Fabricating Jade by Vanessa Marie

I need a mentor.

YouTube videos can only teach me so much.

And I want to learn from someone real.

From someone tangible.

But no one takes me seriously.

Only in my wildest dreams would I be mentored by Jesse Valentine.

He’s the top motorcycle and hot rod fabricator in the nation.

He also has the reputation for being one of the biggest jerks that ever lived.

Not to mention they say he can’t keep it in his pants.

I’m not interested in any of that.

Only in his knowledge.

I crave it.

And then I heard about the class he’s holding for the public.

I had to earn my spot.

Prove my worth.

Show them all that I was more than just some silly girl.

My name is Jada Carmen and I was born to build cars.

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Jesse's gritty tone interrupted my concentration from over my shoulder. "Now everyone definitely thinks you're a stripper. Why the fuck would you bring clothes like that into a place like this?"
My eye's flashed with annoyance. "They couldn't afford me even if I was," I ground out through gritted teeth.
I refused to give him the satisfaction of playing into his game today. So I bit the inside of my cheek and kept marking the fabric where I wanted to cut.
"You do realize this isn't a home economics class right? If you want to play fashion designer, you should just get out now."
I stole a glance at him, now that he'd moved to my side. His eyes were sharp, assessing me for a reaction. If that was what he wanted, it was what he was going to get. Whipping around to face him, I leaned my hip against the bench and folded my arms over my chest. My still wrapped forearm lying on top of the other.
"Did you find that cliff to jump off yet?"
Jesse darted his gaze from my arm back to my face. "Nah, I guess California is fresh out. I'll ask you again... This is metal fabrication-- why in the fuck are you bringing fabric in here?" his voice was low, and gravely. His tone indicated I wasn't the sharpest tool in the workroom and that irked me. Everything irked me when he was around.
"Let me ask you something, Mr. Valentine... Is a car or even a bike all metal or does it have some sort of fabric on it somewhere?" I arched a brow at him.
His face softened slightly. The lines in the corner of his eyes weren't as harsh as they were a moment before. "So, you're trying to tell me you're making an interior."
I couldn't help my sarcasm... it just fell out. "Ding, ding ding. We have a winner... what does he win ladies and gents? Oh... that's right? Common sense."
Jesse inclined his head and forced a tight smile. "Well, you know... interior work is a woman's job."
Heat crept up my cheeks. "What is your problem? Do you hate women or something?"
He gave a slight shake to his head of dark, slicked back hair. "Nope. I actually like women, and they love me."
"You just don't like me." It wasn't a question. I already knew the answer.
His lips dropped to my ear. "I most definitely don't like you."

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Always the cause of shenanigans, Vanessa is a heavily tattooed, sarcastic motorcycle enthusiast who started her career as a Jeep tech at the age of sixteen. The happily married mother of three little monsters—oops, children—lives in Kentucky by way of Las Vegas, Nevada. Once her life took a different direction—sidelined by Heart Disease at 26 and becoming a pacemaker recipient—she decided to write as a creative outlet, and Heartless was born. She realizes life can be dark clouds and acid rain at times, but her outlook on life puts a positive and sarcastic spin on it all.

Joint Venture by Kristen Luciani

Title: Joint Venture

Series: Venture #4

Author: Kristen Luciani

Release Date: Aug 29, 2016

Notorious celebrity playboy A.J. Morgan has more emotional baggage than notches on his well-used bedpost, but bleached blonde, silicone-enhanced three-ways and excess of whiskey are all the therapy he needs.

Live to indulge, indulge to fill the voids.

Those are his rules…. until he meets cunning financial analyst-slash-sexy club singer Lisa Embry, a woman whose heart is surrounded by more barbed wire than a high-security prison. 

Rules? What rules?

One lust-filled romp with his female alter-ego turns A.J. into an addict in need of his next fix and he’ll pay any price for another hit.

But he soon finds out Lisa has her own rules… ones that can never be broken.

  

She smoothed the front of her skirt and twisted in a slow circle. Jessica would be back any second, ready to gnaw off her arm if she took a minute longer to pay for the shoes.

