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NEW RELEASE ~ Swoon by CM Foss

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Title: Swoon

Author: CM Foss

Release Date: April 2, 2015

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Synopsis 3Steph

I’ve never been your typical girl. I didn’t grow up in a warm fuzzy family, and emotions weren’t something I needed now. Love has never been something I could wrap my mind around, so why bother? I know what I’m good at. I’m a great friend, have a passion for healing others, and a way with horses. I can be all those things at the same time without ever discussing my own feelings.
Until him.


I’ve always been told I have a way with words. It’s one reason I manage the family business so well. I can wine and dine with the best of them, selling bloodlines and high-priced stallion services over a five-course dinner. I’m able to talk myself into or out of just about anything and anyone.
Until her.


Young and carefree, living worlds apart, they indulged in what seemed like the perfect fling.

Until Lawrence decided he wanted more.

Until Steph’s careful world fell apart.

Until they had to decide if love was worth the fight.

Teaser 1

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Oh good Lord. I didn’t want to get up. My mouth tasted like… something bad. My eyelids were stuck together. I was still wearing my bridesmaid’s dress. And I was warm. Very warm. My brain tried to filter through the night before. The wedding was all it should have been. Full of love. The food had been great, the drinks plentiful. I didn’t think I’d embarrassed myself in any significant way. Hopefully.


My mind returned to the present. I blinked rapidly to clear my eyes. I could feel my mascara sticking my lashes together. I started to raise my hands to rub my eyes clear, but one was trapped. Tugging harder, I realized it was trapped under a human. Dear. God. I couldn’t look. The bed shifted and dipped, and my brain registered the alarming fact that I felt skin. A lot of skin. Male skin, so that was comforting. I guessed. Maybe.


“Mornin’, sunshine,” drawled out from the form beside me.


I shot upright and yanked my arm back. “Lawrence! What the fuck are you doing here?”


“Wow. You do not look as good this morning as you did last night.” He rolled over and raised himself on his elbows.


My pink paisley comforter fell away from his naked torso to reveal pecs, abs, manliness, and some ink that I didn’t remember from… before. I swallowed hard as I stared, trying to process his terribly offensive words as well as make out what I was seeing. And also figure out what the hell had happened the night before.

Teaser 2

Author Bio


I live in beautiful Northern Virginia with my incredible husband, two awesome kids, three dogs, and two budgies. My husband and I both grew up riding and competing horses and have our own equestrian operation that we run together. In my spare time, I read through the hundreds of stories awaiting me on my e-reader.

My love of books started early, and my mom used to ration my reading time so I didn’t go through them too quickly. I love all things romantic, whether it’s dark or light or silly or dirty, but I really love a happy ending!

In my small moments of quiet time, you’ll find me sipping on wine and reading while any movie where people randomly burst into song or dance plays in the background.

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Title: Femme Fatale Reloaded (Pericolo #2)
Author: Kirsty-Anne Still
Release Date: March 13, 2015
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Synopsis 3

I used to be fearful. I used to be admired. I used to be the Femme Fatale.
Until I fell.
I fell from my status, from the pedestal I had been placed, and I fell in love.
And that’s where it all went wrong.
I once thrived on one motto – Don’t feel, don’t deviate, kill.
Now, I thrive on betrayal, a reminder never to trust my heart, and the need to be Femme Fatale Reloaded.
It’s time I got myself back to the place I most belong – a cherished, yearned for secret weapon.
However, when a ghost from my past walks into my life again, pledging to be an Abbiati, my life turns upside down all over again.
My biggest problem was never the kill, but the thrill of the chase. Apparently, love is the most dangerous game I can ever play, and my life is about to spiral out of control.

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“Hey,” Enzo’s soothing voice travels towards me. “What’s got you bolting away?”
“Everything,” I admit feebly, and I rub the back of my hand over my face to rid the tears. “There is no going back from this now, Enzo. There’s no way to save me. This is me set for life now, you know that, right?”
“It’s not,” he states, and even as I nod, he sticks to his word. “There is going to be something that will give you some sort of faith back.” He offers me such a sincere look, and I wish that was enough to move the pessimism I live with. “I don’t know when, but it will.”
“I’m too far gone to be saved,” I murmur as shame fills me up, drowning me. “I don’t even deserve it, Enzo. What I’ve done…” I don’t finish, just shake my head in dismay and feel that disappointment in myself take over. It wraps itself around me, and I feel like I’m suffocating within its tight squeeze. “It makes me more like Giovanni than anything. I don’t want to be like him.”
“A monster wouldn’t be sorry,” Enzo says and I look at him. “Monsters don’t feel, don’t care, and don’t repent.”
His words trigger a spell of nostalgia. Zane reminded once that I was never the monster I thought I was. He believed in me, fought for my own self-worth, and built me up – only to tear me down. After all, the day Zane broke my heart and ended round two was the day I ceased to properly exist. But I never lost the belief that somewhere within me was a beacon of hope. A prospect of salvation. A likelihood of rescue. Now, I struggle even to smile. What hope do I have to dream of a better outlook?
“You are not a monster,” he states again, this time with ample conviction lacing his every word.
“You don’t know what I’ve done,” I defy him, dropping my gaze. “I am not the same sister that left.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to be her.” He grants me the chance to be damaged without a second glance of regret. Enzo accepts that will have changed, that I’m not the girl I was, but he looks at me with a heated demeanour. I feel a swirl of serenity come to live within me as I look back up. Enzo isn’t giving up on me and I see that all over his face. “I wish I had saved you. I wished we could have done more to find you, but Papà made sure you were nowhere to be found when really you were right under our noses. Amelia, I would have been there in a heartbeat, but the one time we got there, you weren’t around and nor was anything that would tie you to our Amalfi Coast home.”
“You came for me?” I ask, trying not to sound so horrified.
“Of course we did,” Enzo says, placing his arms around me to draw me in a hug. “Amelia, we have been at loggerheads with Papà and Giovanni to get you back with us. Our family isn’t complete without you.”
His hug tightens tenfold, and I enjoy the suffocating hold he has on me. I relish it, holding on tighter and falling hard against him, enjoying the sweet scent of his cologne. Enzo makes me feel safe and calm. He makes me feel sanity take control again. It’s for this reason that he is and always will be my father figure.
“I’ve missed you so much, Lia,” he whispers, kissing my hair. “I knew I would get you back damaged, and I know I still have no idea how bad you are, but I will never stop fighting for you.”

