Shades of Fury Audio Blitz & Giveaway

Title: Shades of Fury
Author: Heather Renee
Genre: Upper YA Paranormal Romance – Wolf Shifters
Narrator: Kasi Hollowell
Audio Producer: The Audio Flow, LLC
 
Taya’s just been named alpha-in-training. First order of business: avenging her twin brother’s death.
When Cord connected a rival pack to the disappearances of humans, he paid the ultimate price. Now it’s up to Taya to pick up where he left off and find justice for those who have been harmed.
As she closes in on her brother’s murderer, the threats only escalate. He wasn’t the only target, and now everyone she loves is in danger, further fueling Taya’s need for revenge.
With the help of an irresistible shifter named Liam, they set out in search of the only witch coven strong enough to set things right. Only Taya isn’t sure who to trust and if she doesn’t decide soon, she could lose not only her heart, but the people she loves most.
 
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Heather Renee is a USA Today Bestselling author who lives in Oregon. She writes Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance novels with a mixture of adventure, humor, and sass. Her love of reading eventually led to her passion of writing and giving the gift of escapism.

When Heather’s not writing, she is spending time with her loving husband and beautiful daughter, going on their own adventures. She loves to hear from her fans, so visit her website and the Contact Me link for ways to connect. http://www.HeatherReneeAuthor.com

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For a Song #Blitz @rabtbooktours

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The Gentle Surf Series, Book 3
Contemporary Romance
Date Published:  February 13, 2019
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
 
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“For a Song” is set on the southern tip of the California coastline, on the island of Coronado. Here, on the wide, golden beach fronting the historic Hotel Del Coronado, watching the fishermen at sea, you can see the purple hue of the mountains of Mexico on the horizon.  Assumptions plague our characters in this book.
Our hero, Trip Vincent is on trial for killing his business partner—the lead singer in their band. Of course, he is found not guilty since he wasn’t even driving the car. However, in this digital age of social justice warriors rampant on the internet, he’s been found guilty by the public at large and his fan base. The shame and remorse of not doing more to save his best friend, lead Trip down the same path his grandfather, Reginald once took—the bottle. Trip seems likes he on the road to ruin until he meets Aya, a mysterious, pixie-like woman who happens to “appear” in his life when he needs her the most.
But Aya didn’t just happen to appear. She’s a drifter who’s been trying to shake the bonds of her weed-like roots for years. From the moment the band purchased one of Aya’s song and sang it to gold on the charts, she has been closely monitoring Trip’s career. What started fascination over his family’s musical roots and their tie to the Island of Coronado turned in beguilement of the man himself as he stoically persevered during his trial. Throughout his court case, Aya knew there was more to the story and made it her business to uncover the truth and see it was placed in the right hands, so he could get back to the business of music.
When he doesn’t get back to singing, her need to meet him in person steps over the line. Her line. His line.
Now Aya must ask herself is she a stalker who fell in love because Aya isn’t who she appears. Evasively eluding government officials has been a number one priority for years. As the grand-daughter of the most notorious presidential assassin, she and her family have always been presumed “guilty” by mere association. Of course, it doesn’t help that both her grandmother and mother profited from this association focusing more on their bank accounts and then the destruction of the act.
How could she possibly make Trip understand and try to build a life with him. Just when he makes her believe her “happily ever after” could happen, she must leave.
“For a Song” is set in modern America, where misinformation and disinformation has become the status quo. But does it have to be? Can these characters look beyond hype and see the truth of their relationship and the potential for more?
Like the other books in this series, “For a Song” is fraught with the high drama of social and family expectation, as well as assumptions and miscommunications. For each of our lead characters, our hero and heroine must learn their lessons and decide how to move forward—alone or together. And, as always, this is a romantic novel first and there is the “happy ever after”.
“For a Song” is a fast-paced story that offers both adventure and humour, while never forgetting about the passion and attraction. The immediate sexual tension compels to climax. These characters thrive on gratification. The reader won’t be disappointed.
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Other Books in The Gentle Surf Series
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Sea Breeze
The Gentle Surf Series, Book 1
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press,
Published: March 2017
Brought up under the strict regime of business first and personal relationships a waste of time and effort, Reginald followed in his father’s footsteps—until now. Like a bee to honey, he is drawn to a mysterious lounge singer. Her poise and elegance lift her above the crowd. Despite his looming engagement to further the family empire, he can’t stay away.
After the death of her mother and falling out with her father, Elleah flees to escape the shackles of matrimony as a business deal. In 1950 post-war America, she will not settle. She can’t deny the attraction to Reginald, but he is everything she has sworn off—a drinker, hardcore businessman—the embodiment of New York society, never mind being as close to engage as a person can be without the ring.
Only with each other do their masks come down. Can Reginald step out from the shadow of his family and become the man he was meant to be? Will Elleah see through her misconceptions to give him a chance?
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From the Front Desk
The Gentle Surf Series, Book 2
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press,
Published: December 2017
Toby MacPherson is guilty…and innocent, and Wendee Miller is on the run.
Both streetwise and life-weary, neither are looking for any complications. Yet, life does seem to happen when you least expect it and when these two meet the attraction is palpable. Both employed by the Hotel Del Coronado, their meeting time and again seems unavoidable. Where Toby is drawn to her vivacious personality, Wendee can’t help but be intrigued by the shy giant.
But what will happen when each discovers the other’s secret? Will their newfound love be enough to bridge the shock and many hurdles to come? Or will they learn there is strength in trusting another?
About the Author