“Excuse me, would you like—”

Startled, she pitched forward. “Ow! What the hell--?” Something hard smacked into her bare shoulder, making her stumble in the sky-high heels. A loud clanging sound followed by shattering glass greeted her as she spun into the salesgirl who had been carrying a platter of champagne flutes, a platter that was now sitting in a large puddle of liquid and smashed crystal. Cold liquid dripped down her arms, pooling on the floor in front of her brand-new and not-yet-paid-for suede shoes. One of the things she loved best about this place was the very thing that could make her cry in that instant.

With a gasp, Lisa quickly tiptoed away from the champagne to avoid collateral damage, but one of the fabric soles didn’t cooperate. Her leg slid out, arms flailing as she skidded to gain the slightest bit of traction. Argh! Can’t fall, can’t ruin the suede!

After one final spin, she stumbled, landing cleanly in the muscular arms of a delectable specimen of a man who had eyes resembling swirls of melted brown chocolate with flecks of gold dancing around in the depths.

Oh.My.God.

Her mouth dropped open, mind paralyzed. Words eluded her… not that there were enough expletives on earth to satisfactorily convey her disgust. But those eyes sent her floating off into the abyss with no recollection of how she’d ended up there in the first place and no immediate desire to return.

Telling him to go fuck himself would be so gratifying, if only her lips would cooperate. Her skin tingled under the pads of his fingertips. Ugh, wasn’t it just like her body to completely betray her like that?

“If you’re about to have another heart attack, I’m ready and willing to stop it again.”

Lisa shook her head, opening her mouth but still no words emerged. Her pulse raced like a thoroughbred; that sparkling white smile had rendered her mute, until… “In your dreams,” she finally squeaked. Really? Her mouth decides to kick it into gear and that’s what comes out?

Egomaniacal Asswad’s grin deepened, that damned dimple making her heart quake. A heady scent swirled in the air. If he hadn’t had such a tight grip on her, she’d have ended up on her ass since her limbs refused to operate under his intoxicating spell. Her fingers itched to crawl through his thick dark hair despite the animosity bubbling in her veins.

“Well, if this were a dream, we’d be on that very cushy couch right about now.”

Argh! He may have the face of a Greek god, but damn, he was arrogant as all hell. “You are such a jackass. I wouldn’t go to the hospital with you if I was wandering around barefoot on hot coals, bleeding out my eyes, and you were the only person on earth with a car.” But despite the caustic tone, the fluttering in her belly persisted. What was that all about? It was new, an unfamiliar sensation, one she’d never experienced.

“You’re not exactly running away.”

“I can’t run in heels this high, but trust me, I’d love nothing more than to put as much distance between us as humanly possible.” She settled her stiletto-clad foot on the still-slippery tile and lifted herself out of his firm grasp. Who the hell did he think he was? She’d rather her ass land in that bubbly puddle than remain in his sleazy clutches a second longer.

“That’s too bad, although the view from behind would be worth it.”

She furrowed her brow, steam practically blasting from her ears as she cocked her head in mock confusion. “Sorry? I didn’t quite get that. But then again, I don’t speak scumbag.” With a swing of her hips, she nearly collided with a brunette saleswoman rushing toward Tall, Dark and Delicious-But-Still-A-Total-Dickhead. Smooth, real smooth.

The woman handed him a large shopping bag and flashed a bright smile. “Here they are! Please give Kayla my best.”

Lisa stifled a snort as she hurried back to the register. Kayla. What a total sleaze, propositioning her while he was picking up shoes for another woman. She spotted Jessica glowering at her. “Don’t be mad, Jessie. I had a little altercation with some champagne glasses, but I’m ready to go.” Cocky bastard didn’t even warrant a mention. She grabbed the empty shoebox and handed it to the salesgirl along with her credit card. Her gaze wandered toward the front of the boutique. Empty, save for the cleaning guy who was mopping up the alcohol-soaked mess. So why the heck was her heart still pounding like a block of cement in a dryer?

Kristen Luciani is a self-proclaimed momtrepreneur, beauty product junkie, and romance author with a penchant for Christian Louboutins, Silicon Valley, plunging necklines and grapefruit martinis.  As a deep-rooted romantic who prefers juicy drama to fill the lives of anyone other than her, she tried her hand at creating a world of enchantment, sensuality, and intrigue, finally uncovering her true passion. No pun intended…

   

Hot Shot by Ahren Sanders

Title: Hotshot

Author: Ahren Sanders

Release Date: August 29, 2016



Synopsis:

I don’t remember a time I didn’t love Crenshaw Bennett.

