~BLOG TOUR~ *Road to Royalty* by Autumn Jones Lake!

 

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Lost Kings MC Boxed Set, Includes Books 1-3, plus bonus material.

 

SLOW BURN (Lost Kings MC, Book #1)

Forced to represent an outlaw biker, a married attorney must come to terms with her feelings for her client while avoiding the danger he brings into her sedate life.

CORRUPTING CINDERELLA (Lost Kings MC, Book #2)

Love is the ultimate outlaw.

How do a lawyer and a badass biker with a heart of gold keep their love alive while their opposing worlds collide?

STRENGTH FROM LOYALTY (Lost Kings MC, Book #3)

As a dark cloud descends over Hope and Rock’s already precarious future, will a long-hidden secret push them both past the point of no return?

Bonus Scene #1

At the Range

Bonus Scene #2

Prom Dress

PLUS, character interviews, and other exclusive-to-this-boxed-set material.

 

 

 

 

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PART ONE

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

It wasn’t love at first sight when I met her. Lust? Definitely. I don’t think I believed in love at the time, but one look at her beautiful face, and all the bad stuff around me melted away. Not an easy feat for a guy in handcuffs.

Someone as innocent as her should never have gotten involved with a man like me. By innocent, I don’t mean she was some breathy, eighteen-year-old virgin ingénue. No—when we met, she was a thirty-one-year-old married lady. When I use the word innocent, it is in terms of never having killed someone. Never seeing someone die in front of her. Never breaking the law.

True violence had never touched her life.

Violence and I had been close personal friends for a large part of my life. Along with crime. And death. I used violence as a tool to keep order in my often chaotic world, just as she used the law to keep things orderly in her black-and-white one.

She was a lawyer. I was a criminal. She was married to a decent, hard-working, honest guy. I fucked any willing girl who hung out in my club, and made my living in less than honest ways.

 

She was kind. I didn’t know any nice women. Hadn’t known one since my mother died shortly after my eighth birthday. I don’t have many memories of her, but the ones I do have are warm and pleasant.

None of the tramps my father brought home after her death had an ounce of compassion for a motherless brat. The strippers that danced in my club seemed younger every day. A lot of them were bitchy drama queens, and the older I got, the less patience I had for emotional scenes. The girls who attended to the members of my motorcycle club were down to fuck, but not much else. That’s how I liked them.

We met in a courtroom. I sat in the area designated for prisoners. Shackles laced my hands and feet together. I shuffled into the room wearing a spiffy orange jumpsuit, the county correctional logo stenciled across my back in big white letters—just in case anyone thought I suffered from bad fashion sense.

She sat in the front row. I didn’t hang my head when I entered. I stood proud and tall looking over the entire room. Some of my brothers stood along the back wall, waiting to see if I’d get bail.

I couldn’t find my attorney in the sea of people. His big, shiny, bald dome should have been easy to spot. My gaze wandered back to the girl in the front row. Long, straight, reddish-brown hair flowed down past her shoulders. Straight bangs across her forehead framed brilliant green eyes. Even from where I sat, I spotted freckles splattered across her nose. The deep green suit she wore emphasized the creaminess of her skin. The banister separating the criminals from the common folk blocked my view of anything below her shoulders, but that angelic face hooked me right away.

The sheriff leaned over and whispered to me, “Your attorney called to say he’s running late.” I nodded and mumbled a “thanks” without taking my eyes off the girl. Was her old man locked up? Was she a witness to a crime? Would my asshole lawyer get here so I could get free and talk to the girl?

“Any other message?” I asked Deputy Brown. He was a decent guy as far as pigs went. He’d treated me with respect, hadn’t tried to bash my head into anything, and even brought me a donut before leading me upstairs to court. He didn’t get a chance to answer, because the bailiff made a big show of telling me to shut up. Arrogant prick wasn’t good enough to even be a cop, but he sure acted like one. I’d dealt with him before.

My eyes returned to the girl. She sat patient and attentive, waiting her turn. Once or twice, she looked at the clock. Only a slight twitch of her lips indicated her annoyance.

After what seemed like an eternity, the bailiff called the next case, and the girl stood up. She hauled a battered briefcase over her shoulder and stepped through the swinging gate up to the table across from where I sat.

Holy shit.

If I’d been anywhere else in the world, I would have whistled long and low to express my appreciation for the soft curves of her body. The skirt she wore fell to her knees, but it clung to all the right spots and showcased a fantastic set of calves. Her modest heels clicked over the wooden floor, calling my attention to her slender ankles. I was so busy drooling over her I missed it when she stated her name.