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Let’s face it…Lori likes tea. Most often found in the kitchen sharing stories, or a coffee shop, mug in hand, she can visit for hours.
That’s inspiration: people, places, adventure. Every day is made up of the moments to create the tapestry of life.
Without sharing; how would you ever know that Gord from a small farming community in Northern Alberta found himself in Australia on a tour and passed his childhood friend Joe hitch-hiking. They pulled over, unbelieving that this could really be Joe and sure enough; Joe on the side of the road, on the other side of the world, decades after they had last met. Great stories!
To be able to put thoughts on paper and have other people appreciate the stories; laugh, cry, feel the passion, is a dream come true for Lori Power.
Lori’s body of work is as varied as the adventures of daily life and includes children’s stories, a Gluten-Free cookbook, romance, suspense, and thrillers and soon to be Young Adult fiction..
Her first ”official’  novel, “Storms of Passion” published by Wild Rose Press under their Champagne line, was released n 2014.
Book One in the “Under Suspicion” series, beginning with “Hit ‘n Run”, followed by “The Tables Have Turned” is available now, from Limitless Publishing. Book Three “Secrets Revealed” is presently in process and will be concluded with Book Four “Finding Home”..
“The Gentle Surf” series is available from Wild Ross Press. This includes “Sea Breeze” inspired by the Hotel Del Coronado on the Southern tip of the California coast. and “From the Front Desk”, The third installment in this series, “For a Song” is in process of being released.
Collaboration is important to improving one’s craft and as such, Lori is an active member of the TransCanada Romance Writers, Romance Writers of America, The Calgary chapter of the Romance Writers, The Alberta Romance Writers Association and belongs to both a Critiquing group and a Beta Reading weekly group.
In all things, remember…life is a journey, thanks for being part of the adventure!
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Seven Malas #review

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Fiction / Spirituality / Contemporary Romance / Travel
Date Published: November 23, 2018
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When James Wilder signs up for a yoga retreat, something he’s never done before, he’s desperate to hit the reset button on life. Divorced, fighting cancer, and convinced he’s hearing the whispers of the gods, he writes love poetry inspired by the great Sufi masters, Rumi and Hafiz. And in his wallet, he carries the business card of a beautiful woman he’s never met. When she unexpectedly turns up on the mat next to his, everything changes.
 