I tried to deny it, but my feelings grew deeper.

I thought he could never love me the way I love him.



I was wrong—outrageously, deliriously, and beautifully wrong.



One innocent kiss changes my life forever.



Suddenly, Shaw is mine.

Loyal, devoted, and the most loving man on this Earth.

Together, we create an explosion of fiery passion, devotion, and chemistry I never knew was possible.



All of my dreams are within reach, but I should have known it was too good to be true.



The past always catches up to you, and I’m left staring at my worst nightmare.



Faced with the unthinkable, I am forced to choose between the man I love and a past I cannot change.



Shaw’s fighting like hell to prove we can have it all, but can I find the strength to be the woman he needs?



Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31277586-hotshot











Purchase Hotshot: **live on release day 8/29**

Amazon:

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About the Author:

Ahren spent her formative years living in an active volcano. There her family made collectible lava art. She studied rock collecting at the Sorbonne in France. There she met the love of her life-her pet pig Sybil. She returned to the states and started writing. She is happily married to a guy who used to live under a bridge and she met while pole-dancing. They have one amazing daughter.



Now, meet the real me. I grew up in the south and consider myself a true “Southerner”. Most of the special locations mentioned in my books are reflections of my favorite places. Living on the Florida coast, my family spends a lot time at the beach which is where I usually can be found with a book in my hand. I started writing my Surrender Series, in the spring of 2013 and have received incredible support from the Indie community. Throughout this year, I have been privileged to meet some amazing people that I am thankful to have in my life.



Connect with Ahren:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorahrensanders/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ahrensanders

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ahrensanders/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/ahrensanders

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1eejSKy

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/ahren-sanders




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After the One by Danielle Allen

After The One, Season Finale

by: Danielle Allen 

Release Date: August 28, 2016

Blurb

The insta-love.

The perfect couple.

The enchanted fairy tale.

The concept of
‘happily ever after’ on reality TV is beautiful, but it’s complete B.S.

I mean, I get the
appeal.

The One is the most
watched reality TV dating show because it sells the idea that two people
“randomly” handpicked by producers will fall in love and ride off into the
sunset. We are expected to believe that after having a group of women embarrass
themselves for the affection of a man on national television, the bachelor and
the chosen one fall in love and they live happily ever after.

Let’s be honest.

Shows like The One are
really about fantasy romance and must-see entertainment—not happily ever
afters. That’s why the creators and producers don’t show what happens after the
exotic getaways, lavish lifestyles, and over-the-top proposals. Even though
reality TV relationships never last, they want us to buy into the fairy tale.

Truth is… when the
cameras stop rolling, the number one killer of reality TV couples is real life.

And life just got
REAL.

Buy After The One

*FREE with Kindle Unlimited

Stripped Bare by Kalinda Grace

Night after night, Tesla Jones dances on stage.

She’s beautiful, unbridled, and unattainable.

Or is she?

Billionaire Jax Monroe is determined to find out.

Powerful in both the boardroom and bedroom, Jax isn’t used to being told no.

There’s no deal he can’t close.

No woman he can’t charm.

Until now.

When an indecent proposal becomes desperate infatuation, Jax and Tesla find themselves

Stripped Bare.

Amazon ~ FREE on Kindle Unlimited

EXCERPT ONE

I feel powerful.

Even as his finger slides between my breasts . . . stinging me, burning me . . . I feel powerful. Because he asked permission, and I granted it.

The decision was mine.

Jax doesn’t have to know that I’ve dreamed of his hands, and his fingers, and his lips. He doesn’t have to know how tempted I am to say yes.

I writhe on his lap, swaying to the music, and he groans roughly. His hands grip my hips, crushing me harder against him, and I feel him. I feel all of him.

He wants me. There’s no denying that.

But I’m a naked girl dancing on his lap. Of course he wants me.

Jax trails his nose against my throat, and the sensation causes me to cry out. He breathes me in, making my body tingle and crave and tremble. His quiet groan vibrates against my neck as my hips grind against him.