The dickhead bailiff brought over a chair and actually smiled at her. She thanked him politely. The judge made some chit-chat with her, and she let out a girlish giggle. People seemed to know her. Like her.

“Attorney Kendall?”

“Yes, your honor.” She stood up. Ah, she was a lawyer. That explained the chit-chat. She argued some civil matter I didn’t understand or care about. I listened to her make her case, then watched her sit down. Her opponent didn’t have a lawyer. He bumbled around and generally made a fool of himself. She listened with a passive expression, then argued her position again. The judge ruled in her favor.

I wanted her. In more ways than one after her performance. The courtroom was almost empty. My guys still occupied the back row, but that was it. If my lawyer didn’t show up soon, I’d be screwed.

I nudged Deputy Brown with my elbow. “Can she represent me?”

“I don’t think she’s a criminal attorney.”

“Just for the arraignment. To get me out.”

“I’ll ask.”

The deputy motioned to the bailiff to watch me and went to talk to the clerk. She nodded, and when the judge had a moment, she whispered in his ear.

Fuck. The girl was putting her stuff away and getting ready to leave. I really wanted her. I mean, I wanted to fuck her, of course. But I also wanted her to represent me. People seemed to like and respect her. I’d been in and out of the criminal justice system long enough to know getting out of trouble was sometimes less about what you knew and more about who you knew. If I’d gotten picked up in a different county, I could have used my connections to make this go away. Here, I was kind of stuck. I needed her.

“Attorney Kendall, could you stay and do an arraignment, please?” the judge asked off the record.

Her jaw dropped, and the color drained from her face. “Uh, I’m not a criminal attorney, your honor,” she stammered.

“It’s pretty simple. Mr. North’s attorney got delayed. Don’t make me appoint you,” he teased.

 

“Well, um, just for the limited purpose of this arraignment?” she asked with a hopeful lilt to her voice.

“That’s fine.”

The judge waved me over next to her. Her big eyes widened in shock as I lumbered over. I was mildly insulted. Had she really not noticed me the entire time I’d been sitting there?

“I can pay you,” I whispered down to her.

She looked startled. “It’s okay. What are we dealing with?” I liked the way she said “we.”

“Weed.”

She gave me a blank stare.

“Marijuana. Got caught with a couple blunts.” Acting on a bad tip from one of the club’s many enemies, the cops had been hoping to pin a whole hell of a lot more on me. This was why, instead of ignoring the weed like most cops did these days, I was standing here in shackles and the orange jumpsuit.

“Oh geez.” She rolled her eyes. At me or the charge, I wasn’t sure.

“Do you have a record?”

“About a mile long.”

That stopped her. She stared up at me, searching my face for the truth. Apparently deciding no one would joke about that, she nodded her head.

“Can you post bail? Do you work? Have a family?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

She didn’t ask what kind of work. Or what kind of family for that matter.

“Your honor, I’ve had a chance to confer with my client.” “Very well. Let’s call it.”

His clerk stood and read out, “The People of the State of New York versus Rochlan North.” Look at that—the old gal even pronounced my first name right.

My girl looked up at me again. My manners were shit. I’d never bothered to introduce myself, I guess.

The judge slammed his gavel down. First time I’d heard him do it all morning. The sharp thwack broke the staring contest my pretty lawyer and I were engaged in. “Do you wish to hear the reading of the charges, counselor?”

She hesitated for a minute, and the judge covered the microphone with his hand. “Usually the attorney waives the reading, Miss Kendall.”

“I know, your honor. Thank you. Yes, I’ll waive the reading. May I have a copy of the charges for my file, though?”

“Yes, of course. Do you wish to be heard on bail?”

“Yes, your honor. My client assures me he can pay a reasonable sum. He’s a hard-working family man, so it would be in society’s best interest to allow him to continue to work and provide for his family while he waits to address these false charges.”

I’m proud to say I kept a straight face during all of that. She impressed me with her quick thinking, though. Criminal attorney or not, she was clever. I had a fondness for clever. Clever kept you alive.

Cute and smart. I should get arrested more often.

“Very well. Bail is set in the amount of five hundred dollars cash. If your client is able to post it now, he can be processed downstairs instead of going back to county.” She looked up at me and arched an eyebrow. I nodded and motioned my crew forward.

“That’s acceptable. Thank you, your honor.”