Author Bio

I used to be just another Fanfiction writer! That was until one person showed real interest in my work. And then another, and then another, until I had this whole group of people reviewing like crazy and wanting original work from me. I’d spent years writing for free online, I didn’t believe I had it in me to publish something!
But I’m glad I did!! I never imagined pushing my work and striving to reach my ultimate. I never imagined I’d be the girl who started The Viper Rooms! But who am I to deny the inspiration when it hits?
I love writing, it’s a lifeline. I love creating a world that others fall into. I love having the control to make a whole new world. It’s like a dependency, an addictive one. It’s one of the things I’m extremely proud of.
As much as I complain, I love the mini dialogues that go on in my head, the plotlines that attack me when I least expect them to. The ones that jump to life at the most inappropriate times and drive me totally crazy!!
For now I split my life between writing, dreaming, working, and volunteering with children.
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Title: Tempting BAD
Author: M. Robinson
Release Date: March 24, 2015
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Synopsis 3


I’ve come from a privileged life and an even more privileged upbringing. My parents taught me right from wrong and everything in between… except I wanted the gray area. I wanted to live life on the edge with the possibility of falling over. I didn’t care about the consequences because I had no heart…

I left that on the floor of my parents’ bedroom door, shattered.

And never went back to pick up the pieces.


Family first.

I learned the meaning of the word hate.

I learned that life is a battlefield and I stood frontline.

I learned that praying doesn’t work and God doesn’t listen.

And I learned how to be a man…

All at the receiving end of my father’s fists, my mother’s tears, and my sisters screams.

You can’t run away from your past…

It will always find you, especially when you’re asleep.

Warning: Book contains adult situations.

Sex/language. Mature readers only.

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I was there, but I wasn’t.

I danced around in a sea of emptiness and longing, it moved around me easily, carelessly, harshly.

It was all and it was nothing.

It made me full and it made me empty.

It pleased me and it dismayed me.

I didn’t care. I was there to do a job. To be a VIP. I played my part beautifully, just as I always did. Letting myself get taken away on empty promises of nothing, but somehow seemed like everything. 

Author Bio

M. Robinson loves to read. She favors anything that has angst, romance, triangles, cheating, love, and of course sex! 
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alex Elliott

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Synopsis 3

What’s your dirty little secret?

For Xavia Kennedy it was freedom. Escape from a pastel painted life ruled by an American dynasty and headed by a formidable foe. One wanted to escape. Her family. X has a plan. Get serious and get the hell out of Bean Town. Away from the pretty people and boring as hell lives.

Then she met him. Smooth talking and gorgeous. All it took was a dim hall.

He called their hook-up a mistake.

No problem. She walked away without a name, just an impression. That was the hottest sex she’d had minus the actual sex. After one Nantucket party too many, Xavia ends up cutting bait and heading to D.C. She hops aboard the crazy train as the newest intern to Bennett Stone.

Or Senator Stone as he’s known on the Hill. He’s more than Cosmo’s sexiest congressman. He’s complicated. A mystery.

Ben doesn’t date. He’s got his own dirty secrets.

But where X is concerned, there’s one he’s willing to share.

If she agrees to his terms.

In his bed, it’s way. All she needs to do is learn to stop arguing.

Impossible when she finds out the connection they share runs too deep to put aside, and she begins to fear the secret under the secret that’s left unsaid.


