Hold On Tight, the newest standalone in the Man of the Month Series by #1 New York Times bestselling author J. Kenner is LIVE!

Title: Hold On Tight

Author: J. Kenner

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Publishing Date: January 30th

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About J. Kenner

J. Kenner (aka Julie Kenner) is the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, Wall Street Journal and #1 International bestselling author of over seventy novels, novellas and short stories in a variety of genres. Though known primarily for her award-winning and international bestselling erotic romances (including the Stark and Most Wanted series) that have reached as high as #2 on the New York Times bestseller list, JK has been writing full time for over a decade in a variety of genres including paranormal and contemporary romance, “chicklit” suspense, urban fantasy, and paranormal mommy lit. JK has been praised by Publishers Weekly as an author with a “flair for dialogue and eccentric characterizations” and by RT Bookclub for having “cornered the market on sinfully attractive, dominant antiheroes and the women who swoon for them.” A five time finalist for Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA award, JK took home the first RITA trophy awarded in the category of erotic romance in 2014 for her novel, Claim Me (book 2 of her Stark Trilogy). Her Demon Hunting Soccer Mom series (as Julie Kenner) is currently in development with AwesomenessTV/Awestruck. Her books have sold over three million copies and are published in over twenty languages. In her previous career as an attorney, JK worked as a clerk on the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals, and practiced primarily civil, entertainment and First Amendment litigation in Los Angeles and Irvine, California, as well as in Austin, Texas. She currently lives in Central Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and two rather spastic cats.

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HEAT, an all-new dragon romance from Donna Grant is LIVE!

Donna Grant is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the sizzling Dark King series featuring dragons, immortal Highlanders, and the Fae. She was born and raised in Texas but loves to travel. Her adventures have taken her throughout the United States as well as to Jamaica, Mexico, and Scotland. Growing up on the Texas/Louisiana border, Donna’s Cajun side of the family taught her the “spicy” side of life while her Texas roots gave her two-steppin’ and bareback riding. Despite deadlines and voracious reading, Donna still manages to keep up with her two children, four cats, and one long haired Chihuahua.

