Wednesday, April 29, 2015

COVER REVEAL - Playing the Game, Derek Backhard (Book 2 in the Game Series)

Playing the Game, Derek Backhard
(Book 2 in the Game Series)


Since being drafted by the NHL to play for his home team at age nineteen, Derek Backhard has had everything he's ever dreamed of - unrivaled MVP mentions, countless goals and assists, even being compared to the great one. Holding the power to control his future in the palm of his hands, nothing stood in his way.

Until the unthinkable happened, and everything about his life shifted. Past priorities fell away the moment he held baby Ryder in his arms mere moments after losing his close friend, and Ryder's father, Brad.

After weeks of watching Liz fall apart over the loss of her husband as she struggled to adjust to life as a single parent, Derek vows to give her and Ryder everything they deserve, creating a life he never knew he always wanted.

Rocked to her core by her changing feelings for him, Liz doesn’t know what to do with Derek or his offer. Uncertainty swirls within her as she leans on her lifelong friend during the hard times, but how much of his attention is real, and how much is pity?

Is she strong enough to let him in and let him take care of her, or will she force him away and back into the life she thinks he really wants?

Author Bio:

Shawnté lives in central Alberta, with her husband Ricky of 10 amazing years and together they have two beautiful children. Somehow her husband has managed to trick her into running a cow/calf operation. As much as she fusses about it, she loves it. 

When Shawnté is not sitting at her kitchen table hammering away on her laptop while watching the moose chase her cows across the yard, yes this really happens. Then she is busy attend school activities, community events and chauffeuring children here and there. She is big on playing softball and watching hockey.

When the time comes to relax, you will find her snuggled underneath her down comforter reading on her Ipad. Wait…who are we kidding, if the dishes, vacuuming, laundry or the bathrooms needs a hose down, you’ll always hear her say, “Just after this chapter.” She doesn’t have a favorite author or best story because everyday she falls in love with someone new. 

Shawnté is technology challenged so with the help of Lacy you can find her anywhere. Please go like her page and leave a review/star rating on the books she’s wrote.

Ways to stay connected with Shawnte Borris:

Twitter: @shawnte_author

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

BLOG TOUR ~ Under the Mayhaw Tree by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Under the Mayhaw Tree by Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Genre: Contemporary Romantic Suspense


Living under a cloud of tragedy for which he’s assumed blame, Drew Dunne has known hell for the past sixteen years. Then he meets Allison Bennett. But in the small town of Colquitt, Georgia, evil lurks around every corner and capturing happiness has an incredibly high price.


Small-town football star Drew Dunne sacrificed everything for friendship and guilt. He’s spent most of his life unloved and unwanted. A kind touch, a gentle smile, an encouraging word are all wisps of memory from before the accident. For him there is only family, duty, loyalty. And longing. Until he meets Allison.

When Allison Bennett looks in the mirror, she sees a woman whose life has gone from bad to worse. At the mercy of an abusive husband, sweet tenderness is something she can only dream about…until she finds it in the arms of Drew Dunne.

Not every sacrifice is worthwhile, not every promise is worth keeping, and events in a small Georgia town will test this pair to the very depths of their souls, but at the end of the journey is the truth that—if you’re willing to pay the price—true love can conquer all. Drew Dunne will finally be with the woman he loves. Or die trying.

Purchase Links:


As she took off her clothes he put his hands behind his head and watched her every movement. Each one was poetry in motion to his way of thinking. To him, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. He loved her so deeply he felt it in his soul. She was everything to him and he wanted to be everything to her. His heart was filled with such peace, his body with such longing, he could barely contain the feelings.

The last piece of clothing she removed was her panties and when she turned to the bed, he whistled in appreciation. As he had at the two motels they’d stayed at on the way to the cabin, he pretended not to notice the healing bruises covering her sweet body.

“Will you get under the covers?” she asked. She sat on the mattress, then stuck her legs under the sheet.