“Off the record,” the judge said to the court reporter. He looked back up at my attorney. “See, that wasn’t so hard, Miss Kendall.” The judge’s face lit up in a wolfish smile I didn’t take kindly to. Already in my head, I’d laid claim to this woman whose first name I didn’t even know.

The sheriff came over and gripped my elbow.

“Can’t you remove the restraints, now?” she asked the sheriff with wide, pleading eyes.

To say her request stunned me would be an understatement. No one had ever given a crap about my discomfort.

The sheriff did not look surprised. He answered her gently. “No counselor, not till he’s posted the bail money. You can meet us downstairs.” He nodded toward the guys standing behind the banister. “His posse can show you the way.”

She hesitated, and I read the expression on her face loud and clear. She didn’t want to follow my crew anywhere. In fact, she looked like she wanted to run away.

“Go ahead, I’ll be fine.” I appreciated that she’d given it a try. Sheriffs wouldn’t break protocol no matter how owl-eyed innocent she acted. It sure turned me on, though. Maybe that was the moment I fell in love with her.

 

 

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Autumn prefers to write her romances on the classy side of dirty, and she’s a sucker for a filthy-talking, demanding alpha male hero. The bigger the better. She believes true love stories never end.

Some of Autumn’s favorite hobbies include reading, writing, acting, music and horror movies. When she’s home, her faithful Pug is always by her side. She’s an active member of her local chapter of Romance Writers of America.

Autumn was born and raised in upstate New York. She still enjoys all four seasons there with her very own alpha hero and their three rescue dogs.

You can find Autumn on Facebook and she always loves to hear from readers at:

AutumnJLake@gmail.com.

Author Links

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Chapter Reveal – Covet Not: The Complete Sins of Lethe by Arden Aoide


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Release date March 28th

 

Pre-order links.

Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon CA

 

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A gilded cage is still a cage.

 

From the womb, she was owned. Shula Kelley was signed away before her first breath, just like everyone else in secessionist Texas. She was called beautiful like it meant something important. Like it would get her a kind husband, or one less cruel. She hoped Jared Agnesson was kind.

 

And the devil you know is still the devil.

 

As punishment for his son’s rebellion, the patriarch of the Agnesson clan claimed Shula for his own. And she saw only one way out. Shula had a plan, but she didn’t realize it would require a savior.

 

Suffer not the sins of the father.

 

First acts of rebellion open doors that are best left closed. Until Jared walked through it. Her savior. But how can she truly love when she only knows obedience?

 

 

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I

“To die, to sleep.

To sleep, perchance to dream–ay, there’s the rub,…”

William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Human ash was ridiculously difficult to work with when wet, but it was done. She had planned on nice clean lines gently smudged against her dark brown eyes, but the ash proved far too unwieldy. After watching it flake off when it dried, Shula added a drop of oil to a good sprinkling of ash to the palm of her hand. It still didn’t apply evenly, and she looked more like a raccoon than a bride, but her mother would share her big day now and she could take no other method to avoid it.

Though Shula would give her a ‘A’ for effort.

She tipped the urn into her great-grandfather’s rusted cigarette case, messily covering the razor blade taped inside it. She filled it, spilling quite a lot onto the floor, but she would have to get the broom out anyway. She pressed the case shut gently, shook the excess ash into the sink, and put it into her purse on the counter. She washed her hands and wiped down the sink, smearing the ash into pristine caulk, infecting it like mold. She smiled grimly.

Shula picked up her father’s tiny grooming scissors and went to work on her hair quickly. She started at the crown, cutting close to the scalp, but uneven in its swiftness. She had a massive amount of thick curls, but they fell quickly and silently, offering no protest.

Once done, the scissors were nearly worthless, but she put them away. She deliberately left several knotted strands stuck, so that her father would see them later and be reminded of this day.

She looked around the bathroom, avoiding her reflection deliberately, picking out things that she hated and she tried to take comfort that she would never see them again. Her stomach lurched in grief, so she finally looked at the woman in the mirror, this stranger no longer, summoning strength with a glance. She looked like a horror and she felt an acute anticipation for her unveiling within the hour.

She’d been told since she was old enough to understand that she was beautiful. Like it meant something important. Like it would give her a choice between a husband with a kind soul or a corrupt one.

For the lucky, beauty got you a larger house to clean and maybe a house full of beautiful children. For her, beauty would be an end. The end.

