Monthly Archives: October 2016

Cover Reveal for Low over High (The Over Duet #1) by J.A. DeRouen


Low Over High (The Over Duet #1)

Cover Design: DCP Designs

Release Date: November 14, 2016



I fancy myself a purveyor of truth, a sifter of lies, a cutter of bullshit. It’s not a gift, but rather, all skill, honed to a razor’s edge after one too many trips down the rabbit hole.

Some may dismiss my talent as misplaced and misguided cynicism, but they’d be wrong. Cliches about hope and faith in mankind are concocted unicorn farts, an effort to keep the dreamers dreaming. Experiences don’t lie—people do.

While I’m not proud of the circumstances that led me to this way of thinking, I respect the journey. The road to enlightenment can be dark and foreboding, but the destination makes it all worthwhile.

But funny thing about the past—it’s a defiant child refusing to stay in time out. No matter how deeply buried, it can always pop up when least expected, and sink its fucking claws into the flesh of your heart. No, not my heart—I no longer have one. I foolishly gave it away years ago, but I still feel the ripping in my chest as I fist the crumpled note left on my porch.

I’ve avoided this day, ran from it, for the past eight years.

And still we meet again.

But to truly understand … to feel my dread and fear my future as I do, it’s important to know what happened in my past.

Or who…

My name is Marlo Rivers, and this is my story of corrupted love.










One of Five ARCs of Low Over High


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About the Author

J.A. DeRouen lives in South Louisiana with her husband, son (aptly named “The Professor), and her furry friend, Scout. She holds bachelor’s degrees in psychology and nursing.

When she’s not writing or inhaling romance novels by the stack, she works as a women’s health nurse. She’s been an avid reader and daydreamer since childhood, and she’s never stopped turning the page to get to the next happily ever after.


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Book Blitz for Playing to Win by Ashlie Knapp!