“Hey. You can leave your socks on but you took mine off?” he challenged. “You think that’s fair?”

“I have poor circulation in my feet,” she said. “Believe me. You don’t want my cold toesies rubbing along your calf in the middle of the night.”

“I believe you should pay a toll for being allowed to wear socks to bed when I can’t,” he told her as he joined her under the covers.

“What kind of toll?” she asked.

“The kind that is exacting,” he said. He slid down in the bed—disappearing beneath the covers—and slid on top of her. 

Author Bio:

Charlotte Boyett-Compo (her friends call her Charlee) is a multi-published author of all sub-genres of Romance fiction. Under the Mayhaw Tree is her 100th book. Over the years, her novels have won many awards. When asked why she writes, she's said, "I write because the urge is there and it's like an itch you can not ignore. Sometimes, I think if I don't get my thoughts down on paper, I'll go insane. It is a craving, an addiction, that unless you experience it, you can't quite explain to 'normal' people."

Social Media:

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Tuesday - April 21stConfessions of an Unsuspected Bookwormhttp://www.confessionsofanunsuspectedbookworm.blogspot.comReview & Excerpt
Tuesday - April 21stBecky's Book Blog & Excerpt
Wednesday - April 22ndBattery Operated Book Blog & Excerpt
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Thursday - April 23rdInspire to Read & Excerpt
Thursday - April 23rdConfessions of a Y.A. and N.A. Book Addicthttp://confessionsofayaandnabookaddict.blogspot.comReview & Excerpt
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Wednesday - April 29thBare Naked Words & Excerpt
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Thursday, April 16, 2015



Three lives entangled…

Sam- Carefree, innocent, and in love. All is destroyed when life has other plans. Love isn't easy, especially when your heart is torn in two.

Alec- The weight of a life changing secret is suffocating. His love for her is his oxygen. Will his love be enough or will he be too late?

Emmett- Life gives and life takes away. Tormented by what and who he can’t have. Will he fight or lose his soul?

When fate steps in, their lives are irrevocably changed.

Love's Secret Torment is the story of three people's search for answers as they deal with life's cruel turns. Does surviving their destiny and living with the aftermath come at too great a cost? Join them on their journey as they face the rocky steps of a fate-twisted adulthood.


Amazon US

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Wednesday, April 8, 2015

COVER REVEAL ~ & Beyond... by Libby Austin and 2 Surprise Cover Reveals......


How do you love someone who doesn’t remember loving you?

When Jason Woodruff met Candice at his parents’ annual Christmas party, he had no idea the blushing woman would change his life forever. The chance encounter gave him a second chance with the girl he’d once overlooked. Once he found her, he swore he wouldn’t squander a moment with the woman he loved. Since then, Candice and their family have been the center of Jason’s life, but now, Candice is gone—or at least the part of Candice who knew and loved Jason, vowing to love him through infinity & beyond…

Candice documented her journey in through infinity. Follow Jason as he goes beyond the story of a woman struggling to regain her life, and into one man’s fight to honor his vow to love his wife through infinity & beyond…even if loving her means letting her go.

In the past, Jason fought tough battles, but nothing could have prepared him for the fight for his life; can Candice come to love him again, or will he lose her for good this time?

Will their third chance at love be the charm?


Candice and Jason Woodruff had everything going for them: a strong marriage, the family they'd dreamed of, and successful businesses. When they made their wedding vows, they promised to love each other through infinity and beyond...but Candice doesn't remember making that vow. Candice doesn't remember the last eighteen years.

After a medical emergency, Candice awakens to find herself a married mother of four. She's surrounded by a loving family of strangers, but Candice struggles to claim an identity while learning to be a wife and mother. Candice is no longer the same woman Jason fell in love with all those years ago. Can they learn to love each other in this new reality?

through infinity is one woman's journey as she rediscovers the love of her husband and children. But will that new found love be strong enough to carry them through infinity and beyond...