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Claire

I shivered, the thin gown I was wearing barely keeping the chill off my body. I couldn’t see much aside from the bright lights that illuminated the stage. There were several other women behind me, some of them crying, others so emotionless I wondered if they were already broken.
All of us were property.
This was the world I lived in, where being a fertile female made me someone else’s property.
I knew out there, in the crowd hidden behind shadows, were wealthy men of all ages. They’d purchase us, do whatever they wanted with us. We’d be nothing but chattel to them, a shiny new toy for them to use … to abuse. The society I lived in was barbaric, where humans could be taken against their will and sold off to someone who had the right amount of coin.
That thought had fear freezing my body.
How I wished I lived in a time where this was only read about in fiction, where it wasn’t a reality. How I wished I could go to the past, where society wasn’t fucked-up and people weren’t starving.
Would the person who purchased me use me as a sex slave, strictly to get them off? Or maybe they’d use me as a breeder, a vessel to carry their heir and pass on their lineage. Either way, all I wanted to do was run off the stage and escape, but I knew I wouldn’t make it. I knew I would be captured before I even got to the front doors.
I felt my hands shaking, and soon my entire body followed suit. It was a silent auction, one where I wouldn’t know who purchased me until it was far too late.
It was already too late.
And so I closed my eyes, focusing on something else, somewhere else. I thought about the small camp of “runaways” I’d been staying with, men and women who were against how the world was, how the government could sell humans as if they were nothing more than a new toy.
I stood there, my eyes closed, my thoughts on being free, on being alone in the woods where I could pretend that where I was, wasn’t the end of the line for me. I didn’t know how long I stood there, not focused on anything but myself, but I finally felt someone take hold of my arm and cart me offstage.
I was led into the back hallways, pushed into a room where I was changed into a thicker gown, my feet shoved into flats, my hair haphazardly put into a messy bun. I had a bracelet snapped around my wrist, a number etched all around it … my new owner’s purchase number.
And so it is. I am a piece of property.
Once I was dressed and ready for my hell-on-earth future, I was again led toward the back. There I saw two double doors wide open, the breeze washing over me and almost making me cry. I could see the woods just behind, so close yet so far away. I wanted to run, but I didn’t want to make this harder on myself. I didn’t want to make my life even more miserable than I knew it already would be.
It can’t get any worse. Death would be far more humane.
And then, once I was outside, I tugged on the two men leading me. They tightened their holds until the pain lanced up my arms. There, waiting no more than a few feet from me, was a dark car, shiny, reeking of money. The back door was opened by what I could only assume was a servant of the man awaiting me inside. God, would he be old? Would he be gentle or cruel and violent to me?
Nothing was said, no words spoken. I was, after all, nothing more than chattel to them.
Once in the car, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I could see his big body across from me, the shadows partially hiding his face. My heart was beating so fast, and I felt sweat start to cover my body in fearful beads of emotion.
The vehicle started moving, and I curled my hands into tight fists, afraid to breathe, let alone say anything. And then he leaned forward, the light finally making a swatch across his face. He was brutally handsome, with dark hair and even darker eyes. I saw the tattoos that covered his body, not something that was practiced much anymore, but seeming to make my heart beat harder, painfully fast.
He was older, maybe in his thirties, still much older than my mere twenty years. But he appeared wiser, as if he’d seen more than he should have, experienced more than he’d wanted to.
And then he leaned forward, grabbed my hand in his much bigger one, and I swear I felt fire kick across my skin. The cuff of his jacket rode up slightly, and I saw the tattoos painting his wrist and creeping up his forearm.
I was frozen in place, my muscles tensed, not knowing what he was going to do. He stared into my eyes, his so dark, so deep. Who was this man? Why was he making me feel like I was on edge? Why was he making me feel aroused with just a touch? I should be disgusted by him, frightened because I had no idea what he would do to me.
But he said nothing, his big body making me feel so small, so vulnerable. And then, before I could realize what he was doing, he tore the property bracelet from my wrist. I felt my eyes widen as I realized what he’d just done. That simple act was one of rebellion. I was not his property, and he’d made that clear without saying one word.
Without saying anything, he leaned back, swallowed by the shadows of the interior of the car once more.
My heart thundered so hard and fast, worse than when I’d stood on that auction block not knowing what my future held. The car ride seemed endless. But eventually we were slowing and I glanced out the tinted window to see a massive estate coming into view. Although I wasn’t looking at the man, I could feel his gaze on me, like tendrils of fire moving along my skin. It was as if he was reaching out and stroking my arms with his fingertips. But I refused to look at him. He might have taken off the bracelet, but that didn’t mean I knew what was going to happen or if he would let me go. I could’ve laughed at my thoughts.
Let me go? No doubt he paid an exorbitant amount of money for me.
The vehicle came to a stop, and I sat there, my breathing increasing as I thought about all the horrible things that might happen once I stepped inside that house.
“You’re safe,” the man finally said, his voice so deep, so masculine I felt it race up my spine.
I looked at him then. He leaned forward so the light moved along his face once more.
“No one will ever hurt you again. I’ll make sure you’re protected and healed properly; then after that, you’re free to go.”
I felt my eyes widen. “Free to go?” I whispered. Although I wanted to escape, I also knew I didn’t have anywhere safe to run to. The chances of being caught again played through my head like a horror movie.
“Yes. I can set you up in a safe house once I know you’ll be protected and they can’t find you again.”
I couldn’t believe what was happening right now. “I don’t understand.” I could have cried, and in fact I felt a single tear slip out of the corner of my eye.
“We can talk about this more once you’re inside, a change of clothes covering you, and a warm meal in your belly.”
I felt dizzy, like if I stood right now, I might faint. He helped me out of the vehicle and all I could do was lean on him for support, not sure if I was dreaming or if this was reality. I looked up at him, his body so much bigger than mine. Could this be real? Could I actually be … free?
* * *
Xavier