Title: Playing to Win
Author: Ashlie Knapp
Release Date: June 12, 2016
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Spunky, quick-witted twenty-one year old Callie Thompson is a University of Oklahoma journalism student by day and NBA Oklahoma City Thunder dancer by night. Callie hopes her connections with the franchise might get her foot in the door for a sports broadcasting job when
she graduates. She just has one rule: never date the players. 
Kyle Kelly is the deadly handsome and charmingly Southern Thunder man of the hour. All the twenty-six year old is looking for is an NBA championship to call his own. An unexpected meeting with an opinionated, feisty Callie, however, who is very unimpressed with his celebrity status, sets his sights toward winning two things: her heart AND the championship.
With a laugh, Callie saluted her friend, grabbed her bag, hoisted it over her
shoulder and walked out the door just as her phone began ringing. “Hey, daddy,” she said, walking down the long corridor that led to the underground parking lot where all the players and cheerleaders got to park.  
“Hey, Sunshine.” Her daddy said he called her Sunshine from the moment he saw her blonde head of hair when she was born because he knew she was going to be his ray of sunshine. “I watched the game on TV. Boys did pretty good.”
“Yeah, it was a pretty good game. Kelly stunk it up in the first half. It’s a good thing he has some good teammates to cover for him.”
“Now, don’t be so hard on the kid, Sunshine. Last time I checked, you had a bad game or two in your lifetime.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. You don’t need to remind me. There’s just something about him that rubs me the wrong way, that’s all.”
“There’s something about all professional athletes that rub you the wrong way, sister. That doesn’t mean they’re all like Matt.” Her daddy knew her too well.
“Ok, ok. Point taken. I gotta go, daddy. I’ve got a big test I have to get home and study for.”
“Alright, Sunshine. You coming over Friday night? I’m grilling my famous burgers.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Callie threw her phone into her purse and went scrounging for her keys, which apparently were not wanting to be found. “Come on, you stupid keys. Ugh. Where are you?!”
She rounded the corner of the parking garage, slamming her bag against the brick wall as she simultaneously slammed her body against what felt like a brick wall. Bouncing back from the force, her shoulder rammed into the wall, knocking her bag loose, the contents spilling out all over the floor.
Well, at least this made finding my keys easier, she thought with a sigh. 
Callie looked up to find the reason she found herself and the contents of her bag scattered across the parking garage floor. She had to look up. And up. And up. And wouldn’t you know her luck? It was the man of the proverbial hour.
The night of schmoozing the big wigs had Kyle even more tired than the four quarters he had played before it. All thoughts of Ramen noodles gone, he wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed with his cat, Garth, and sleep for two days.
He had just reached his cherry red BMW ¬¬¬Z4, reached in his pocket for his wallet and phone to put in the door and realized he had left both of them in his locker.
With a sigh, he pressed the lock button on his fob and headed back down the walkway to the locker room. 
Muttering to himself about his dumb luck, Kyle turned the corner just in time to run right into a mop of white blond curls. The curls bounced off his chest, sending the girl and the contents of her purse? Bag? Small piece of luggage? Flying all over the parking garage floor.
“Damn it, jerkface! You can’t just-“ her voice trailed off as she looked up and saw the reason she was on the floor. 
Great, Kyle thought. Another one of my mindless, speechless, adoring fans. He hoped she wasn’t hiding in the bathroom like the last one.
“You,” Curls spit, her eyes turning into slits and her forehead crinkling in a frown. “You could at least friggin’ apologize for knocking me to the ground and spilling all my stuff.”
Well, there goes the speechless idea, he thought with an internal smile. This girl was feisty with a capital F. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Curly?” he asked her, dropping to the ground to help pick up her stuff.  Well, everything but the tampons. He wasn’t touching those things with a ten foot pole.
“I have a name. Kelly,” she spit back at him. “Not that you would know. Or care.”
“Now, Curly, that’s not nice. Here I am, helping pick up all your stuff. The least you could do was tell me your name,” he said, turning on the charm.
“You really don’t have any idea who I am, do you? Figures. Why would a big, famous guy like you have any idea who I am? It’s not like I stood by you for the last three friggin’ hours smiling a cheesy ass smile for all the idiots trying to grab my butt all night.”
Kyle stood up, handed her the items he had picked up and stared at the firecracker in front of him. Crazy blond curls pulled up in a haphazard bun on top of her head. Big, hazel eyes on a makeup-less face. A dotting of adorable freckles on her nose. A big baggy green Sea World t-shirt that looked about a hundred years old and a pair of Under Armour sweats. Why in the world would she think he knew her?
“You are insufferable!” she yelled, shoving him in the chest with both her hands. “It figures you wouldn’t recognize me with clothes on!”
It then dawned on him. Curly was the fancy little Thunder dancer that was locker room fodder every time Vanessa pulled out a new routine for the squad. The looky but no touchy dancer that hated all things NBA player. Kyle thought every guy on the team, married or not, at one time had a crush on the little vixen standing in front of him. He contributed it to the fact that she oozed unavailability. But he did have to admit, Curly filled out a Thunder cheer suit very nicely. However, if given a choice of this stripped down version or the dolled-up, decked-out dancer made up for the masses, he would have to say he much preferred this one.
“Well, now Curly, I didn’t recognize you without your pompoms,” he said with a grin.  ”And all the gunk on your face. I must say, I think I prefer this look to you all dolled up.”
“Said no man ever,” Curly said with a hint of a smile.
“You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say although I did like to see you half naked.”
“And that’s the chauvinistic spirit of all men in general I know and love.”
“Do you hate all men in general or is it just me? Do you bat for the other team?”
“What? No!” Curly’s face turned red as one of the cherry tomatoes he helped his Mema pick from her garden every summer. “I just know your type.”
“My type what?”
“Your…man type,” Curly moved her hands all around his torso in a sweeping gesture. ”Tall. Athletic. Handsome. Full of yourself.”
“You think I’m hot? And how do you know I’m full of
myself? I may be the most humble person on the face of the planet. You don’t know me.”
“Handsome. I said handsome. And you, mister,” she said, poking him in the chest with her pointer finger, “Are most certainly not humble.”
“I think a game of horse says differently.”
“A game of horse. Have you been around the game of basketball much? Or do you just shake your booty and call it good? Don’t worry. It’s a fairly simple game. I’m sure I can teach you. My four-year-old nephew caught on pretty quickly.”
“I know how to play horse,” she said, stomping her foot.
“Well, that’s great. Then we play.”
“What happens if you win?”
“You have to go out on five dates with me so I can show you how humble I am.”
“I don’t date professional athletes.”
“Fine. We hang out,” Kyle continued with finger air quotes, “Five times. And I choose the places we hang out. No arguments.”
Curly paused, her fingers absentmindedly twirling an errant curl that had strayed from the wild bun on top of her head. Kyle had no idea what made him throw the idea out at her. Maybe it was the fact that she made him forget about how tired he was. Forget about how the only thing he wanted to do was go home to his nine-year-old cat. Or maybe it was the fact that his heart skipped a beat when she gave him that slight smile and blushed when she got caught calling him handsome. Whatever the reason, it was enough to have him crossing his fingers that she would say yes.
“Fine,” she said in a huff. “You’ve got a deal.”
“What happens when you win?”
“I guess you’ll just wait and see.”
“Oh, Curly. We won’t ever see. Because, even though I am a gentleman, I don’t even let my four-year-old nephew beat me at my favorite game.”
“And I see that humility you keep trying to get me to believe you have has gone flying out the window.”
Kyle threw his head back and laughed. It was turning out to be an interesting evening.
Ashlie Knapp is a small-town Oklahoma mom who loves hanging out with her coaching husband, bookworm daughter, comedic son, eleven year old Cocker Spaniel, cantankerous cat and fraidy-cat Guinea pig. If you can’t find her on her couch religiously reading any book on her Kindle Unlimited account or watching an entire season of Psych on Netflix,
then you can probably find her shooting hoops with her son in the front yard or singing Taylor Swift or Dolly Parton songs into cooking spoons in the kitchen with her daughter.