From the foothills of Boulder, Colorado, to the turquoise waters of St. John, from the rice paddies of Bali to a dusty trailer park in San Diego, the gods lead James on a spiritual quest to find Great Love. Driven by ideals and bedeviled by his own flaws, he encounters a series of teachers–all female incarnations of Shakti, the Divine Feminine–who guide his evolution as a poet, a yogi, and a man
About the Author

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John Leslie Lange is a writer from Boulder, Colorado. He’s also been a certified yoga teacher, a personal finance professional, an international investment banker, a geologist, and a carpenter. As a young man, he spent time in seven different universities and graduate schools in three countries, earning a degree in geology as well as a master’s degree in international business management. Today, his life motto is “Seek, create, and enjoy beauty,” and his writing reflects his deep interest in spirituality, science, travel and the larger questions in life. To date, he’s written two novels, five screenplays and a book of poetry.
In 2017 John and his wife, Marielena, sold their home and are currently traveling the world, often with backpacks, walking sacred Caminos and visiting endangered natural wonders. Someday they hope to find a new home, perhaps a grass shack near turquoise waters.
Look for his book of poetry: Hafiz and I: Faint Echoes of an Ancient Heart coming in 2019.
 
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Review

Seven Malas: A Love Story  by John Leslie Lange is a heartwarming story that is sure to tug at your heartstrings. A story of love, loss, and second chances. Lange has written a beautiful story that anyone who loves a good romantic story is sure to love. ** I received a complimentary copy in exchange for my honest and unbiased review.**

If I Fall Release Blitz

Title: If I Fall
Author: Amber Thielman
Genre: Dark, Edgy Mature YA
Cover Designer: Anna Bloom
Publication Date: February 14th, 2019
  
How do you survive when your best friend takes his own life?
Khloe has no idea how she’ll live without her best friend by her side. Carter was not the suicidal type, and Khloe can’t understand his leaving her so abruptly. When she finds Carter’s journal, it’s a secret portal holding all his deepest secrets. As Khloe unravels the hidden darkness of her best friend’s life–hoping to find what drove him to suicide–she struggles without him as she stumbles back into the treacherous world she’d left behind. Prescription drugs, sex, and the tip of a needle to feel her pain for her.
Her friend Ava tries to reason with her, but the more Khloe discovers Carter’s life, the less she understands. When Khloe almost goes over the edge, a handsome paramedic, Ty, saves her life and seems intent on saving her heart along with it. But the shadows that chased Carter are hot on her heels, and unless she can find the peace that eluded him, she might follow Carter past the last page.

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Amber Thielman is an avid reader and writer of dark, edgy Young Adult and New Adult books that push the boundaries and challenge your comfort zone.
Despite her growing love for HEA’s, Amber reads too much Stephen King and grew up devouring every Fear Street novel R. L. Stine ever wrote. When she’s not writing, Amber enjoys traveling, practicing the art of staying on her horse, binge-watching Netflix, and spending time with her husband and their adorable tiny human Aidyn in Southeast Idaho. She also has an undying love for pumpkin-flavored anything and boozy concoctions.
  
