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Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Forever Mine by April Zyon

FOREVER MINE
by 
April Zyon

*** I am giving away ONE FREE COPY of this book to one person who comments on this blog post. ***

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Release Date: 2/25/2015
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Evernight Buy Link:
Author: April Zyon
Series: Massey Texas
 
Author Stalking Links
Author Website: www.april-zyon.com

  Blurb:
When handed the Intel on a potential threat Martin Carver had no idea it would be what led him back to the town of his birth. At age nineteen he’d left Massey, Texas in his dust. But now when the life of someone he loves being threatened even the claustrophobic town won’t keep him from protecting her. And God help those after her.
Taking over her father’s practice had always been in the cards for Athena Rhodes. What she didn’t expect was to take over from him was the baggage that came along with the business. Law abiding woman that she is, Athena reaches out to get some help. Not in the cards was having the only man to ever hold her heart walk through the door, and tell her he was there to get her out from under the mob.
Everyone has always believed Martin to be the classic do-gooder. Building homes in third world countries, off saving the whales from drilling platforms, or any number of stories that have filtered through Massey through the years. To find out every single one of those stories were nothing more than fairy tales is one thing, to find out he’s actually an FBI agent will take some getting used to.
Athena’s running out of time, the mob having set a time limit on what they require her to do. If she fails to follow their demands to the letter it will mean her father’s life. Unsure what to do she will lean heavily on Martin, and hope he doesn’t let her fall.

The clock is against them to keep the woman Martin loves and her dad safe. He’ll do whatever it takes to end the threat rising against them. Because he’s got an all or nothing plan. What could go wrong? 