Cover Reveal for The Girl Worth Fighting For by Julia Goda – November 14th!


Title: The Girl Worth Fighting For
Release Date: November 14, 2016
#FAA2 #ReadinginSarahsCorner #FosterAnAuthor2 #TheGirlWorthFightingFor


Bruises fade.
A cut can be bandaged,
A broken bone healed.
But can a wounded heart mend?
Deeply damaged by her father’s abandonment when she was fourteen years old, Rainey Miller has let the fear of getting hurt shape and trap her to the point she refuses to connect with people on a deeper level. She is popular and has friends, but her strict dating rules prevent anyone from the chance to touch her heart.
Up and coming boxer, Logan Danvers, has his eyes set on the raven-haired beauty with the cerulean eyes. No matter how hard she tries to push him away, he will push back even harder.
Until she gives in.
Until she is his.
Because once he sets his eyes on what he wants, he doesn’t give up.
It’s who he is.

But what will he do when he realizes it’s not who he is but what he is that could cost him his chance with Rainey? Will he give up or will he find a way to make her realize she is The Girl Worth Fighting For?

Stalk the Author
I have been writing stories in my head since I can remember. Much to my teachers’ dismay, given the task of writing a short essay I would always come back with way too long and detailed stories. Many discussions (I have always been somewhat of a smart-aleck) and bad grades were the result, so that for most of my life I thought I couldn’t write worth a damn and pursued other careers. But the dream of being an author wouldn’t be ignored and kept lingering. With a little help from my fantastic husband, who gave me the necessary kick in the behind, I was finally brave enough to start writing my first novel and finished it only a few short weeks later—well, the first draft, that is. The seal was broken.
My novels jump genres and touch on all kinds of different topics, but the things I try to focus on no matter what are romance, strong women, and a good sense of humor.
Now, when I’m not in my writing cave, spinning the tales that have been hounding me or editing (yes, I am also a professional editor, guess that degree in Literature and Linguistics turned out to be useful after all!), I enjoy reading, drinking coffee, eating good food, and listening to rock music.

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Release Day Blitz for A Love Letter to Whiskey by Kandi Steiner!