“Does that feel good, Tesla?”

I whimper, because it does. It feels amazing.

“Imagine how good it’d feel . . . without the barriers. Without the rules. Without the clock. This could be us, in my bed, in those heels, and I could touch you. Really touch you. The way I’ve wanted to touch you since the first time I saw you on stage.”

My fingers find his hair, and I pull roughly, causing him to growl my name.

“If you’d just been a gentleman. Maybe asked me out to dinner. Asked for my number. I wanted you to ask. I’ve wanted you to ask for weeks.”

“I’m not a gentleman, Tesla.”

It’s a confession.

A warning.

Our eyes lock, and I see him. I really see him. He’s handsome and rich and used to getting his way. His touch scorches me. His eyes radiate through me. He makes me feel beautiful, sexy, and desired.

But it’s not enough.

No matter how good it feels to be held by his strong hands, and no matter how good it feels to grind against him . . .

I’m not this girl, and I never will be.

There’s a knock on the door, and I leap from his lap, leaving him confused and breathless and very, very aroused.

I struggle to catch my breath as Rick’s voice slices through the music.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Monroe. But your driver’s here.”

Jax growls, and I have no idea if it’s because he’s angry or horny.

Or both.

Probably both.

I reach for my shirt and jeans, desperate to be dressed and out of this room. The clock says I still have thirty minutes, but fuck it. I’ll tell Rick to dock it from my pay.

“Do you know what’s really sad, Jax Monroe?”

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “What’s that?”

“You could have had me for free.”

I walk out.

EXCERPT TWO

 Her long brown hair flows down her back as she wraps her legs around the pole. She's poetry in motion . . . graceful and gorgeous as she dances on the stage. In a room filled with the completely generic and fake, she is extraordinary and real.

She arches her back, giving us a spectacular view of her perfect breasts. Peaks and valleys of soft pink flesh that are just begging for my hands. For my lips. For my tongue.

I'm the one who is completely ordinary, because I'm no different than any other man in this room.

We all want her.

None of us can have her.

Or so they say.

I've built a billion-dollar empire by being a master negotiator, and I am determined to prove “them” wrong.

Whoever they are.

She dances on this stage, and around that pole, night after night. We watch, because we're men, ruled by our animalistic desires and straining erections.

We all want her, but the rules are consistently enforced.

You can look, but you can't touch.

I want to touch.

Desperately.

Her legs are long and lean in her stilettos, and I wonder if she would wear them in my bed.

I bet I could convince her.

Money is quite the bargaining chip. It can move mountains, open doors, and crumble defenses.

And, I think, it can convince a beautiful stripper that one night in the bed of a billionaire would have to be better than dancing for a room full of them.

I'm not a complete monster. I know there must be a story behind the pretty green eyes of the woman draped around the silver pole. Most girls don't dream of becoming strippers. Granted, this is a gentleman's club, which means the tables are a little less sticky and the bouncers wear tuxedos, but I'd still be willing to bet my life's fortune that this particular career choice is her idea of a last resort.

It doesn't have to be.

The thumping bass of the song resonates in my ears and the liquid in my glass coats my tongue as I drink and watch. Her beautiful body shimmies down the pole . . . slowly . . . enticingly, and I hear the quiet murmurs of appreciation from the other assholes in the room.

She dances away from the pole and closer to the edge of the stage. She bends, tilting her head forward, and I watch, mesmerized, as her hair cascades like a waterfall. The music changes, and she leans her head back. My eyes linger over her . . . along her lovely neck and down the length of her delectable body.

I lower my glass just as her eyes meet mine.

I'm paralyzed.

Hypnotic.

Emerald.

Our connection is brief, but in that moment, I get a glimpse of her soul.

And she gets a glimpse of mine.

The song ends, and the spectators whistle and cheer.

But not me.

The gears in my mind shift and spin, and within seconds, I have a plan.

Kalinda Grace enjoys the little things in life. She loves the cool side of the pillow, the sound of rain on a tin roof, and restaurants with drive-thru windows. When she’s not chained to her laptop, she’s either watching college football or binge-watching her favorite shows on Netflix. Kalinda hails from the Midwest. Stripped Bare is her first novella.


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Twitter: @Kalindawrites

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