Author Links:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/matchbox_girl
“Khloe, your phone. It’s ringing.”
            My eyes flickered open. I didn’t move, and instead, let my gaze flash around the room. I laid there for another moment under the comforter, motionless and silent, still half-asleep. The air in the room was stale and smelled sour with stifling heat and B.O. My head was swimming with dizziness much like it had before I fell asleep and my stomach was churning from the after-effects of booze and weed.
            “Khloe,” the voice said again. I closed my eyes. Maybe if I ignored it, it would stop talking.
            The tiny silver cell phone sitting on the dresser next to my bed was nothing short of deceiving. The catchy tune I had momentarily listened to on repeat, now made my eardrums want to explode. How could something so loud and annoying come from something so small and fragile?
            “Khloe, answer the fucking phone!”
            The male specimen lying next to me sat up, reached across, and plucked the phone from the dresser before tossing it near my head. It was still going off, shrill and violating. Christ. Why hadn’t the person hung up yet? Still groggy, I grabbed the phone and looked at the screen before flipping it open and putting it to my ear.
            “Carter?” My throat was raw and scratchy. Attractive. It tasted like bile. I cleared it and winced. “What are you doing? It’s four in the morning.”
            For a moment, there was silence. An eerie and unnatural silence that made my heart thump against my insides like steel drums. My throat tightened.
            “Carter?”
            “Hey, Khloe.”
            My best friend’s voice was different—quiet; almost poignant. I rubbed my face and kicked the covers off, sliding my feet into a pair of slippers. I padded down the hallway to the bathroom so I wouldn’t wake up the guy who was asleep again and probably drooling into my pillow. I made a mental note to wash it tomorrow if I wasn’t too hung over to function.
            “What’s up?” I asked, shutting the bathroom door behind me. “Is everything okay?”
            Another long silence cocooned me. I could barely hear him breathe.
            “Are you with anyone?”
            “Just some guy I met at work tonight. But I’m in another room. It’s alright.” I ran a hand through my tangled brown hair, trying to recall the last time I’d taken a shower and washed it. At this rate, dreadlocks would be my next fashion statement.
            “What did I tell you about sleeping with losers you meet at the club?”
            “Oh, relax.” I leaned over the sink to survey the mascara stains under my eyelids. I looked like a harlot. “He’ll be gone by morning. You’re going to worry yourself to death. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with scoring free drinks all night.”
            “You’re only eighteen,” Carter said. “You’re supposed to be a server. You’ll get fired if you keep it up.” He sighed, and silence led again. I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.
            “Carter?”
            “I’m here.” He sounded sleepy, groggy, in and out of some dream world. My fingers tightened around the cell phone in my hand until my knuckles ached. “Besides, Ava needs to stop sneaking you booze. She’s a bad influence.”
            “That’s beside the point.”
            Another long silence greeted me, but I didn’t push it, just waited for him to talk. Sometimes that’s all you could do.
            “I care about you, you know,” Carter said after a full forty-five seconds. “And you have a habit of doing reckless… things.”
            “Only to push your buttons.” I took a seat on the edge of the bathtub and crossed my legs, scanning the mysterious bumps and bruises up and down my skin. Blackout nights and perplexing injuries were not new to me, but they were puzzling, nonetheless.
            “It’s not funny.” His voice tightened. I paused, startled by the sudden anger in his tone. Carter rarely snapped like that, especially not at me. The last time he’d raised his voice in my direction, I’d twisted his arm behind his back until he apologized just to escape the agony.
            “Don’t you use that tone with—”
            “I worry about you.” He cut me off. His voice was softer now, his anger diminishing. He sounded off somehow… buzzed, maybe, or high. But Carter didn’t drink. I’d never seen him cradling so much as a Dr. Pepper at parties. “I really do. I worry about you.”
            “You don’t have to,” I retorted. “There’re a lot of things I wouldn’t have been able to get through without you. But the rest is up to me to decide for myself.”