Title: A Love Letter to Whiskey
Author: Kandi Steiner
Release Date: Oct 13, 2016
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It’s crazy how fast the buzz comes back after you’ve been sober for so long.
Whiskey stood there, on my doorstep, just like he had one year before. Except this time, there was no rain, no anger, no wedding invitation — it was just us.
It was just him — the old friend, the easy smile, the twisted solace wrapped in a glittering bottle.
It was just me — the alcoholic, pretending like I didn’t want to taste him, realizing too quickly that months of being clean didn’t make me crave him any less.
But we can’t start here.
No, to tell this story right, we need to go back. 
Back to the beginning.
Back to the very first drop.
This is my love letter to Whiskey. I only hope he reads it. 
The first time I tasted Whiskey, I fell flat on my face.
I was drunk from the very first sip, and I guess that should have been my sign to stay away.
Jenna and I were running the trail around the lake near her house, sweat dripping into our eyes from the intense South Florida heat. It was early September, but in South Florida, it might as well have been July. There was no “boots and scarves” season, unless you counted the approximately six weeks in January and February where the temperature dropped below eighty degrees.
As it was, we were battling ninety-plus degrees, me trying to be a show off and prove I could keep up with Jenna’s cheerleading training program. She had finally made the varsity squad, and with that privilege came ridiculous standards she had to uphold. I hated running — absolutelyloathed it. I would much rather have been on my surf board that day. But fortunately for Jenna, she had a competitive best friend who never turned down a
challenge. So when she asked me to train with her, I’d agreed eagerly, even knowing I’d have screaming ribs and calves by the end of the day.
I saw him first.
I was just a few steps ahead of Jenna, and I’d been staring down at my hot pink sneakers as they hit the concrete. When I looked up, he was about fifty feet away, and even from that distance I could tell I was in trouble. He seemed sort of average at first — brown hair, lean build, soaked white running shirt — but the closer he got, the more I realized just how edible he was. I noticed the shift in the muscles of his legs as he ran, the way his hair bounced slightly, how he pressed his lips together in concentration as he neared us. 
I looked over my shoulder, attempting to waggle my eyebrows at Jenna and give her the secret best friend code for “hot guy up ahead”, but she had stopped to tie her shoes. And when I turned back around, it was too late.
I smacked into him — hard — and fell to the pavement, rolling a bit to soften the fall. He cursed and I groaned, more from embarrassment than pain. I wish I could say I gracefully picked myself up, smiled radiantly, and asked him for his number, but the truth is I lost the ability to do anything the minute I looked up at him.
It was an unfamiliar, warm ache that spread through my chest as I used my hand to shield the sun streaming in behind his silhouette, just how you’d expect the first sip of whiskey to feel. He was bent over, hand outstretched, saying something that wasn’t registering because I had somehow managed to slip my hand into his and just that one touch had set my skin on fire.
Handsome wasn’t the right word to describe him, but it was all I kept thinking as I traced his features. His hair was a sort of mocha color, damp at the roots, falling onto his
forehead just slightly. His eyes were wide — almost too round — and a mixture of gold, green, and the deepest brown. I didn’t coin the nickname Whiskey until much later, but it was that moment that I saw it for the first time — those were whiskey eyes. The kind of eyes you get lost in. The kind that drink you in. He had the longest lashes and a firm, square jaw. It was so hard, the edges so clean that I would have sworn he was angry with me if it weren’t for the smile on his face.He was still talking as my eyes fell over his broad chest before snapping back up to his sideways grin.
“Oh my God, are you fucking blind?!” Jenna’s voice snapped me from my haze as she shoved Whiskey out of the way and latched onto my hand, ripping me back to standing position. I’d barely caught my balance before she whipped around to continue her scolding. “How about you brush that long ass hair out of your eyes and watch where you’re going, huh champ?”
Oh no.
I didn’t even have time to call dibs, I couldn’t even think the word, let alone say it, before it was too late. I watched it, in slow motion, as Whiskey fell for my best friend before I even had the chance to say a single word to him. 
Jenna was standing tall, arms crossed, one hip popped in her usual fashion as she waited for him to defend himself. This was her protocol — it was one of the reasons we got along. We were both what you’d call “spitfires”, but Jenna had the distinct advantage of being cripplingly gorgeous on top of having an attitude. She flipped her long, wavy blonde ponytail behind her and cocked a brow.
And then he did, too.
His smile grew wider as he met her eyes, and it was the same look I’d
watched fall
over guy after countless guy. Jenna was a unicorn, and men were enamored by her. As they should have been — she had platinum blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, legs for days and a personality to boot. Now, before you go thinking that I was the insecure best friend – I had it going on, too. I worked hard, I was talented – just not at the things traditional high school boys valued.
But we’ll get to that.
“Hi,” Whiskey finally said, extending his hand to Jenna this time. His eyes were warm, smile inviting — if I had to pick the right word for him, just one, I’d say charming. He just oozed charm. “I’m Jamie.”
“Well, Jamie, maybe you should make an appointment with the eye doctor before you run over another innocent jogger. And you owe Brecks an apology.” She nodded to me then and I cringed at my name, wondering why she felt the need to spill it at all. She always called me B — everyone did — so why did she choose the moment I was face to face with the first boy to ever make my heart accelerate to use my full name?
Jamie was still grinning, eying Jenna, trying to figure her out, but he turned to me after a moment with that same crooked smile. “I’m sorry, I should have been watching where I was going.” He said the words with conviction, but lifted his brows on that last line because he and I both knew who wasn’t paying attention to the trail, and he wasn’t the guilty party. 
“It’s fine,” I murmured, because for some reason I was still having a difficult time finding my voice. Jamie tilted his head just a fraction, his eyes hard on me this time, and I felt naked beneath his gaze. I’d never had anyone look at me that way — completely zeroed in. It was unnerving and exhilarating, too. 
But before I could latch onto the feeling, he turned back to Jenna, their eyes meeting as slow smiles spread on both of their faces. I’d seen it a million times, but this was the first time I felt sick watching it happen.
I saw him first, but it didn’t matter.
Because he saw her.