Chapter One
Everybody Uses Someone.
AT THE CURB, I park and get out of my car, whistling and
waving to Jon exiting South Station. “Hey oh! Let’s go. We’re
running late.” We’re headed to Nantucket. A three-hour drive to
my grandparents’ end of summer cookout before they close up
their home and head back to Manhattan.
As I go to move past him, he grabs me and crushes me within
his arms. “Not too late for a hug!”
I squeal and thump him on the back, scrunching my eyes shut
at missing him so much. “You’re a nut.”
“I miss you, Xavia. Terribly.”
“Then why do you stay away so long? A train ride. Not too
“Girl, that rail runs in both directions,” he mocks me. “You
need to come to D.C. more often. I’ve got a job. You’re the
freewheeling student.”
“Student, yes. Free—not even close,” I retort, escaping from
his grasp as I take shotgun.
Jon flips me off as he stalks around the hood of my car,
humming under his breath. Once inside, he opens his messenger
bag, and laughs devilishly. “Then help me, help you.”
“What have you done?” I ask, eyeing him suspiciously, wearily.
My best friend has a propensity to believe in the impossible and
does the outlandish at the drop of a hat.
“You’re welcome, Ms. Kennedy,” he says, handing me a
manila envelope. There’s three copies, and a telephone number.
Your contact is Nora Swan. Call her!”
I shift my glance from him to the envelope, knitting my brow.
I’ve got a contact? That you’ve arranged…dear mother of God.”
“Follow through on this one and you’ll thank me. Fuck, will
you thank me!”
“Clearly, we see the world differently,” I mutter, opening the
envelope and removing a stack of neatly stapled documents. “A
U.S. Senate internship application? Ah no!”
“Button your lips and read,” he commands me as he puts the
car into gear.
I hate driving and when he’s in town, he’s behind the wheel,
but right now I’m rethinking that one. I want to do anything
besides give this application an iota of my attention. I may not
know what direction I want to take when I graduate and
everyone’s good intentions, suggestions, connections…are
strangling me—regardless of how well-meant.
“I’m so not going to D.C. Especially not to the part near
Capitol Hill. It’s enough to have to deal with the political leeches
we’ll soon see at Gran’s.”
“Oh but you are,” he replies. “This is ‘mission get your ass in
gear’ and get the hell out of Dodge. You’re drowning here and
besides, I’ve got it going on. Just need my wingman.”
“Correction. That’s wingwoman. I’ve got a vagina to prove it.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not the one who needs reminding of that
fact. Another of the myriad of issues we’ll address. One-by-one.
I’ve got you in my sights. But back to the app you’re holding.
Nora is expecting your call. She’s crazy, on the verge of bridge
jumping with her boss. Bennett Stone.”
I glare at the application. Exhaling, I scan the page, and stop as
stare at the photograph of the gorgeous and unforgettable man
at the bottom of the page. “Shit!” I hiss.
“What’s wrong?” Jon glances over at me. “Do you know him?”
Yeah, I know the man or rather his mouth. Don’t forget his
hands, his cock, and his ability to torment me for seven weeks, and
two days. But who’s counting!
“Know him?” I can’t find the words to admit this is the guy
from the club.
Back in June, I’d told Jon that I met someone—more than
met; that I’d relapsed into my old ways. He didn’t crucify me—
we commiserated.
But if he finds out…that guy was—is—a congressman… a
What will my friend think? He’s gone to all this trouble.
“Hello?” he says, lowering the music.
Steeling my features, I dodge diving back into the pool of my
shame at having lost my head in a dark hall. Instead of coming
out with my dirty little secret, I seal my lips, refusing to divulge
the truth. For weeks, I was clueless about that wolf from the club,
but now I know. This gig is for the world’s most incredible kisser,
going by the name of Senator Bennett Stone.
My nightmare. An unforgettable mistake.
“No. No. Of course, I don’t know him!” It was true. I didn’t
actually know him. He was a drive-by suck my lips off kiss. The
guy I had the craziest, hottest sex with in my life. Minus the sex!
“Great. Then take a look.” He fishes out a magazine as he
Now, it all makes sense. Why Stone seemed so familiar. I stare
at the cover and mutter, “He’s that politician featured on the
cover of Rolling Stone last spring.”
“The very same brilliant hottie. Shit, if he was gay, I’d go
intern for him.”
“Okay Einstein, why would one of the hottest senators want
me on his team? He’s a front runner, and probably has scads of
interns—cough chicks—lined up to do his bidding. This seems
like a… mistake.” The word pulsates inside my mouth and I recall
what it was like to kiss Senator Stone pushed up against a wall
with his fingers fisting my hair.
Jon shakes his head. “The good senator isn’t like that. Stone is
strictly business. So much, he just sent his team packing. This
player is the real deal. Not only is he killer in the looks
department, he’s a Harvard graduate, and the lowdown is the
White House is fast-tracking him. And you have connections
from working on the Gazette that he can use. You two are alike.
Stone was a little bit of a rebel rouser and stepped on some toes
prior to law school.”
“And Mr. Pretty Face needs my help?” I narrow my eyes at
“Absolutely! Independents straddling the fence are prime
targets. A Harvard camp you’ve got an in with, and one I put out
feelers to—they’re also waiting for your call. All you need to do is
set the wheels in motion. Get him a student talk on campus.”
“You mean like what Clinton pulled off? Are you on
medication?” It was true that I had a cache of connects from an
internship I’d done at Harvard, writing a column for the Gazette,
but I wasn’t into politics. “What’s so special about him—aside
from being gorgeous, popular, privileged?”
“That pretty face has got presidential candidate written all
over his political agenda. And not just his. There’s talk coming
from the Vice President’s office. She’s running next year.
Looking for her own Veep, and there’s a huge betting pool at the
Post that Stone will be her running mate.”
So the man with panty-dropping looks any male model would
kill for is more than a pretty face. I scan the application with his
photograph and motto. ‘Get committed.’ Whoa, that sounds like
double entendre. As I stare at the senator’s face, the skin over
my body tightens. So much, a flash of heat doesn’t just creep up
my neck—it flares. Stop acting ridiculous.
Refocusing, I read the possible staff positions available on the
subcommittees Stone chairs. A slew. Everything from war reform
to the environment, education, and foreign trade. Jon has talked
about getting me to D.C. as a Capitol Hill climbing fool,
nonstop during the summer. My last year at Boston College, and
I’ve done my stint of resume padding internships already.
“Another tuck-n-roll, and for Mr. Popularity. I don’t know. You
do realize I’m still in school.”