            “If this guy in your bed is gone before tomorrow morning, I won’t have to kick his ass.” For a moment Carter sounded like his old self, and some of my concerns faded.
            “Oh, best friend, what would I do without you?” I stood and turned on the cold water in the sink, then leaned down and filled my mouth, swishing the stale taste of beer and cigarettes out the best I could. I didn’t have the energy to brush my teeth, so this would have to do.
            “Carter?” I said, drying my mouth with a towel. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s usually me calling you at four in the morning, not the other way around.”
            “Jusqu’ a la procaine fois.” It was our secret phrase, meaning, ‘until next time’ in French.
            “That didn’t answer my question,” I said with a smile. From my bedroom, I could hear the guy snoring in my bed. I didn’t know his name, barely knew his face, and I didn’t care to.
            “Take care of yourself, ami.”
            “Will you stop speaking French and talk to me?” I sat back down on the edge of the bathtub. The beer from earlier sloshed around in my stomach. “I know something is wrong, Carter. You’re my best friend. Talk to me. Why do you sound so weird?”
            The beep in my ear was so distinct I almost flinched. I held the phone away from me and stared at it, dumbfounded. Even during our worst fights, sometimes even the ones that had escalated to a screaming match, neither of us had ever hung up on the other one. It was an unwritten rule.
            “You ass,” I said aloud, dialing his number and pressing the green button. We were going to get to the bottom of this, upset or not. After the fifth ring, I snapped the phone shut, opened it, and then dialed again. I figured he’d have to forfeit, eventually.
            “Carter,” I said to his voicemail. “If you don’t answer this phone, the next time I call, I’ll come over there and pound your fucking door down.” I snapped the phone shut for the fifth time and sat fuming on the edge of the bathtub, giving him time to listen to my voicemail. He never could bear to hear me upset, so I didn’t doubt the phone would be ringing any time now.
            Anytime.
            I dialed again, a small lump of panic rising in my throat as the phone rang and rang. Flipping it shut I shoved it into the pocket of my jeans, grateful—though not for the first time—that I’d passed out in my clothes. In my bed, the male was still snoring even louder now. I kicked off my slippers, yanked on some shoes, and sneaked out the door, careful not to wake the stranger. I could only hope he’d be gone by the time I got back.
            The chill of a Washington morning in early spring hit me as I fumbled in the dark for my car keys and slid into the driver’s side of the piece of shit Grand Prix that almost didn’t qualify as a car anymore. It started on the fourth try, sputtering and wheezing like it was having an asthma attack. I slammed it into drive and headed towards Carter’s place, unwilling to admit my high school car, Missus Betty, was probably nearing the end of her eventful life. We’d all known it for a while, but the reality of the situation was still harsh—especially when she was still chugging along after two-hundred-and-fifty thousand miles.
            “We’re almost there,” I said to the wheezing car. “I know it’s cold outside, but just a little further—” Missus Betty wheezed up the hill in the direction of Carter’s off-campus apartment. The lights were off when we finally arrived, and I put the car in park and turned off the engine, patting the dashboard with a thank you. I slid out of the car and trudged across the lawn to the front door. I tried the handle. Locked, per usual. What a girl.
            “Carter Drake, open the damn door!” I shouted. In the house next to his complex, a dog began to bark, shattering the stillness of the early morning. I spun around to face the general direction of the barks. “Shut the hell up!” I didn’t care if I woke the neighbors. They were uptight assholes, anyway. The window to Carter’s bedroom was obscured and I couldn’t see a light on. I wondered if he was asleep or in the bathroom.
            “I’ll break your window!” I threatened. As I stood on the front porch in the dark, the dog’s barking grew louder, and I became colder. Too annoyed to stand there until the sun rose, I picked up a small stone from the garden, pulled back my arm, and heaved it at the second-story window. It made a sharp splitting sound against the glass before bouncing off and hitting me in the face. I cursed, holding my nose, suddenly remembering the spare key hidden under the rock in the garden.