Kandi Steiner is a Creative Writing and Advertising/Public Relations graduate from the University of Central Florida living in Tampa with her husband. Kandi works full time as a social media specialist, but also works part time as a Zumba fitness instructor and blackjack dealer. 

Kandi started writing back in the 4th grade after reading the first Harry Potter installment. In 6th grade, she wrote and edited her own newspaper and distributed to her classmates. Eventually, the
principal caught on and the newspaper was quickly halted, though Kandi tried fighting for her “freedom of press.” She took particular interest in writing romance after college, as she has always been a die hard hopeless romantic (like most girls brought up on Disney movies).

When Kandi isn’t working or writing, you can find her reading books of all kinds, talking with her extremely vocal cat, and spending time with her friends and family. She enjoys beach days, movie marathons, live music, craft beer and sweet wine – not necessarily in that order.



Cover Reveal for Strong Hate by R.D. Berg and Ashley Christin!

Title: Strong Hate

Author: R.D. Berg & Ashley Christin

Release Date: Oct 20, 2016

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I tried to do everything in my power to distance myself from Maverick Strong; Even putting some miles between us by moving across country. Yet, here I find myself back where I started from – in my hometown and too close to Maverick. This time there will be no running away. This time I am finally putting an end to this vendetta.


Trying to forget her was like trying to avoid a head-on collision with a semi truck – it just wasn’t happenin’. My little sister’s best friend and my enemy since sophomore year. Our hate is mutual and a must – it’s also fun. When Lundyn moves back home after leaving town the day after … Ah, I’m getting ahead of myself. Either way, the hate is still strong and if hating isn’t right, I don’t want to be wrong.

Pre-Order Link:

Amazon –


My fingers tap across my chest as I wait for Monica to finish stirring the wax. I am not by any means prude, but having my legs spread eagle waiting for hot wax to be applied just isn’t my definition of a good time.

“You nervous?”