“Shut your pie hole. You’ve got enough credits to graduate
and this will help you. Get your feet wet and then you can pick
and choose where you want to be, come graduation. Need I
remind you for the umpteenth time, it’s time to cut bait and run?
Grace and Stan Stillman are just waiting to get their hooks in
you. Are you going to let them?”
“Fuck that noise! I’m not accepting my grandparents’ help.
How can you even kid about that shit?”
“Because if you don’t have a plan in place, they’ll turn you into
Monica and Janice. Is that what you want?”
“My cousins are idiots.” I shake my head, thinking about my
family’s ability to put a strangle hold on my career choices. Being
connected to the Kennedys and Stillmans is a fulltime task of
warding them off. Overbearing brutes have nothing on Gran and
Pops in how they try to commandeer everyone’s future. After
entering Boston College, I’d sidestepped their entrapping
attempt to tell me what to do and when to do it.
Unlike my two cousins currently ensconced in Midtown
banking. It wasn’t that Janice and Monica were vapid—they were
brainiacs for all their suck-up ways. But categorically, they lacked
spine to chart their own course by falling into the fold. That fold
being my grandmother’s archaic view of life as the Stillman
matriarch along with her ability to meddle 24/7, and now my
cousins were junior execs on Fifth Avenue with a choke collar
around their necks.
I shake the envelope like it’s the enemy. “And how is this any
different? Instead of Gran’s meddling, I’ll be beholden to yours.”
“Shush. I listen to what you say, when you talk about
hightailing it out of here when you’re done with school.
Someplace fun and exciting—someplace happening. You can’t
argue that D.C. isn’t just up your alley. I get nothing in return
except you being near me.”
“Christ on a cracker,” I declare. “I’m not a political junkie like
“XS, c’mon.” He softens his voice. “You pretend not to like
politics because of your grandparents but you do have an
opinion. Why not learn what the hell goes on behind the
scenes—isn’t that your thing? Don’t let your pride get in the
He’s playing dirty. Using my obsolete nickname: X or worse
‘XS’ short for Xavia Stillman. A reminder I don’t need, tagging
back to some of my high-flying days where I was one hot mess of
excess. Rebellious with a razor sharp ‘R’ before graduating high
school and I’d been close to stumbling into several dens of
iniquity and catastrophe. Without asking, my grandparents
stepped in, twisted a few arms, and had me accepted to Boston
College, nixing my dream to attend UCLA. Far, far away from
One call and my applications to UCLA, along with a slew of
other schools were denied or waitlisted. Without a choice, I
stayed in New England and vowed never again. Since entering
BC, I got serious, taming my partying ways with one goal of
graduating and leaving Bean Town. Yet going polar into the
library stacks during grad school has been a trip into the land of
oh-so-boring, and it’s the end of summer.
The end of my little freelance grind at the Globe as a reporter,
and I’m so cagey that I’m actually looking forward to the start of
classes next month. But a backstage pass, a ticket to the behind
the scenes…I’m not convinced. Skeptically, I shrug. “I don’t
know. You’re really over-the-top on this one.”
“Precisely. And it’s a good thing. What have you got to lose?”
He looks over at me, quirking his eyebrow, and then abruptly
ruffles my hair.
Besides my mind—but, he’s got a point.
Groaning, I roll my eyes at him and exhale. “Fine. I’ll think
about it. Operative word: think.” I read through the application
and yeah, Jon’s recreated my college experience, and then I read
the references he’s listed. Grace and Stan Stillman. Patrick
Kennedy. “Name drop much? You’re nuts to put them down.
What if Stone’s office calls my grandmother?”
“It’s not crazy to mention your family. Besides, look at the
telephone numbers.”
I read the numbers and although I don’t recall my stepfather,
Patrick’s number off the top of my head, the one listed for my
grandparents is— “You listed your telephone number. Are you
“Not in the least. I’m leveling the playing field. If Nora calls,
I’ve got you covered and your family will be none the wiser.”
“And for Pat? Whose number is this?”
“Roderick’s. He’s ready.”
“Your brother is going to pretend to be Patrick Kennedy?”
His brother was a Marine and just returned from active duty
with a case of PTSD so bad he was in rehab.
“He’s good with it. Right now, Rod’s doing his program, so
he’s got the time. It’ll give him something to do other than sit
around the V.A., smoke pot, and do group therapy.”
“This smells of all kinds of crazy,” I say, shoving the
application back into the envelope.
“And? Point?”
“So it’s worked in your favor. I’m a little leery about mine.
Luck I mean.”
“An opportunity has nothing to do with luck! It’s about
working your connections. You’ve got an untapped skill.”
“Oh yeah and what’s that?”
“Charisma. When you choose to use it. God, do you know
how many people would kill to have your looks, your
connections, and that elegant charm that you were born with?”
I inhale. “It feels more like a curse, if you want to know the
“Fuck, Xavia. Don’t squander what you’ve got. I work my tail
off to get where I am. We could be closer and I wouldn’t have to
keep coming back here to check up on you!”
“I hear what you’re saying.” I grimace, looking at the one
person who’s always been there when I needed him, but this is a
dilemma and obviously, he doesn’t know how bad.
Down in D.C., Jon has worked a gig for the last few years as a
hotshot journalist. And it’s true, he’d be free of babysitting me—
able to devote more time to his career. Yet unconvinced that I
can dive headfirst into a Bennett Stone internship, I open the
browser on my cell. Since I’m not about to tell Jon my secret, I’ll
need some ammunition to argue my case, and start to google the
senator with hot rough lips and demanding hands.
During the drive to the island, Jon and I discuss D.C., Hill
internships, his experiences being in close quarters with
congress… Everything except what I’m not telling him—that I
basically let the good senator feel me up against a wall.
Exasperated and not able to out argue Jon, I ask, “How often
would I have to see him?”
He presses his fingers to his forehead. “I don’t know. Depends
on if you’re in his inner circle. Given this is a short gig, I doubt
much. When Stone calls a meeting, but there are scads of interns
plus all his senate staff. I wouldn’t sweat it. Besides, you of all
people have years of hanging with powerful men. What’s running
through your head?”
“Nothing!” I train my focus forward, wondering what the hell
he’s about to drag me into as we pull up in front of my
grandparents’ home.
GRAN’S ‘COOKOUT’ is anything but hotdogs and
hamburgers. Waiters wearing white gloves circulate, carrying
trays of champagne splits with plastic funnels, tumblers of what I
guess to be Scotch, and margaritas given the sloshing neon liquid