            “Damn you, Carter,” I mumbled. I fell to my hands and knees to grope around in the dark for the flat stone that hadn’t moved for two years. My fingers brushed the smooth surface, and, using my cell phone for light, I grabbed the key and brushed the dirt from my pants before sticking it in the lock and pushing the door open.
            The entire apartment was dark—silent. Aside from the buzzing of the fridge in the kitchen, there was no sound. I pocketed the key and felt against the wall for the light switch, flipping it on and shutting the door quietly behind me. The living room lit up, blinding me momentarily. I looked around, seeking for some sign of Carter, but the house was still. Just as expected, the place was spotless. Over the suede chaise sofa laid a hand-woven quilt, the quilt I’d made him during my long-ass, torture-filled summer at camp without him. The coffee table in front of the couch was tidy, only flaunting a few stacked magazines and an Aloe Vera plant. The apartment was clean—cleaner than my place had ever been, which was typical for the two of us.
            “I’m coming up,” I hollered at the stairs. “I hope you’re decent.” I waited for some reaction; some grumbled reply or sleepy bitch-out. Instead, there was silence—a silence that chilled my core. “I know you’re here. I saw your car by the curb.” Trying to ward off the dizzying effects of my hangover, I climbed the stairs one at a time, giving Carter enough time to fully wake before I reamed his ass for hanging up on me. “It’s your fault I’m not sleeping right now,” I said. My head was starting to pound, vision fuzzy as exhaustion overcame me. I stopped in front of his door and let my hand rest on the handle, pushing it open. “I may very well kick you out of bed and—”
            There was silence, an eerie, terrifying silence that seemed to freeze time. In that silence, someone started to scream. For a fleeting second, I wanted to cover my ears and yell at them to shut up: grow up, be quiet, get the fuck out. Shut the fuck up.
            Then I realized it was me.
            I spotted the bottle of pills first, a neon orange prescription bottle lying open on the floor. The lid was off, and it was empty. Next to the empty bottle of pills, he was there.
            With a sob, I dropped to my knees in front of him. I could hear my breath coming in quick, short gasps of panic as I reached out and allowed my trembling hand to feel for any sign of life. His lips were tinged blue, his eyes partially open and staring at the ceiling above us. His skin, at one time running so much warmer than everybody else’s, was cooling down. Chilled and waxy.
            “No,” I screamed the word until it hurt my throat. “I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t understand what’s happening. Carter? Carter. Tell me—tell me what’s happening. Carter!” I collapsed onto him, letting my head rest on his chest. “I need to call 911,” I murmured. Jumbled thoughts raced through my mind, none of them making a bit of sense. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed the emergency line. My hand was shaking so severely that twice I dropped the phone.
            “It’s okay,” I said to Carter. “They’ll be able to help you.”
            “911, where’s your emergency?” asked the operator on the other end of the line. I touched my face, only just noticing the tears rolling down my cheeks.
            “My friend,” I said. I reached down and squeezed Carter’s hand. “He’s-he needs help. I need an ambulance. We’re in the Kirkwood Meadows apartments, number sixty-one.”
            “I’m sending Paramedics now,” the dispatcher said. “Ma’am, can you tell me what happened?”
            “No. I don’t know. I just-I need someone to come and help him. I need someone to come and save his life and I—” The cell phone dropped from my fingers. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard it clatter to the floor, bouncing against the hardwood floor of his bedroom. I reached for him again, resting my hand on his, our temperatures clashing. I could feel my face and fingers start to tingle and numb, threatening a panic attack.
            “It’s going to be okay,” I said, lacing my fingers together over his chest. I began compressions, holding my breath, as the seconds ticked by in slow motion. I paused for a moment and checked for a pulse. There was nothing. “I love you, Carter,” I whispered, pumping his chest again. “I’m so sorry, just stay with me. They–they’ll help you.” Then, in the silence of the house, amongst the midst of death, I lost it.