“Just a little,” I admit.
“Promise you there’s no need, the first strip might be a surprise but after that, it’s smooth sailing.” Her words are meant to be assuring but fall short of easing any nervousness.
“Okay, since you promised and all,” I say to the ceiling, silently praying Monica’s fingers aren’t crossed.
A small gasp escapes as the gooey warm wax is generously spread over the top triangle of my va-jay-jay. Ok, I can do this, not bad.
Her cherub face appears over me. “How you doing, Lundyn?”
“Not too shabby, Monica.” I even give her a thumbs up. My confidence in the woman has risen about five notches. She’s knocking this out the park, and to think I was threatening to tit punch Harlow over this. I can be such a drama queen at times. Like I’m thinking I can get this done every two weeks or so.
And then…
My eyes bulge out of my head, and my knuckles turn ashen as I dig my fingers into the soft cushion of the table. When my brain finally registers what just happened, a scream of death escapes my mouth.
“What the fuck Monica?” I yell as she rips the other strip, holy mother of pearl, she still has one more to go. Jesus take the wheel. Dear Lord, I need you now. I am being ripped to shreds by this polka dot dressed demon named Monica.
Another blood-curdling scream and this time I curse Harlow and all her bright fucking ideas. Sweat beads form on my brow, and I have no other option but to breathe like I am in Lamaze class.
“You ok?”
What the fuck does she mean am I ok? Did she not hear my cries for help, is she insane? Before I can respond, I feel more warm wax added to the center part of my now tormented va-jay-jay.
Two more rounds of rips and screams come and then she heads to my butt crack. Monica and my relationship is on the rocks right now, like seriously it’s her, not me.
“Hang in there, Lundyn this is our last part, and it’s the easiest,” she giggles before saying, “I promise.”
She’s such a little lying bitch.
“What I need you to do is grab your knees to your chest, so your bottom is spread for me.”
This is just…ugghhhh. Reluctantly I oblige, I mean I’ve gone this far, might as well be bald as a fucking eagle on my ass, too. Once again, she applies a thick layer of warm wax to both sides of my butt crack.
“Now, I’m going to need you to relax as I pull these strips off. Okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, got it, relax.” I regulate my breathing while giving myself a mental pep talk.
She tugs a little at the bottom of the strip, and it catches a piece of hair. I panic, I fucking panic and clench. And in the midst of this clenching, I adhere my ass cheeks together.
“Oh my, Lundyn I told you to relax,” she chastises loudly.
“I’m sorry. I got nervous Monica.”
“Well, you’re going to have to wait just a minute. I have to grab some scissors.” She starts to walk past me, but I grab her arm.
“Scissors for what?” Jesus Christ, what have I done that warrants scissors? I am full out sweating in places I shouldn’t be. Harlow is getting punched so fucking hard when she least expects it for talking me into this bullshit.
Monica looks down at me with sympathetic brown eyes. “You’ve managed to adhere your cheeks together and unless I cut the wax off they are going to stay that way.”
A lone tear travels down the side of my face, and I nod my understanding as I nudge her arm. “Go now Monica, get the scissors so you can unclip my ass cheeks.” I whimper and shoo her out the door.
RD Berg lives in the great state of Texas with her three boys who drive her to the brink of insanity most days. She loves to read, write and watch her two favorite shows, Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead. When she isn’t enthralled with a novel or a gory show, you can find her in the stands loudly cheering on her boys at their basketball and football games. She has three strong beliefs in life; Vanilla cake and Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream should be a major food group, Halloween should be celebrated every month, and Harry Potter’s birthday should be a national holiday.

I’m Texas proud with the accent to prove it. During the day I wear scrubs as a cape and try to save the world one patient at a time as a nurse. At night, mainly Friday nights, you can find me with a glass of wine faithfully by my side while I type away on the computer. I seem to get my days and nights mixed up, because my best ideas seem to come around midnight, so I’m a complete night owl. I have a long-term boyfriend who puts up with my crazy and a black lab named Sadie AKA Sadie Lady. In the in-between times of my life, I’m just
tryin’ to survive my twenties with beer, good friends and fun adventures!