and salted rims. Several men in black suits and sunglasses
circulate at the perimeter—dead giveaway that guests from the
Capitol are probably lurking about.
Gran comes over, arms raised and I press my cheek to her
smooth face, inhaling L’Air du Temps. She takes hold of my arm
and steps back, “Xavia, let me look at you. All grown up! Where’s
your mother?”
Ah. Let the games being. An innocent statement, but what
she’s really doing is assessing me, acquiring ammunition for later
when she quietly addresses a list of concerns I’m so certain she
possesses. The list gets longer and longer the closer I am to
graduating. She’s ready to launch and all I have to do is acquiesce,
let her and my grandfather make a few calls. Not gonna happen.
“Mom is flying to Seattle. Last minute. But, how are you?” My
best line of defense is always to answer her, and pose the next
question. Steer the conversation, charting the direction.
Journalism 101, baby.
She releases me and smiles pleasantly. “Oh you know. It’s the
end of the season and I always get a little sad. We’re closing the
house next week…”And here it comes. The invitation for brunch
or lunch. “I’d like you to come down for lunch next week.”
Bingo! My move. I don’t answer her. “You remember Jon?” I
ask on redirect.
“Hello, Mrs. Stillman. Great party. The clams are delicious,”
he replies amicably. Jon’s so smooth and why not. He comes into
contact with every type of political and business bigwig. Crud,
maybe he’s got a point of getting the hell out of Dodge.
“Thank you,” Gran replies and pauses, giving him her little
stare. She believes that Jon and I are secretly dating, and secrets
don’t sit well with my grandmother unless they’re hers. “Still
working in D.C. at the Post?” she asks him icily.
“I am,” he replies. The tension is palpable and I won’t have
Gran browbeating my best friend, so I whip out a cutting
question. One sure to displease.
“Where’s Aunt Bridget? I saw her heading upstairs. Is she all
right?” I ask to off-balance Gran, knowing full-well that my aunt
is inside, more than likely banging the hell out of one of the wait
staff as she does every year. Aunt Bridget’s libido is the bane of
my grandparents’ Nantucket colony life. Each summer, a huge
chunk of change is exchanged along with whispered messages
from their attorneys in settling house staff complaints. My aunt
stirs up the gossip—I’ll give her that. We’ve all heard Gran
preach that Stillmans don’t do scandal. They certainly pay
enough to ensure the truth is locked away.
“Oh you know Bridget, doesn’t like the sun or the heat,” Gran
replies, casting a worried look toward the upper balcony.
“Princess,” Pop calls out, approaching our huddle with a drink
in hand as he smiles and waves to the guests around us. The ice
from my grandfather’s glass tinkles and he motions to a waiter for
a refill. Hugging me, he laughs out a rumble as I’m surrounded by
his spicy aftershave and the whiskers of his waxed handlebar
mustache, tickling my cheek. I can smell he’s well into his third
bourbon and coke. At least. Pulling away from me, he glances
over to Gran. “Grace, the Kennedys and the president just
I stiffen at the mention of my stepdad’s family, but Gran’s face
lights up and she laughs—or snickers really. Zero is how many
shits I could give that the president is here. Well, at least that
explains the dark cloud of Secret Service agents. “Stan, I’ll go
greet them and pave the way. Please join us in two minutes. Two
minutes, my good man,” she repeats her direction.
“Yes, Commandant.” Pop salutes her and winks at me.
“Xavia, come find me in a bit. We need to chat.” She gives me
her semi-stern grandmother face, then squeezes my arm, and
she’s off.
I exchange looks with Jon as a waiter brings him a beer and
mentally roll my eyes as Grans scurries away. Christ, what has she
got up her sleeve?
“Having a good time?” Pop inquires, taking out a
handkerchief, then wipes the beads of sweat off his face and
down his neck. “It’s hotter than last year. El Niño…am I right?”
“Yes and yes,” I reply.
“Mr. Stillman.” Jon smiles as he shakes Pop’s hand. “Get any
fishing in this year?”
My grandfather looks over at Jon thoughtfully and then
frowns. “Not a bite. Well, nothing worth remembering.”
“There’s always next year,” Jon concedes, holding his beer to
his lips.
Pop twirls the ice in his glass. “That there is,” he agrees vaguely
and pats my arm. “I’d better get going on my mission. Can’t keep
your grandmother waiting. Someone will want to stop and talk as
I make my way. You know how it is.” For once, I see a glimmer of
dissatisfaction in my grandfather’s eyes. Or maybe it’s just the
heat. His skin is red and he’s sweating…profusely.
“Are you feeling all right?” I ask suddenly.
“Right as rain. Except for this blasted heatwave.” He tweaks
my ear and raises an eyebrow. “Your cousins are here. Go over
and talk to them. Let them tell you about their recent moves and
wedding bell news. You’re graduating and need to start thinking
about a career path as well.”
My stomach twists as I spot my cousins across the pool. The
ones who have fallen in line, earning six figures while working at
Citibank. The same two who live in Midtown and Monica is
engaged to some hard-hitting CEO with a rock the size of a
boulder on her finger.
Nice, charming, well-ordered lives.
I could hurl.
As I scan the crowd, my gaze hits upon another cousin. Not
the exact one Pop referred to. Talk about the blackest of sheep.
Colin. He’s more leech than sheep.
“Sure thing,” I say, nodding my head and all the while I’m
thinking nope. Midtown plastic cousins or parasitic cousin—
they’re all a no-go. I could rock the boat and point that out, but
why? I’m ready to dive into the bay beyond the stone seawall.
Strip naked and swim so far, so fast as to be free of this charmed
and caged life everyone here leads.
Pop disappears in the throng of vanilla-colored people and I
turn to Jon, exasperation souring my tongue. He has his beer
tipped back, and empties it. He’s no wisp of a man, standing six
foot with a muscular body, tattooed arms that run from his wrists
to the edge of his white polo, and plenty of girls around us, give
him the eye in that we can tell you’re gay but hot. Like maybe in
their bed, he might just decide to bat for the other team.
“What are you drinking?” He pushes a wayward strand
behind my ear as only he can do when I’m steaming, not from the
heat but being around my family for more than six minutes.
“Not enough,” I reply when I snag a waiter. “Pardon me.”
Jon gives him his order. “Heineken and she’ll have…”
I look down at the waiter’s tray, surveying my choices. What
the hell? I lift a tumbler and sniff. “This is fine.”
The waiter bows and Jon shakes his head. “Why do you care
what anyone here thinks? Your eyes keep ogling the champagne.”
“Because,” I say, “I refuse to fit in!” Then I lift my glass, and
smile. I’ve never had the pleasure of Scotch before. Plenty of the
men are drinking it, so I knock back a gulp…that tastes like