 

Crazy, Stupid, Lazy, Cupid #ReleaseBlitz

Title: Crazy, Stupid, Lazy Cupid
Author: Andie M. Long
Genre: Paranormal romantic comedy
Cover Designer: Tammy Clarke at The Graphics Shed
Publication Date: February 14th, 2019
 
Cupid’s have targets other than hearts…
After cheating on her monthly figures, Samara finds herself sent back to Cupid training school by the big boss himself. If she’s to pass her probation, she’ll have to prove she is capable of creating genuine love matches.
But things don’t get off to a great start when she finds out that pets aren’t allowed in school. Difficult when your husband has been turned into a Whippet until you’ve proven yourself.
Someone should have known that the crazy, stupid, lazy, cupid would try to find a short cut. It’s a walk in the park to create new romances, and she can exercise Johnny at the same time.
But not everyone wants Samara to succeed. Someone is waiting to take the lead…
 
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Andie M. Long is author of the popular Supernatural Dating Agency series amongst many others.
She lives in Sheffield with her son and long-suffering partner.
When not being partner, mother, writer, or book editor, she can usually be found on Facebook or walking her whippet, Bella.
Author Links:
Andie’s Halo and Horns Reader Hangout: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1462270007406687/
Mailing List: (get a free ebook of DATING SUCKS on sign-up): http://www.subscribepage.com/f8v2u5
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Samara
“Okay so it’s time to introduce the person to your left. They should have told you enough about themselves right now.” Martine, the uber-happy, bouncy pony-tailed teacher instructed us.
I was not uber-happy, or bouncy. I was super pissed off.
“Samara, could you introduce the person to your left?”
Yeah, pick on me first why don’t you?
Sighing and blowing air above my top lip, I pointed to the woman next to me. “This is Janet.”
She shook her head. “No, no. Jeanette.”
I rolled my eyes. “This is Jeanette. She’s been sent back to Cupid classes because she did something dumb.” I didn’t know what it was but if she hadn’t she wouldn’t be here.
“Well, let’s not use the word ‘dumb’ shall we. Jeanette just-”
“Fucked up?” I stated trying to be helpful.
“Let’s move along. Max, could you please introduce Samara?”
Max beamed like the goody-goody twat he was. From now on I was calling him Vax, due to his sucking skills and being full of crap.
“Samara is here because she set up Taylor Swift with Tom Hiddleston and we all know what a car crash that turned out to be.” He elbowed me. “I knew that wasn’t real. Did you give him the t-shirt? It looked like it could fit you?”
Martine’s face clouded over. Yeah she wasn’t so happy now was she?
“Samara did not set up Tom and Taylor. That is an outright lie.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “Well someone must have done it. Seriously ruined Tom for a lot of women she did.”
Martine stomped out of the carefully constructed circle of chairs she’d made us put together and grabbed a thick file from her table. Then she stomped back in.
“Here we go. Samara Leighton. Reasons for being back at Cupid Inc. Training Headquarters.
Samara’s behaviour towards her local colleagues resulted in one colleague being ridiculed and having to seek counselling. I quote. ‘What kind of person draws attention to an unfortunate mishap of another? Samara is crazy’.”
“Crazy is not waxing your vagina and then sitting with your legs apart in a spa.” I informed everyone.
“Samara engineered a speed dating event prior to the opening of the dating agency in Withernsea and we believe saw a man she liked there herself. She then ‘accidentally’ turned up on his date. This man is now her husband. Now, fortunately the date she ruined wasn’t fated anyway, but what she did that day was stupid.”
“We’re madly in love. The best match ever.” I looked at the other faces sat around. “Well we were. Now my husband is in kennels. KENNELS. They turned him into a dog.”
Martine carried on. “Samara’s monthly inputted figures included those pairings from Withernsea Dating Agency, run by Shelley Landry, with no actual input from Samara at all.
“It says pairings for the month. It doesn’t specifically say my pairings. That’s on Cupid Inc. They should be more specific.” I complained.
“It’s lazy, Samara.”
“So I’m Samara. I’m crazy, stupid, and lazy. That’s how you need to announce me to all the others, Vax.”
“Max.”
“What-ev-er. My introduction is complete.”

 

The Book of HOT #Blitz @rabtbooktours @SMOKIN_MRS_HOT

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Women’s Sexuality; Self-Help; Lifestyle; Erotica
Date Published: Feb 14, 2019  Valentine’s Day
Publisher: Written Warrior Press
 
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“An entertaining and educational firsthand account of an older woman’s single sexual life.”
 
Kirkus Reviews
Fabulous Goddesses: Mrs. Hot, here, inspiring, empowering and entertaining you to the vibrant vitality, sexuality, and joy you deserve on your own personal Mission: Possible. Sixty is the new forty — or even thirty! — as we simply refuse to hang up our running shoes or our sexual attractiveness. To the very, fabulous end! Part One In Hot Pursuit details my transformation and sets you on your path to an exuberant, sexy lifestyle. In Part Two, I share some of my erotic stories with you —True Confessions. You’ll meet my local MENagerie, as well as a few exotic foreign acquisitions: intriguing men of all ages. Why exist an existence when we can live a Life à la Hot?
About the Author

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I’m a gorgeous Goddess who transformed from shot to hot! I found myself in my late fifties facing a future of loneliness, infirmity, and pain—single, in a job from hell, and battling emotional issues that left me unhealthy, unattractive, and in despair. The only men on my sofa were Ben and Jerry! With time goosing me with “it’s now or never,” I plunged into my makeover, a journey of emotional, physical and sexual healing; then, after decades away from it, the world of dating, with its mind-blowing contemporary dynamics. Fearless, edgy, and disruptive, I’m Sex and the City’s Samantha 2.0, now fully ripened—and that much more wise, joyous and juicy. We’re not getting older, we’re getting bolder; my quarter million Facebook followers agree. Catch my blog at http://www.mrshot.com.
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