The best gifts come from the heart. 

Jason knew Candice's biggest Christmas wish was to remember the past eighteen years. As Thanksgiving approached, Candice retreated further within herself. Jason enlisted the help of their family and friends to grant Candice's wish. Each shared their cherished memories and placed them in a tin. Surprised to find the collection of tins, she couldn’t help but wonder what was inside.

With each memory, Candice felt a little more connected to the life and people she’d forgotten in the wake of her accident. Each one brought a sense of fulfillment and longing. When Christmas day arrived, would Candice be able to say thanks for the memories?

Monday, April 6, 2015

BLOG TOUR ~ I'll Sing for my Dinner by BR Kingsolver


When Cecily Buchanan walks into the Roadhouse Bar and Grill and offers to sing for a meal, ex-Marine Jake McGarrity can't say no. Some say Jake is too soft hearted for his own good. But letting the waif with the cover girl face and the voice of an angel walk away would be more than he could stand.

Cecily's sweet nature, bubbly personality and obvious talent endear her to everyone she meets, and Jake soon knows his heart is lost. But Cecily has secrets and won't talk about her past, one so dark that she has nightmares and clutches a knife while she sleeps.

When those who are chasing her close in, she faces the decision of whether to run again, or to trust her life to the cowboy who has taught her the meaning of love.

Warning: This novel contains a dark subplot concerning previous abuse/rape.

Purchase Links:


Chapter 1


A pickup truck pulled up in front of the bar and stopped. It looked like Luke Sowers in the
driver’s seat. The door on the other side opened, but I couldn’t see who got out. Then the truck pulled out again, the tires throwing gravel, and sped off.

What was left, standing in the parking lot, looked like a hippie. A girl, with a backpack and
something else. She shouldered the pack, picked up what I now could see was a guitar case, and headed for the door. Apparently, she was a hitchhiker and he dropped her off at my place. Thanks, Luke.

Making her way through the door, she came straight toward me instead of taking a seat at
one of the tables. The sign by the door said ‘Seat yourself,’ so I wondered what in the hell this was all about.

Stopping in front of me, she looked up into my face and asked in one of the most beautiful
voices I’d ever heard, “May I speak to the owner, or the manager?”

The voice was a surprise, like a flower blooming in the desert. Her face was a shock. For all
the grime, she was beautiful. Not pretty, but the kind of beauty you see on the covers of
magazines. Long stringy greasy hair fell past her small breasts. She was thin, too thin, with a
look in her gray eyes I hadn’t seen since coming back to the States, a combination of shell shock and hunger. The overall impression she projected was fragility. She came up to about my shoulder and I wasn’t sure she was old enough to be in a bar. What in the hell was she doing hitchhiking alone?

“I’m the owner, and the manager,” I replied. “I’m Jake McGarrity.”

“I’m Cecily,” she said. Turning, she looked around the room. The Roadhouse is a pretty
typical bar with a bandstand at the end opposite the door and an area cleared for dancing. It was six-thirty in the evening, and we had two families with kids, about half a dozen couples, and two groups of four cowboys, all eating dinner. On a Wednesday night, that was pretty good. On a weekend, we did a lot better, and lunch was usually packed.

Turning back to me, she licked her lips and then said, “You have live music in here.” It was
a statement, not a question. I nodded. The bandstand with the microphones and amplifiers made that pretty obvious.

“We have a band start at nine on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights,” I said.

“Do you ever have live music for your dinner guests?”

I gestured to one of the speakers on the wall. “We use canned music.”

“Mr. McGarrity, I don’t have a red cent to my name, and I haven’t eaten in two days,” she
said. “I’ll play for your guests in exchange for a meal.”

My God. The raw, naked hope in her face was almost too much for me. My eyes blurred a
little bit. People tell me sometimes that I’m a soft touch. I figure that charity never hurts the
giver. I was going to feed her. There was no way I was going to turn someone away after they
approached me like that.