Excerpt:
County Line
Massey, Texas
He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there staring at the sign announcing, “Welcome to Massey, TX Population 5,609 and growing!” but the hood under his ass was cooling, and the sun had reached its highest point. Hell, it was starting the slow slide toward the horizon.
It had been a long, long time since he’d been home. The last time he’d been there he’d flown in for his pop’s funeral, stuck around for the meal, and then got the hell out of Dodge. Since then, he hadn’t been home once. He called, though, every single weekend right after his mother had finished breakfast on Sundays. They would chat for exactly one hour and fifteen minutes. No more, no less. The woman always had enough gossip to fill that time, so he rarely had to say much of anything.
Yet, here he was. Staring into the abyss of the quintessential small town. Ranches and farms spread out as far as the eye could see and beyond. Nestled in the middle was Massey. His hometown, and the place he’d burned rubber to get away from the moment he’d turned eighteen. Unlike his brothers, Martin had always hated coming back. To him, it had felt claustrophobic. Whether from his family’s expectations, or from his own uncertainty about the future, he didn’t know.
This time was no different. So, there he was, sitting on the hood of his ‘66 Mustang. While she maintained her shape, he’d given her a few tweaks over the years. A new paint job when he was eighteen, and a new hemi engine when he was twenty-two. There were a few other not exactly legal additional elements to Eris, named after the goddess of chaos, strife, and discord. His brothers had actually named his car, but he’d let it stick. Hell, he’d even gotten a little name plate that was attached to the dashboard right over the speedometer.
Martin shook his head, leaning back on his hands as he continued to stare in the direction of the town. He remembered back in high school a rumor Frank had told him about. His older brother had apparently also started it, but he denied it with a smirk every single time Martin confronted him.
According to the “rumor,” if a girl managed to talk Martin into taking her out a date, she prayed he’d be driving Eris. If he showed up in his pop’s old pickup truck, then she knew she would be getting walked to the front door, given a peck on the cheek, and he’d promptly leave to never call her for another date. But if he showed up in Eris, the girl would be getting a tour of the backseat, on her back, and things would be a rocking.
Not once had Martin ever taken a girl out in Eris. There’d been one he’d thought about, right before leaving town for good, but she’d been too young, and he definitely hadn’t needed that sort of thing to follow him or her around for the rest of their days.
Athena Rhodes. Named for the virgin goddess of reason, intelligent activity, arts, and literature. A more perfect name for the woman in question there never would be. She’d always had an ethereal quality about her, always thinking before leaping, and was the one woman who still had him jolting up out of bed in the middle of the night from the dreams she starred front and center in.
Not the teenage version of Athena Rhodes either. Nope, he knew exactly what she looked like as of four weeks ago. Hell, he even had her photo in the folder sitting on the passenger seat of his car. The rest of what was in the folder was why he was there, despite digging in his heels with the director of the FBI. Fucking bastard found it funny that Martin didn’t want to go home for a visit and deal with the trouble Athena found herself in. In the director’s mind, it was two birds, one stone. In Martin’s, it was a colossal fuck up in the making. Especially if Athena was anywhere near it.
Athena, bane of his existence. She’d been just starting to come into the woman she would one day be when he’d left Massey. Now she was more than he could ever have imagined. Five-foot-seven, long, rich red hair the color of a wine with hints of copper and strawberries. Green eyes that could lighten with amusement or darken like a coming storm. Athena had the stereotypical redhead temper, though he knew from his mother’s gossip she rarely showed it any more. So she’d gotten it under control. Should be interesting to test that theory.
Pale golden skin, just a hint of a tan, with a smattering of freckles over her nose and upper curve of her cheeks. A slightly rounded face with amazing bone structure, straight nose, slightly pointed chin, gave her face a heart-shaped look. A long ,elegant neck he’d imagined nibbling on in his quest to discover if there were freckles anywhere else on her body. His dreams said yes, but Martin didn’t think he’d really ever find out.
To top off his perfect woman’s image, Athena had some meat on her bones. She was built like a woman, sturdy, and not like one of those twigs from Hollywood that would blow over if you sneezed in their direction. She was, quite literally, his dream woman given form. Or maybe, he should say, she was the woman of his dreams, if only he had the nerve to tell her.
His other problem with the woman. She got him all twisted up inside, and turned him into a babbling fool. Or she had. Martin really hoped she still didn’t have that particular effect on him. ‘Cause that would just be the fucking icing on the cake for this whole damned trip.
The sound of an engine pulled his attention back, and he let out a sigh when the truck got close enough for him to recognize it. All the time in the world seemed to have passed, and the damn pickup truck that was used around the Carver Ranch was still exactly the same. Squinting slightly at the reflection off the windshield, he waited for his brother to swing it around and park it behind the Mustang.
The crunch of boots to gravel told him where his big brother was, yet still, he waited. Only when the other man slid onto the hood next to him did he give a nod. “Frank,” he said quietly.
“Martin.” That was it, nothing else.
Course they didn’t really need to say much of anything else. Despite rumors to the contrary, ones sort of started by him, he and Frank had worked together more than once. They even talked on a fairly regular basis. While Frank had worked for a different branch, and under different mandates for the US government, Martin had always been his brother’s contact inside the bureau.
“Eris is looking good,” Frank said after another ten minutes of silence.
“She held up well on the drive. Only got a bit cranky with me outside of Dallas. But a quart of oil and she was purring like an overgrown kitten again.”
Frank snorted out a laugh at that. “I can’t believe you still have her.”
“Dude, she’s family. Quit trash talking my car.”
Hands up, Frank cracked a grin. A real grin. As in teeth and everything. While Martin was staring in shock, he missed what his brother was saying. “What? Sorry.”
“I asked you how long you plan on sitting out here. According to Willard, you’ve been here since eight this morning. It’s now nearly two in the afternoon.”
Heaving a sigh, Martin shoved his hands through his pale blond hair. Out of all the Carvers, his was the lightest in color, but his eyes were the darkest. The oddities of the familial gene pool. “Working up the nerve to drive across the county line is all.”
“Uh-huh. You do know that Mama’s already heard you’re here. And the fact you are sitting here, and not at her kitchen table where she can smother you with all that built up motherly love, means you are in seriously deep shit, little brother.”
Martin winced at that. Yeah, his mama would hug him, weep all over him, and then likely bean him with her rolling pin. Theresa Carver was in no way a pushover. She might play the part occasionally to lure the unaware in close, but then she struck. She could make a grown man in a full rage cry like a little girl in under two minutes. Without even batting a lash. She was that good.
“So, what has you here?” Frank asked.
Normally, he wouldn’t discuss it, but Frank still held his beyond top secret clearance level, and likely would as long as he was still breathing. “Athena Rhodes, or rather her dirty, lowdown scoundrel of a father.”
Frank’s head whipped around to look his way. “Shit. You got handed that one?”
“Yup.”
“Well fuck me.”
Yup. Pretty much Martin’s exact thoughts on the matter.
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A small aside about the series, Massey Texas, from the author...