She’s mine.
Those words slammed into my head over and over again, a derailed train about to crash and destroy anything and everything in its path. I couldn’t control it, couldn’t stop the deep rumble that came from me. I could see her eyes widen farther, the blues so startling they made my heart slam harder in my chest. The long fall of her blonde hair had my hands twitching, my fingers tingling. I wanted to touch the locks, wanted to see if they felt as soft as they looked.
Get yourself under fucking control.
I exhaled slowly, reining in my control. I wasn’t about to lose my shit. I couldn’t, not in front of her.
My words had shocked her. It was unbelievable to her, I was sure. I had purchased her just to set her free. But as I stared at her, something in me shifted. I didn’t want to set her free, not because I was a sadistic bastard, but because for the first time in my life I finally felt something come alive in me.
It had taken one look, one sound of her voice, and this possessive side in me came forth like a dangerous beast. I was doing everything in my power to be calm, to keep collected and be stoic. No need to frighten her further. She needed to earn my trust, know that I wouldn’t hurt her.
But despite all of that, I could only think about was how I wanted.
She is mine. She will be mine.
And as those words beat in my head like a war drum, a song before a battle, I knew she was different. She was so very different from any woman I’d ever seen, ever known.
Mine.
“What’s your name?” My voice was thick, scratchy. I’d kept in the shadows of the car, watching her, seeing her reaction play across her face. She licked her lips, and I lowered my gaze to watch the act.
“Claire,” she said in the sweetest, softest voice I’d ever heard, a song from the very heavens above.
My body became tense, my blood rushing through my veins. I wanted to protect her, to kill anyone who ever hurt her, who dared to even think about doing so. I wanted blood on my hands, bodies at my feet. It would all be in the name of Claire. I’d always been protective of the women I saved, but this was different. Where I felt an almost parental connection to those woman, a part of me wanting to care for them because they’d had such a rough go at life, with Claire I felt something much more personal. I was protective of her, territorial of her, not only because I wanted to make sure she was safe, but because I wanted her as my own.
I watched her, not saying anything for long seconds. When I finally felt in control and knew I could say anything without sounding like a ravished animal, I spoke. “I’m Xavier…”
And you’re mine.

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Combust, an all new sexy and emotional standalone by K. Bromberg is Available NOW!

 
 
   

EXCERPT

Preoccupied with a text on my phone from my agent, I walk into the kitchen and suck in a breath when I come face to back with Grady. He’s standing with his hand on the refrigerator door, head leaned inside, and his back fully exposed to me. It’s broad and strong and scarred immeasurably. I stare. I can’t help it. The marks are a dizzying array of dark and light and ridged and smooth. And they’re undeniably burns. Goosebumps chase over my skin as I imagine the pain he must have endured when he got those. I think of his habit of wearing unbuttoned shirts but never going shirtless and the hint of scars just visible above his collar that I never could have imagined led to this roadmap to hell on his back. A part of me instinctively wants to reach out to touch them, bring some kind of comfort. It sounds ridiculous, even to me, but that doesn’t abate the urge. “Not pretty, huh? Get a good look while you can.” His voice is gruff as his spine stiffens and body stills, emotion woven through the words. “Thank God not all of you is pretty. I was beginning to feel majorly insecure having to live with perfection like you,” I say off the cuff, trying to make this situation less awkward. My attempt to settle the sudden tension sparking in the air around us. “Perfection?” he asks as he turns to face me with a smile that masks the emotion swirling in his eyes. “Yeah. You have scars. I have mermaid thighs.” “Mermaid thighs?” He laughs. “What in the world are you talking about?” “Thighs that touch from the top all the way to my knees.” I shrug as if it doesn’t bug me, as if I’m not highlighting one of the insults Tara threw at me. It’s a whole lot easier to make fun of myself so long as it puts him at ease. “Do you ever give yourself a break?” “Do you?” I ask the question, sparking a silent battle of wills as we stare at each other and wonder what to say next about the other’s insecurities. Coming up empty, I shift gears. “I think there is some type of rule about how many abs are fair for a guy to have when the rest of us are just struggling to find one of them.” His smile rings more genuine as he steps toward me, and I step back, my hips leaning against the counter now. “Is that so?” His voice lowers as his eyes flick to my lips and then back up. “I’m sure you have some under your shirt there.” Why does the simple action make it seem so hard to swallow? He takes another step. “What are you building outside?” “A playroom.” A nervous chuckle falls from my lips as I think of all of the versions of playrooms I’ve read about in my romance books. My cheeks stain red as I imagine Grady with a flogger in one hand standing beside a St. Andrew’s Cross. “A playroom?” “Yeah.” He takes a step closer so we’re breathing the same air, his voice husky enough to cause every part of my body to grow alert. “A playroom. You know . . . a pool table. Foosball. A real man cave.” I exhale a shaky sigh, suddenly more than aware that he’s so close, shirtless, sweaty, and smelling like sun and soap mixed together. But it’s his eyes that make my thoughts falter. There’s an intensity to them I don’t expect from the perpetually cheerful Grady Malone. “Ah, that kind of playroom . . .” But my words trail off as he steps even closer and braces his hands on the counter on either side of me. I can hear his intake of breath. The music floating in from outside. The pound of my pulse in my ears. “Hey, Dyl?” “Yes?” Our eyes hold, my lips fall lax. “I need you to open up.” “What?” I question as his hand brushes against my hip and his fingers pull on the drawer handle I’m standing in front of. “I need the bottle opener. You’re standing in front of the drawer it’s in.” His lips spread into a full-fledged grin as I scramble away from the counter and, of course, run smack dab into the hardness, all six foot plus of him. And then I rebound off him again in a flustered state that has him laughing and me stuttering. “Sorry. I wasn’t—I didn’t . . .” His arms hold on to my biceps to steady me, which prompts me to look up and meet his eyes. “We need to stop meeting like this,” he murmurs, the heat of his breath hitting my lips. “We do.” Brilliant, Dylan. Freaking brilliant response. “I’ve gotta . . . I’ve gotta get back to . . . to writing.”