“What kind of music do you play?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I can play anything. For dinner music,” she gestured toward the customers
sitting at the tables, “something soft and relaxing, loud enough to be noticed, but not so loud that people can’t carry on a conversation. People’s behavior is different with live music, you know.

They stay longer after they finish their meals and order more drinks.”

In addition to the beauty of her voice, her accent was cultured. This girl was raised with
money, or at least well educated. And she hadn’t been on the streets long enough for her
vocabulary to degenerate. She didn’t even speak like a normal kid.

I took a deep breath, and then she said in a rush, “Let me just play a couple of songs. Okay?
Before you decide. Please? And then, if you don’t think it’s a good idea, I’ll go.”

Go where? Go out and stand beside the highway with her thumb out? Just the thought of her
hitchhiking, getting in strangers’ cars and ending the night raped and dead in a ditch, scared the hell out of me. If I read about her in the newspaper tomorrow, I’d never be able to forgive myself.

Nodding, I said, “Let’s hear what you’ve got.” I pulled a menu out from under the bar and
pushed it across to her. “Give me your order, and you can play until your food is ready.”

Looking down the menu, she raised her head. “I don’t want you to think I’m taking
advantage. Could I get the baked flounder and a salad? Is that too much?”

“What kind of dressing on your salad?” I answered.

“Oil and vinegar, or Italian. Something like that.”

“Put your backpack over there,” I said, pointing to a corner behind the bar and off to the side
of the kitchen door.

She dropped the pack there, and as she passed me, I got a whiff of her. She and her clothes
hadn’t been washed in far too long. Taking her guitar case up to the bandstand, she pulled out a beautiful Martin D45 with an electronic pickup. She could hock the guitar for enough money to get anywhere in the country, and eat well besides. The way she handled it, I had a feeling she’d starve to death before that happened.

Plugging into an amp, she checked the tuning on the guitar, flipped on the power, and hit a
note. She turned the volume down, pulled a stool up to the edge of the bandstand and sat down.

I watched as she fitted finger picks on her right hand, and I wondered exactly what I was
about to hear. All of her movements were efficient, practiced. She had played for audiences
before, and she didn’t show a shred of nervousness.

I went and turned off the canned music and nodded to her. Most of my customers glanced
her way, and some turned and watched her. Everyone was curious. I knew all these folks, and they were good people. Unless she sounded like a tortured cat, they would be polite.

And then she started to play. I recognized the tune immediately. Segovia, played on a steelstring guitar. As she promised, the music filled the room, but it was quiet enough that it wasn’t intrusive. I listened in astonishment as she flawlessly negotiated the complex piece of classical music. When she finished, she moved right into a Frank Sinatra tune, and from there a song off an old Mason Williams album. She hadn’t been bragging when she said she could play anything.

“You’re going to screw up your reputation as a hard-boiled ex-Marine,” Kathy said with a
chuckle when she brought Cecily’s meal from the kitchen, startling me out of some kind of
trance I had fallen into watching Cecily play.

“At least she’s paying for her meal,” Kathy continued. “Normally you just feed down-andout
vets who offer nothing but a hard-luck story.”

“I don’t have a need to impress people with what kind of hard-ass I am,” I told her. “Too
many of the guys I knew like that got their asses shot off trying to be a hero.”

I waived Cecily over, and she came to the bar and perched on one of the barstools. She ate
slowly, carefully chewing small bites. That about broke my heart. She was used to being hungry, and knew wolfing it down might cause her to be sick.

“Would you like something to drink besides water?” I asked.

She gave me a startled look, then looked at the taps and bottles lined up behind the bar. “A
glass of white wine would be nice,” she said. “Do you pour a sauvignon blanc by the glass?”

Where in the hell did this girl come from? And what happened to her to put her in this kind
of personal hell out on the Colorado plains? I poured her wine and set it down in front of her. She swirled the wine in the glass, smelled it, and took a sip. That earned me an even more startled look.