lighter fluid in my book. Oh shit! I clasp my hand over my lips.
What the hell did I just suck into my mouth? I shiver as the
liquor sits idly on my tongue.
“What’s wrong?” Jon asks, eyeing me with concern. “Are you
going to be sick?”
Okay, either I can spit this shit out or down it. My gaze flashes
around the party, all the pretty, pretty people that talk genteelly
with their summer whites and boat shoes on. Crap, spitting out
the Scotch is a faux-pas to the extreme, and I forcibly make my
throat muscles work. But fuck! Swallowing is no better and I
gasp, then start to hack as Jon claps me on the back. With tears in
my eyes, I follow up with, “No. I’m pretty pissed and want
another of those!”
TWO HOURS later, I’m scrounging through my purse, blindly
looking for my keys. I’ve done my duty and stayed the
perfunctory time period Mom requested, and I as meander,
weaving around people without making eye contact, my sandals
slap across the patio pavers until I see Jon talking to a tall man,
wearing a tight pair of Nantucket Reds.
“Excuse me,” a Secret Service agent says.
“Yes,” I reply, looking over his shoulder. Both Jon and the
other man laugh, their heads bowed together for a second. I
recognize Jon’s companion as one of the executives from
Manhattan…some high-powered attorney I believe, and the more
my memory starts to reconnect, I also recall said attorney has a
wife and kids.
“The president would like a word with you, Ms. Kennedy.”
“With me?” I swing my gaze to the agent, wondering what
President Gabriel North wants with me. This has to be Gran’s
doing. Ten to one, she’s twisting North’s presidential arm,
seeking some favor. Ah, yes and oh no!
“The president is waiting in the library.” He juts his chin over
toward the house. “Come with me.” He turns to leave as if I’ll
just happily totter along.
“Pardon me, Agent.” I cross my arms over my chest, waiting.
The man stops talking into his cell, telling someone to ‘hold
positions.’ “Yes?”
“I can’t right now. Please tell the president, I’ll catch him
later.” I arch my brow, pressing my lips together, and nod.
The agent peers over his glasses, his dark eyes widen, and he
looks like he’s thinking what to do. Well, while he’s trying to
figure how to keep his job, I’m done playing games, and walk past
him with a stony, “Good evening.”
I march over to Jon and his buddy. Both guys glance at me
and then exchange a look between them—protracted and I
understand. Immediately. I smile at Jon. He’s found a hook-up
and in my giddy-I’m-leaving state, I semi-shout his name to grab
his attention. “Time to split.”
“More like splitting from the Secret Service. What the hell
was that about?” Jon asks. “Who’d you piss off now?”
“Just Gran plotting,” I scoff.
“Xavia, nice seeing you again. It’s been a while,” the tallblond-and-married attorney states, extending his arm to me.
I can’t recall his name, but I reach out and squeeze his hand.
“Same. Sorry to greet and run, but I’m heading off calamity.”
“No problem,” he replies.
I smile at both of them and then focus my eyes on Jon. “So,
are you up for leaving?”
“More than ready.” Jon says and grins over at his new friend.
Now, I shift my focus directly to Jon, trying to catch his eye
and nonverbally ask if Mitch is coming with us, but my BFF’s so
hung up on the blond hunk in front of him, he ignores my
intense stare.
“Need a lift back to the city?” I ask Mitch, taking the ‘bull’ by
the horns.
Jon’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, leaning next to my
ear and whispers, “I’m riding back with him.”
“You’re not seri—”
He jerks my arm, squeezing, and I want to laugh and ask him
if he’s bonkers, but he gives me an I’ll-kill-you-in-your-sleep stare
to silence my unwelcomed imitation of a dumbass. Stiffening, I
feel a tendril of something foreign tighten around my throat—
and wonder what’s come over me. I don’t want him to leave with
Am I jealous of Jon?
Of the blond hunk?
Of them together? In a bed?
Fuck, I think am.
“Absolutely ready. After you,” Mitch pronounces and his
smile widens gregariously. He sets his drink down, and I start to
trek toward the front of the house.
I want to bolt away and I hate feeling like this. In lieu of
leaving through the gargantuan downstairs where I’m sure Gran
is holding court in the living room by this time, I head for the
side walkway.
“Wait up, Xavia,” Jon calls, and I realize, I’m practically
fleeing like my feet are on fire.
I slow my gallop, stepping onto the grass, and take a breath,
glancing over my shoulder, and our eyes meet. I force a smile to
my lips for Jon’s benefit when he and his friend join me.
“Chica?” Jon comes up to me, his eyes wide with concern.
My stomach pitches. I’m acting selfishly. “You know how it
is…seeing the exit. I can’t leave fast enough.”
“Then call Nora,” he whispers before he steps back next to
Mitch. “Okay?”
I inhale gazing into his dark eyes. “I’m thinking…remember? I
need to do some research.”
We walk around the side of Gran’s home, toward the garden
entrance. Together we stride over the pavers, in between the
manicured lawn, and neatly trimmed hedges. I walk silently as
Jon and Mitch whisper. Flanked by their low chatter and secret
laughs, I feel alone and wrap my arms around my middle.
I follow the trail until we come to the circular drive, trying
not to eavesdrop on their conversation but all the while, I can’t
wait to escape being the third wheel. Once outside and facing the
winding row of car upon car down the driveway, I shrug. “Hey,
I’m going to go get my own ride. The queue is too long.”
There are several other couples waiting along the front steps
for the two valets huffing it back and forth.
Jon places his hand on my shoulder. “You okay to drive?”
My cheeks feel numb as I try to keep up the pretense of
smiling. I assess my level of intoxication—not too bad. “Yeah.
I’m fine, just hot. Pop is right about the heat.”
His brow creases. “I can always ride back—”
“No,” I whisper stubbornly. Jon has always been there for me.
“Go have some fun. Lots and lots of screaming, hair-pulling fun.
You deserve it. No excuses. Call me tomorrow.”
Both men give me that surprised expression as if their
connection is covert—which it isn’t to someone like me. I’ve
learned to read nonverbals in assessing my sources as a writer—
I’m all eyes when it comes to seeing below the surface.
“Catch you tomorrow. We’ll talk strategy on getting you
intimately hooked up in D.C.” Jon says with a wink. We hug,
kiss, trade another ‘Bye.’
Alone, I walk to my car, scanning the night sky and wonder
where’s my doorway to change. Glancing back over my shoulder
as I approach my car door, there’s Jon laughing again with his
new friend. New connection. That’s a lesson worth learning.
New connection. New possibilities.
I level my shoulders and think, what the hell? Maybe a little
Hill climbing in D.C. is just the ticket. Tomorrow, I’m going to
call Nora and see what’s the deal with Senator Bennett Stone and
his unforgettable… persona.