I’ve always been fascinated with Cowboys. I know, most people are but to me there is just something super sexy about a man who is willing to work his ass off for a living. Something that’s incredibly hot about a man who knows how to work the land with his own hands.
When I originally started Massey Texas with Rhys Hollister and Gwen Baker I never dreamed that one of the families central to the story would stand up and take center stage, but they did. The Carver Family stood out pretty much from the get go in this series and they had to have their stories told.
Massey Texas has been a wonderful thrill-ride fro me, each time the characters spoke they tended to throw me for a loop, so to speak, and I loved every single moment of it.
While I’m tentatively ending this series at this book, the 9th in the series, it doesn’t mean that I will never revisit it one day in the future. After all, there were a couple of babies born to the Carver family that might eventually need their stories told!
I truly hope that you have all enjoyed the Massey Texas series as much as I have, and I hope that you will continue to read the books that I put out as either April Zyon, or Honor James.

~~~ Peace and love my friends, and be good to each other!
April Zyon (Also known as Honor James)

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Thursday, February 12, 2015

The Body Double by Harris Channing

The Body Double
by
Harris Channing


Blurb:

At eighteen Delilah James found her soulmate in Robby Graham, but her ambitions took her from him. Coming home to White Springs, Tennessee after a five year stint as a body double in Hollywood can really break a girl down. 

Will she be able to fight her unfulfilled dreams of stardom and reconnect with an incomparable love?

About Harris:

An Army brat, Harris Channing traveled around the Southern US and Europe as a child before settling in Tennessee as an adult. Married with two children, she enjoys her family, reading, writing, and gardening.

Where To Find Harris:

Email:  harrischanning@yahoo.com

BUY LINK:  http://tinyurl.com/k58feg8

Excerpt:

Delilah spent the first hour of her plane ride home reading, and trying to get the guy sitting next to her to stop staring at her breasts. His unwelcome attention increased with each sip of his gin. God she hated flying coach.
“You a starlet?” he asked. He was a smarmy fellow with a long nose and brown goatee. When he stood to go to the bathroom, he grinned. If he was trying to appear charming, he failed miserably. “Wanna join the mile high club, beautiful?”
“There isn’t enough booze in the world,” she retorted, before requesting another seat from a sympathetic male flight attendant.
The young man in the blue uniform pants and crisp white shirt bent over her seat, his cologne as soft and sweet as he was. “I’m sorry we don’t have any seats available,” he whispered, his tone one that had her feeling like she was part of a conspiracy. She leaned toward him, her interest in the inflight drama a nice diversion from the mundane, trying to get in her pants passenger that now ambled down the narrow aisle toward them. “Not even in first class,” the attendant went on to explain “Some bigwig from Nashville booked the whole place for just himself,” he explained. “Sorry.”
“He’s just such a pest,” she said, pointing an accusatory thumb toward the weasel. “Do you think anyone would change seats with me?”
The flight attendant set his dark eyes upon the scoundrel who stared at Delilah like a starved beast.
“Just one sec, okay?” he replied, his frown the only proof of annoyance on his otherwise sweetly neutral features.
She nodded and watched as he walked toward the curtain that separated the wealthy bigwig from the great unwashed.
“You should have come in there with me,” the wolf in used car salesmen’s clothing whispered. Shit, even his voice was oily.
“Who talks to a stranger like that?” she asked. “Are you writing a porno screenplay?”
The man offered a lopsided grin. “What?”
“Your dialogue needs work and you act as if any woman in her right mind would go into a bathroom with you.”
The smirk slid from his face and in its place malice seemed to reign. “I know who you are, Delilah James. Don’t act all high and mighty. Everyone on this plane has seen your gorgeous ass at least once.”
She set her hand to her chest, and her heart thundered against her now sweaty palm. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. I know who you are and I don’t feel at all like we’re strangers.”
The physical reaction to his statement felt like a punch in the abdomen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire. I bet you have a little, itty bitty dimple on your…”
“That’s enough,” Delilah stated, her words loud enough to disturb the surrounding passengers. On unsteady legs, she scrambled from her seat. “You need to leave me alone.”
The elderly woman in the aisle across from her leaned forward and looked up with pity before turning a wrath filled glare in the man’s direction. Her matronly ire seemed to cool his demeanor.
“Take it easy, honey,” he replied, raising his hands in surrender. “Just sit down and don’t make a scene.”
