mature young adult and new adult novels, L A is happiest writing the kind of books she loves to read: addictive stories full of teenage angst, tension, twists and turns.Home is a small town in the middle of England where she currently juggles being a full-time writer with being a mother/referee to two little people. In her spare time (and when she’s not camped out in front of the laptop) you’ll most likely find L A immersed in a book, escaping the chaos that is life.