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Book Title: Stygian
Author: Nashoda Rose
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Release Date: March 30, 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Synopsis 3

Danni: Mortal

I remember nothing of my abduction two years ago. Sounds and scents trigger horrific flashes, but it’s all a blur except for one man with brilliant green eyes. When the tatted six foot two Adonis shows up at my door, my knowledge of the world is shattered.
Bound to the immortal Scar by an ancient spell, we are on the run. Because Balen is the hunted.

And if he dies, so do I.

Balen: Scar Tracker

My code of honor was respected without question … until I consumed the blood of a vampire in exchange for a mortal woman’s freedom.
The Scars want me imprisoned. The Wraiths want me dead.
But the woman I can’t forget needs me. And I’ll risk everything to protect her.
Even if it means killing her.

Because in order for her to live—first she must die.

Full-length novel. Come meet the Scars.

Scars: Immortal warriors with capabilities derived from the senses: Trackers, Sounders, Healers, Tasters, Visionaries, and the rare Reflectors. They each have what is known as an Ink, a tattoo that can be called to life.

There are three full-length prequels to TAKE (scars of the wraiths). This is book One.
All three prequels were previously published and have been re-written entirely and are now in multiple first person POVs.

*Stygian was originally entitled JUMP.


*warning graphic

Before: Danni

The terror of dying had vanished—now I prayed for it.

His dagger-like nails tapped slow and precise up my neck until he reached the underside of my chin. He caressed the sensitive area with the pad of his finger then shoved his thumb upward between the curves of my jaw bone. It forced my mouth shut and I bit down hard on my tongue. Blood began to pool in my mouth and I couldn’t swallow with the pressure.

I breathed in and out frantically through my nose. I was going to choke on my own blood. I was going to die.

“Tilt your head,” he ordered.

The pressure increased and I turned my head, exposing the side of my neck. He moved his thumb away and I quickly spit out the blood. Remnants dribbled from the corners of my mouth and down my chin.

“Beautiful,” he purred, then curled his hand around the back of my neck and lifted slightly. I clenched my hands into fists, waiting for the familiar pain. I refused to scream—it made no difference anyway—no one was rescuing me from this monster.

I squeezed my eyes shut as he leaned over me, the odor of black licorice flooding my nostrils. He hissed and it sounded like the slow drag of a zipper being undone. I tensed and stopped breathing just before his fangs pierced my neck.

I silently cried as I lay unmoving, powerless to refuse him, frozen in the nightmare that had become reality. His lips were cold against my skin as he sucked the warmth of my blood. Each pull draining my strength until my hands unclenched and my nails embedded in my palms, released.

His tongue flicked over my neck and he lifted his head. “My sugary, Danielle.”

His voice was a calm melody, as if a paintbrush across a fresh white canvas, sweeping, rhythmic and subtle. I hated how it was captivating, how I compared it to something I loved, but I had no control over it.

I lay limp as the shackles released and cold, fish-like hands grabbed my arms and dragged me across the damp, dirt floor to the cage. My haven. Away from him. Away from the torture.

The monster threw me inside and I landed hard on my knees then collapsed to my side. The door slammed and locked.


Metal grinding.


The cage lifted off the ground, rocking back and forth as it was cranked upward until it settled next to two other cages.

I was so cold. Endless shivering that made my muscles ache from constantly trying to provide my body with warmth. My throat was dry and hoarse from screaming, as if a razor blade had scraped the flesh.

“Jesus.” A few feet away I heard the familiar graveled voice—Balen, my only comfort here. The rusted pipes overhead groaned as the continuous spray of water sprinkled inside his cage. “Christ, I’m sorry.”

It took too much energy to move, but I opened my eyes to look at him. My neighboring prisoner gripped the bars, knuckles white. His tense body a spring wound up so tight that it looked ready to fracture. His leg hung at an odd angle, mangled from the sledge hammer they tortured him with.

Despite his ravaged body, he was beautiful. Tattoos contoured to the hills and valleys of his muscular arms and chest. I’d caught a glimpse of a tiger on his lower back that was so intricate it looked alive. But it was his eyes that captivated me. Brilliant green, piercing and hard, filled with a haunting torment. When he was angry, the green darkened and looked almost black.

“Don’t you dare give up.”

I had already. I never thought I would in the beginning, but now…

“Look at me!” I heard what sounded like his fist pounding into the metal bars. “Look. At. Me.”

His tone was furious, and yet, I wasn’t scared of him. How could I be? He was all I had in this place.

Our eyes locked and the tension in his jaw eased. “You need to drink, Danni. Move closer.”

Water. I closed my eyes and imagined holding a cool glass of water and chugging it back; the liquid sliding down my throat, coating the harsh dryness. I’d never thought about the daily bottles of water I’d consumed, but now … now it was all I thought about. “I’m not letting you die, damn it.” His voice was harsh and abrupt and yet to me it was soothing.

Fearless. That’s what he was. He never screamed when they tortured him, never broke. I wanted that. To be brave again. But he had sucked it out of me.

I crawled across the metal floor and put my hands through the bars, cupping them together. I closed my eyes, afraid he wouldn’t be able to reach me this time.

But when the cool saturation hit my skin, tears pooled in my eyes. Water trickled through the crevices between my fingers and I quickly jolted back, afraid to lose a single drop of what he offered.

I licked my palms, the wetness adhering to my throat—velvet.

I reached out again and this time opened my eyes. He collected the water from the shower head attached to the top of his cage. It was a light spray and it took agonizing minutes just to gather a small handful.

We repeated the process five times, until my arms resisted rising any longer. “Thank you,” I whispered.

He sat and leaned up against the bars, leg bent and his arm resting on it; casual and indifferent and yet everything in his expression contradicted it. “Damn it Danni, you need to lock your mind from your body. Shut it down like I told you.” He sounded angry, but I knew it was because he was worried. “Separate the two. Don’t let him win.”

It was too late for that. He’d won the battle already.


I curled up on my side in a ball, my knees to my chin and my arms wrapped around them, trying to provide myself with some sort of warmth.

Then I closed my eyes and prayed for the darkness to take me.

I thought I heard him say something else, but I was already slipping into the void. It didn’t matter anyway. Nothing did.

Author Bio


Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.

When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.

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NEW RELEASE ~ Stolen Donor by Cee Smith

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Synopsis 3


I did everything that was expected of me. I got good grades, went to a good college; I never even had a boyfriend, which for a normal girl of twenty-two was practically unheard of. My life was safe, predictable. That all changed when Dominic kidnapped me, robbing me of the cookie-cutter life I so carefully handcrafted. I was abducted and a new me was born.


I spent so long uncovering secrets that it was becoming a bit of a specialty for me. After watching Hailey for twelve months I knew the secrets she held—the repressed temptation that called to men like me. Stealing her was easy, making her fall in love with me, even easier. It was the feeling she sparked in me that I had no control over. A feeling I never expected. But the one thing that threatened to unravel us both was my secret, the reason I took her in the first place.

Dominic and Hailey were two people from two different worlds, and some paths should never cross.

WARNING: This book contains situations that some may find offensive. Please read with caution if you are sensitive to dubious consent or graphic language.



His fingers kissed across my neck reminding me of the bruise I wore like a choker. I sat stock still while he circled my neck with his fingers. He disappeared behind my back, but his fingers still trailed, reminding me of his closeness.