She was newly eighteen, but she still felt so much like a child. Far too young for what was expected of her. Her naked body, covered in constellations of freckles, goose fleshed and covered in the dark remnants of her copious locks, memories of braids and pigtails and innocence. It felt wrong to curl and primp for a man older than her own father, no matter how many might have coveted the position. Though decorating herself for the day’s final end did seem to amuse her, she wanted his disappointment of her to be profound, not just in their marriage bed, but as soon as he lifted her veil. So, she had brought out the scissors. She wasn’t a girl any longer, and her hair had no purpose as it had served her beauty with ultimate betrayal.

She couldn’t abide traitors.

She watched detached, as she brushed the thick dead clumps that covered her breasts and skimmed her belly, and clung to the hair on her pubis. She brushed it away absently at first, but she found her senses heightened by her nudity and the stimulation of her falling hair. She slid her fingers against her clitoris, smiling at the rush of arousal, and realized that she would miss this. Sexual thoughts were taboo, and unless you had the express consent of your husband, self-gratification was punishable by a life married to Christ, sequestered with the rest of the girls who would never be accused of keeping their hands to themselves.

Naturally, Shula was quite adept with masturbation once she’d discovered her clitoris, and once she’d heard about the sacrament of virginity, she’d tried out every vegetable from the garden. She’d tried candlesticks, her fingers, and even the hilt of a very large kitchen knife, though the horsewhip was her favorite.

She would miss it all. James Agnesson ruined everything.

Earlier in the week, when James had come calling, and he had sampled the food she had prepared for him, she would have poisoned him had she known. As it was, her hatred grew for him, rather than their situation, and her plans for their wedding and honeymoon became quite morbid. She found that her future groom’s frustration wouldn’t be nearly enough, nor her lack of hymen. He would not have the gift of her purity, nor the proof of it, nor would any man now, because even imagining his realization as he’s rutting inside her didn’t bring her pleasure as it had when she imagined it was his son, Jared. She didn’t want to just ruin his day. She wanted to ruin him. For Jared, his confusion would have been satisfactory enough, but for his father…death was preferable than having him touch her.

The day had come, and a more wretched ending was born. She would not have the honor of seeing his face when he gazed upon her in their marriage bed, but like all charity, it’s best not to be selfish in your giving. She would strive for humbleness, because martyrdom wasn’t effective without a captive audience.

Her mother had probably taught her a great many things, the domesticities of their gender notwithstanding, and she’d taken almost all of it for granted. The one thing that she’d always remember though, was the most profane: Sometimes suicide and the Seventh Circle of Hell were a far desired fate if the alternative was life and all the Circles combined.

Today was that day. Her wedding day. Tonight, she would excuse herself early, and he would surely allow it. Women, for she was a woman now, needed time to prepare for bed. To ready themselves for their husbands and their pleasure.

She would pull down the coverlet, open the cigarette case, and fashion a distorted crucifix with her mother’s ashes and the water from the traditional roses she was sure to be beside the bed. She would lie down in the center of bed, pull the razor from the cigarette case and slit both wrists quickly and efficiently. She would spread her arms wide.

It was pure drama, but if one gets to choose their passing, make it memorable.

Make a fucking point.

Her only regret was that she was sure her father wouldn’t see. James was sure to cover it up somehow, the drama of it, even though he’d have no scruples relaying the slit wrists.

Her father would probably never see her bled out on her mother’s ashes and she hated that. She hated her father even more than James Agnesson. She knew it was wrong, but she was prepared for Hell, so all unspoken sins were at the forefront of her mind.

As it was, since she was choosing, she’d rather have the chance of spending an eternity in Hell with her mother than with the likes of James, no matter how horrible.

She wasn’t sure she believed in Hell of the after death variety anyway, but her mother spared two years for her. Shula would never forget the fight, nor the sound of the gun. Worse yet, she would never forget the sound of her mother hitting the floor, nor of her father’s silence.

And his continued silence.

She hated him.

He was going to give her away to that monster and her mother’s death had been in vain. She would have certainly stayed had she imagined this outcome.

Shula had been betrothed to Jared Agnesson since the day she was born and they were to be wed the day after she turned sixteen. She wasn’t much happy about it, but all the girls got married at that age, and Jared seemed nice enough. He was painfully shy, quiet, and probably handsome, if one considered a boy handsome. He’d not quite caught up with his brothers in stature and Shula wasn’t afraid of him like she was of other newly-made men.

James had told her that Jared had disappeared into the woods after he took the death of Anna, James’ late wife, quite hard, and he had shown no signs of returning and fulfilling his contract, so he had deigned to fulfill it himself.