About K. Bromberg

New York Times Bestselling author K. Bromberg writes contemporary novels that contain a mixture of sweet, emotional, a whole lot of sexy, and a little bit of real. She likes to write strong heroines, and damaged heroes who we love to hate and hate to love. A mom of three, she plots her novels in between school runs and soccer practices, more often than not with her laptop in tow. Since publishing her first book in 2013, Kristy has sold over one million copies of her books across sixteen different countries and has landed on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestsellers lists over twenty-five times. Her Driven trilogy (Driven, Fueled, and Crashed) is currently being adapted for film by Passionflix with the first movie slated to release in the summer of 2018. She is currently working on her Everyday Heroes trilogy. This series consists of three complete standalone novels—Cuffed, Combust, and Cockpit (late spring 2018)—and is about three brothers who are emergency responders, the jobs that call to them, and the women who challenge them. She loves to hear from her readers so make sure you check her out on social media or sign up for her newsletter to stay up to date on all her latest releases and sales: http://bit.ly/254MWtI  

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Cold As Ice, the first in an all-new romantic series of standalones from bestselling authors Piper Rayne is LIVE!

Piper Rayne, or Piper and Rayne, whichever you prefer because we’re not one author, we’re two. Yep, you get two USA Today Bestselling authors for the price of one. You might be wondering if you know us? Maybe you’ll read our books and figure it out. Maybe you won’t. Does it really matter? We aren’t trying to stamp ourselves with a top-secret label. We wanted to write without apology. We wanted to not be pigeon-holed into a specific type of story. Everyone has their favorite authors, right? And when you pick up their books, you expect something from them. Whether it’s an alpha male, heavy angst, a happily ever after, there’s something you are absolutely certain the book will contain. Heck, we’re readers, too, we get it! All that, AND we thought it'd be a helluva lot more fun if we did this writing thing together! What can we tell you about ourselves? We both have kindle’s full of one-clickable books. We're both married to husbands who drive us to drink. We're both chauffeurs to our kids. Most of all, we love hot heroes, quirky heroines that make us laugh, and lots of sexy times. Here's hoping you do, too!

"All-consuming, deep, seductive, so damn emotional—this book is everything I expect from Jewel E. Ann.”

—Pam Godwin, New York Times bestselling author

Look the Part, an all-new “emotional and breathtaking” standalone from

Jewel E. Ann is LIVE!

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Jewel is a free-spirited romance junkie with a quirky sense of humor. With 10 years of flossing lectures under her belt, she took early retirement from her dental hygiene career to stay home with her three awesome boys and manage the family business. After her best friend of nearly 30 years suggested a few books from the Contemporary Romance genre, Jewel was hooked. Devouring two and three books a week but still craving more, she decided to practice sustainable reading, AKA writing. When she’s not donning her cape and saving the planet one tree at a time, she enjoys yoga with friends, good food with family, rock climbing with her kids, watching How I Met Your Mother reruns, and of course…heart-wrenching, tear-jerking, panty-scorching novels.