“About what I said earlier…I think it’s time to start doling out some of these punishments you’re racking up. Wouldn’t you say? You seem to be in such good spirits now.” His stiff words before were now slippery, alive with the sadistic touch that usually preceded my humiliation.

“I don’t know what I’ve done that warrants punishment.”

“Yes you do. All you have to do is merely look at your clothes to know one of the—”

“—but I needed warmer clothes.” My voice rose, bordering on hysterical. I needed to know what could happen if I didn’t wear the clothes. How far was Dominic willing to go? I saw how angry he could get, but I didn’t want to just be scared of a possibility.

“I hope it was worth it,” he whispered in my ear, his orange musky scent draping across my shoulders like a shawl.

“Take it off, all of it. Since you don’t know how to follow direction, I’ll spell it out for you. I want every scrap of clothing that’s on you right now off your body and in my hands in two minutes. You won’t be wearing anything until your clothes are laid out for you tomorrow morning.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked as I pushed to get up.

“Would you rather I hit you? Surely I could beat the stubbornness out of you, but you seem to respond well to humiliation. It’s just the same to me.” He shrugged his shoulders as if choosing between the two would be like deciding whether to have peas or carrots. I didn’t like his indifference to the idea of beating me. It revealed more about him than I had seen thus far.

He looked at his watch as if timing me, and I began stripping off my clothes—my shoes, my pants, my vest, my sweater. I left my undergarments last, secretly hoping that I could cling to these two scraps that did little to conceal, but when he looked at his watch again, I unclasped my bra and pulled my underwear down with hands that shook from the nerves as much as the cold air that whipped my skin in its brutality. With all of my clothes piled at my feet, I scooped them up and attempted to hand the load over to him. His arms stayed folded. It wasn’t enough that he had made me strip like this, but then the bastard had the nerve to refuse my clothes, only taking them once I had folded them neatly and placed them back in his arms.

My hands rose, barely covering myself as I gritted, “Happy now? I’m freezing.”

“You’re to still come down for dinner like this, and I swear, if you come down with so much as a piece of lint on you, I’ll beat your bottom blue.” He dipped down, his face closing the distance between us. As if I would actually kiss him after that! I turned my cheek, and he chuckled before pecking me lightly, dismissing me with a swat on my butt.

Author Bio 91xuQH6EpvL._UX250_

Cee Smith is a lover of the written word. Since first learning how to string a sentence together, she’s been putting pen to paper and hasn’t looked back. Though she’s no longer obsessed with blood and gore, the dark side still calls to her, often finding refuge in her current writings. Her addiction to reading is what finally inspired her to take a chance at publishing.

A California native, currently residing in North Carolina with her husband. She loves salacious stories, true love and forbidden romances—the more angst the better. Other than reading and writing, some of her other obsessions are peanut butter (don’t get her started), Michael Fassbender, and watching tv.

She loves talking about the creative process and what books she’s reading, so feel free to shoot her a line. Or if you just want to say hi that’s fine too. She swears she’ll respond.

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Title: The Unlikely Samaritan (The Good Samaritan #2)
Author: Jolie Mae Miller
Release Date: March 16, 2015
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Synopsis 3

In book one, the Loving and Macintyre families, faced hardships caused by those closest to them. Left to pick up the pieces, they’re unable to shed the painful experiences, from a life they wish to leave behind. In book two, their entwined histories become the platform for a hopeful future.
Multimillionaire, Jack Loving, Jr.’s romantic obsession with Lizzie Macintyre, was immediate. While present on her darkest day, he vowed to save her, making her part of his life — helping others as good samaritans.
After her exposed secret led to personal tragedy, Lizzie, consumed with guilt, moves on. Taking steps to further secure her future and others, she forms new secret alliances, putting everyone she cares about, at risk.
Forces converge, led by the couple individually, and others with hidden agendas, creating great harm to their future. Will they survive, finding forgiveness for Lizzie’s secrets which have the power to destroy them personally and professionally? Is Jack keeping secrets of his own? Prepare for an unexpected ride to discovering the most unlikely samaritans, in this very explicit, suspenseful, contemporary erotic romance, in Book Two — The Good Samaritan series.

Buy Links

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes


The Good Samaritan (#1)

Synopsis 3

Can money really buy you happiness?
What would you do to support your family?
The Macintyre family faces struggles of alcoholism and severe financial hardship after having it all and losing everything. Jeremy is forced into the ranks of the long-term unemployed, destroying his family with his alcohol addiction, and leaving Lizzie Macintyre to provide for the family in a most unconventional way. Just how far is Lizzie willing to go to save her family?
Jack Loving Jr., of the Loving family, is sole heir to Richmond’s most philanthropic family’s Trust. He and wife, Victoria, work hard to honor his family’s long-standing tradition of serving the less fortunate, forcing Jack to sacrifice his lifelong dreams. Jack faces serious challenges when someone close betrays him, turning his world upside down. Can Jack create happiness for himself?
When Jack has a chance encounter with Lizzie, never could they imagine their families would eventually need one another.
This book has strong explicit sexual content and not intended for readers under 18 years old.
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Author Bio

Jolie Mae Miller is an independent author, living in Prince George, Virginia, with her loving husband and amazing children. Her busy home also includes a yorkie, a poodle, and a St. Bernard. Her favorite job is being a Mom and Meme (because she’s too young to be a “GRANDMA!”). 
She grew up in Powhatan, Virginia, working in her family’s auto parts business for many years. After her sister received a life-saving transplant, she pursued and was hired by Richmond-based, non-profit, United Network for Organ Sharing (UNOS). She enjoyed thirteen years working in the Accounting department managing various functions. Today, she has the best job, Mom.
In her free time, she enjoys reading and watching baseball.  Whether it’s her husband who umpires, her son, or the Orioles.   Additionally, she’s an ancestry junkie, knowing quite well it’s a never ending project.  Jolie Mae is incredibly blessed to have a supportive family behind her while she pursues her love and passion of complex-themed writing. She credits her amazing parents for continuing to be positive, guiding forces in her life. Her love of reading definitely came from her Mom, and is constantly inspired by her Dad’s outgoing personality and knack for great storytelling.
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