“Is this really what you normally pour as bar wine?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“It’s what I pour for dirty, starving hitchhikers who play Segovia on fine, vintage guitars,” I
answered. The fact that she recognized the quality of the bottle I’d opened for her told me
volumes as to how she used to live.

She blushed. “Thank you.”

“Do you sing?” I asked.

“Yes. Is it all right if I sing?”

“Do whatever you like. From what I’ve heard so far, you’ve got more than a meal coming if
you want to keep playing. I’ll pay you fifty bucks to play until eight.”

More customers had come in, but none had left. When she walked back onto the stage,
everyone quieted and looked toward her expectantly. She started picking an intricate tune that settled into Bob Dylan’s Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right. She opened her mouth, and at the first note every other sound in the bar stopped. Even the noises in the kitchen stopped.

She sang in a strong, clear, pure mezzo-soprano, dropping into the contralto range on the tag line of each verse. Finishing the song, she immediately launched into Joni Mitchell’s Chelsea Morning, sung soprano, and followed that with Loretta Lynn’s Coal Miner’s Daughter, her voice taking on a twang that would make any hillbilly proud.

On Chelsea Morning, she took the notes on the words ‘heard’ and ‘pipes’ so high that I
nervously glanced at my glassware.

Woke up, it was a Chelsea morning
And the first thing that I heard
Was a song outside my window
And the traffic wrote the words
It came ringing up like Christmas bells
And rapping up like pipes and drums

Her voice was flawless, with no reaching for notes, either on the high or low end of any
register in which she chose to sing. I had never heard anything like it in my life.

Kathy, my assistant manager, took a glass of water up to the stage around the fourth song
and set it next to her on the floor. Two songs later, one of the cowboys came over to the bar.

“Have you got a bowl or something, Jake? She should have a hat or something. You know,
something people can put tips in.”

“Why don’t you loan her your hat, Mel?” I asked him with a grin.

“Hell, Jake, she probably wouldn’t want to touch the money after it sat in my sweat all
night,” he said, grinning back at me. I had to admit, the battered lump of felt sitting on his head had seen better days.

I went back to the kitchen and got a bowl. When I handed it to him, he dropped a dollar in it,
then walked back to his table. His friends also dropped money in the bowl, and he took it up and set it on the stage in front of her.

She smiled at him without missing a note. A thousand-watt smile that made him blush.

She played almost solid for over an hour, transitioning from folk to country, to gospel, to
blues, even including a Billy Holiday song and a couple from Barbra Streisand. Her vocal range was incredible as she moved effortlessly from soprano to contralto. I don’t know how many people in a cowboy honky-tonk bar would recognize a classically-trained voice, but I did.

When she finished, I handed her fifty dollars and said, “If you want to come back, I’ll pay
you a hundred dollars a night to play and sing between six and eight. Five nights a week,
Wednesday through Sunday.”


“As serious as a heart attack,” I said. “Do you know where you’re going to spend the night?
There’s a motel just a block down. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean.”

Looking at the money in her hand, she said, “I can’t afford a motel. I have a sleeping bag.
I’ll find a place to crash.” She glanced over her shoulder at the cowboys who started her tip
collection. From what I’d seen, she did pretty well on tips. “Maybe someone will offer me a

That did it. I had seen women in Afghanistan who had fallen so far that they were willing to
sell their body for a scrap to eat or a warm place to sleep. Every protective instinct I had leaped up and opened my mouth.

“You can stay at my place,” I said.

She looked at the tattoo on my forearm, then back up to my face. A smile crooked the
corners of her mouth, but it didn’t change the sad look in her eyes. “I’ve never slept with a
jarhead before.”

Shaking my head, I said, “That’s not what I’m offering. You can stay in my spare room. It
has its own bath. And you can do some laundry.”