“I don’t know you, I don’t answer to you…” she turned to a burly man three rows back. He had headphones on, but watched the spectacle with keen interest. She approached him and when he tugged at the earpiece, he smiled up at her. “What’s going on?”
“Will you trade seats with me?” She hated the desperate tone that accompanied her words.
“I suppose…”
At the touch of a hand on her arm, Delilah turned, her fist poised to strike. She felt every bit the caged beast.
“It’s me!” the flight attendant said, his dark eyes squinting, his arms raised in defense of his elfish face. “The guy in first class says you can come in with him if you’re quiet.”
She lowered her hands and clutched at the collar of her blouse. “I’m so sorry.” Relief flooded through her and she offered a smile. “Thank you.”

* * * *

Stepping into first class was like entering a different world. The seats were large, plush, and clean. The lighting was softer, the air cool and comfortable. She set her carry-on next to the seat closest to the curtain and walked up the aisle toward her savior. He sat with papers on the chairs at either side of him and his laptop on the small table before him. Long, slender fingers moved with purpose over the keyboard. Hmm, no wedding ring. She cleared her throat.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she whispered. “I want to thank you for letting me come up here.”
Slamming the monitor down, he turned to face her. His irritated expression softened when his gaze came to rest on her face.
“Oh my God,” he said, his slight Southern drawl a welcome sound to her ears. “Delilah?”
“Robby?” She laughed, electricity shooting through her. The sight of him was better than any drug, uplifting her and bringing giddiness to her stomach. He hadn’t changed in the five years since their last meeting.
“You look great,” she said, her eyes soaking in the beauty of him. His green eyes sparkled, his dark curly hair was shiny, his face tan and handsome. He licked his lips and pushed the table away. Standing, he pulled her into a warm embrace.
Oh, but he has changed, she noted. His arms were stronger, his chest broader, and was it possible that he had grown taller?
Releasing her from his hold, his gaze searched her face. “How have you been?”
“Fine. Still waiting for my big break.”
He directed her to an empty chair and sat down. “I want to hear all about it.”
Looking at him, her mind wandered back to the last time they had been together. They had spent the night before he left for college making love and plans. He had asked her to marry him and she had put him off. Still, he left believing in a future she could not see herself in.
She took a deep breath and lowered herself into the seat next to him.
“You know, I’m in touch with your folks,” he informed her. “They told me about some of the films you’re in.”
“Really?” She had assumed they would be too embarrassed to tell anyone what she did for a living.
“Yes,” he said, his lips turning into a grin. Looking at those lips, she recalled the pleasure they were capable of giving. In high school, he had used his mouth for so much more than speech. “I went and saw Simmer last year. Couldn’t find you till I saw your dimple.”
“I don’t have a dimple.” She touched her cheek
Laughing, he took her hand. “Wrong cheek, baby.”
“I don’t have a dimple there,” she protested. Did she? She never watched her own movies, unlike her parents; she was embarrassed by what she did for a living. It was a sellout move and she knew it the first time she did it. And yet she’d done it over and over and after she returned to L.A. she’d sell out again. Bit by bit she’d offer herself up until there was nothing left.
“Yes, ma’am, you do. The most adorable dimple.”
“Stop Robby.” She slapped at him in mock rage hoping she was a good enough actress to cover up the pain his observation caused. If it hurt when a stranger did it, it was debilitating coming from someone who once meant everything to her.
The mischief that reflected in his eyes diminished, and was replaced with what she could only describe as pure… awe. “Dee, I can’t believe this.”
“I can’t either.” She set a hand atop his muscular chest and gazed up at him. He pushed her back and caressed her cheek before lowering his face and taking her lips. Reason fled as his tongue entered her mouth. He tasted of champagne and cinnamon. He ran his hands up and down her back. Pulling her up to standing, he cupped her backside and squeezed, holding her close. So close, she could feel his excitement pushing against her through his slacks. He took her hand and placed it on his swollen cock. “Look what you do to me,” he whispered.
His hot breath brought forth chills of desire and wetness soaked her panties. She moaned when he unbuttoned her blouse. His gaze devoured her now bare flesh leaving her weak with its intensity.

Rising on her toes, she sought out his lips, his mouth opening as their tongues played upon one another. Her mouth traveled down the length of his neck and she began to unbutton his shirt. Running her fingers through the thick mat of dark hair on his chest, she lowered her hand and began to unfasten his belt.