Looking down at herself, she murmured, “That would be nice.” Raising her eyes to my face,
she seemed to study me. “Mr. McGarrity, you’re too nice for your own good. How do you know I’m not a drug addict that will cut your throat and clean you out before morning?”

“I don’t sleep that heavy,” I said. “I’ll take the chance. As for being too nice, I’m not. No
one has ever taken advantage of me twice.”

I asked Kathy to cover the bar until I got back. Grabbing her backpack, I said, “Come on,
I’ll take you over there.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“I’ll drop you off and come back.”

We went out to my pickup and I dumped her pack in the back. She brought the guitar inside
with her, settling it on the floor and holding the neck of the case between her legs.

“That’s a nice guitar,” I said.

“It was my twelfth birthday present.”

“It’s a D45, isn’t it? Rosewood?” I asked, referring to the guitar’s body.


The last time I’d seen an older D45 on sale of the quality she was playing, the shop was
asking twelve thousand dollars. Someone had loved her to give that to a twelve year old.

“Do you play?” she asked. “You seem to know a lot about guitars.”

“Yes, but I’m light years away from your class. I have a D35 at home. My brother’s band is
our standard house band. They’ll be playing tomorrow night.”

“Do you play with them?”

“Sometimes. He and I started the band in high school, and he kept it going when I joined the

She nodded. We rode in silence for a while, then abruptly she said, “Mr. McGarrity, if
anyone ever tells me that chivalry is dead, I’m going to send them to the Roadhouse Bar and

Grill. It’s been a long time since anyone was this nice to me.”


BR Kingsolver is the author of the Telepathic Clans series (The Succubus Gift, Succubus Unleashed, Succubus Rising, and Succubus Ascendant) and Broken Dolls, a paranormal thriller as well as the contemporary romance Trust: a truly modern romance, and the upcoming I’ll Sing for My Dinner. I grew up in Santa Fe, New Mexico, among writers, artists and weird Hispanic and Native American myths and folklore. 

I’ve lived all over the U.S. and earned a living doing everything from making silver and turquoise jewelry, to construction to computers. I currently live in Baltimore and Albuquerque.



Date to PostBlog NameBlog URL Posts
Monday - April 6thUndercover Book Reviews
Monday - April 6thSarah-Lou's Book Review Blog Interview
Monday - April 6thSweet N Sassy Book A Holics Post
Tuesday - April 7thNaughty and Nice Book Blogwww.naughtyandnicebookblog.comPromo Post
Wednesday - April 8thpaging through the dayshttp://pagingthroughthedays.blogspot.comChapter One
Thursday - April 9thMad Love Book Blog Post
Friday - April 10thHere is what I read http://hereiswhatireadblog.wordpress.comAuthor Interview
Monday - April 13thPunya Reviews... Post
Monday - April 13thnaughty Book Eden One
Tuesday - April 14thByoBook Club & Excerpt
Tuesday - April 14thWhispered Thoughtshttp://jmhoward2007.blogspot.comReview & Excerpt
Tuesday - April 14thA Cup and A Bookhttp://acupandabook.comReview & Excerpt
Wednesday - April 15thJodie's W.I.N.E. Listhttp://jodieswinelist.blogspot.comReview & Excerpt
Wednesday - April 15thJen's Reading Obsession Post
Wednesday - April 15thdeal sharing aunthttp://www.dealsharingaunt.blogspot.comPromo Post
Wednesday - April 15thBooks, Photos & a little bit of everything elsehttp://ckwlofton.wordpress.comPromo Post
Thursday - April 16thSexy Bibliophileshttp://sexybibliophiles.comReview
Thursday - April 16thI love Story time & Excerpt
Thursday - April 16thLustful Literature Post
Friday - April 17thBook Bangers Blog & Excerpt
Friday - April 17thA Reader's Review Bloghttp://areadersreviewblog.comChapter One
Friday - April 17thBook
Friday - April 17thSmokin' Hot Books Review & Excerpt
Friday - April 17thRamblings From Beneath the Sheets