She wanted to be angry at Jared, but found that she didn’t care. He hadn’t owed her a thing. She could not fault him for escaping when he could. At least he had that option.

Her mother had not wanted it. Shula didn’t quite understand as it was normal for girls to marry, and she couldn’t imagine Jared had offended her mother since he was so silent and awkwardly polite.

The morning of her mother’s death, every muttered curse spoke of Jared’s father, and she didn’t know what that had to do with Jared himself. Shula belatedly realized that her mother hadn’t wanted her involved with the Agnesson family at all, but she was never brave enough to ask her father why. They’d barely spoken these last two years, and she didn’t know what her mother saw in him, unless she didn’t have a choice.

Of course she didn’t have a choice.

But, it must have been something terrible for her to take her own life to prevent a marriage to a harmless boy.

She took comfort that she wouldn’t bleed out on her own bed, her grandmother’s old bed, because she would be moving into James Agnesson’s house, but thankfully she wouldn’t be required to be mother to men who were older than her. Surely, he could see the wrongness of it.

A wrongness she wouldn’t tolerate. Shula was pleased she could still feel relief.

Her betrothal to Jared had still been under contract, but the death of a mother, by Law, would postpone any such commitments until she reached majority. Her contract was amended, and signed by both her father and James one day before her eighteenth birthday, replacing the son with the father. If she would have known at dinner before, none would have left the table alive.

That was three days ago, and Shula can’t imagine why it isn’t a scandal. She was appalled when he had married Anna, as they had been close in age and grew up in church together. Shula would be his third. The mother of the five boys: Jacob, Jonah, Josiah, Jared, and Jude, had died during childbirth, and James Agnesson had married Anna, newly sixteen, and she died last year of an apparent suicide. Anna had been the same age as Jude.

The rumor was that Jude had found her in her bed, and that was all Shula had heard about it.

Shula could guess, but that made her feel smug, and she wondered if that even scratched the surface of what her mother might’ve known. Her mother knew something, and her father knew it too, but curious as she was, she’d rather die than know, unless she could find out today.

Two suicides in two years, especially after his last wife’s sudden death, should bring about a much more intense scrutiny. There was a reason her mother hadn’t wanted her in his house, and it had been worth her life. Shula had not forgotten that.

She was relieved in a way. She was lonely, but trusted no one, and it was a scary existence.

She watched herself in the mirror as she touched herself expertly. She always had philosophical thoughts on sin. She liked to list them in her head from ones she deemed not so bad to the worst ones, like cruelty and complacency. She didn’t understand how this God-given pleasure was only a means to tempt and trap.

As a woman, she wasn’t allowed to read The Bible. Only the men were allowed, and it was up to them to explain their sinful natures to them. Sometimes Shula would sneak a few paragraphs when she cleaned her father’s room, if he had it out of the locked trunk. It was paragraphs and paragraphs of confusion, and she would turn the pages quickly, looking for the list of sins that would seem an obvious addition. She never found them.

So, she compiled them in her head. Sins, taxonomy of.

She would write them down, but she hoped that her corpse would display his deepest sins and eat at James Agnesson the way God’s disappointment was supposed to.

After Shula brought herself off, she took a few deep breaths and grabbed the broom behind the door. She swept up the remnants of her youth and the death of it, and when she was finished, she looked toward the dress hanging on the hook on the door.

Her mother’s beautiful, meaningless frock, yellowed with age, and smelling of decay and mothballs. The lace was matted with cobwebs and even blotting it with a washcloth thickened the strands.

She fished out her father’s scissors and snipped the lace from the bodice, eyeing the netting of the veil briefly, knowing it would cover her thoroughly, until it was lifted.

The lace lifted easily and she dropped it carelessly into the trash. She pulled the dress over her head, slipping it onto her naked body, mindful of her mother’s ashes. It was a little too snug, but she knew it would give just a little as the day went on.

She stepped up to the mirror and she still looked terribly young. Even with her neutered hair, and her darkened eyes, and low bodice, she still looked much too young.

It was a tragedy.

The only thing that kept her tears at bay was that this was what James Agnesson would see when he lifted her veil.

He would see who he’d chosen to be his wife.

Shula affixed the veil to her head and covered her face and chest. She grabbed her purse and suitcase, and walked it to the front door where her father was waiting. He opened the door without a word, and led them to the car. The veil was sheer enough for her to see images, and the haze of black from the ashes made the sky look like rain.

Jared Agnesson sat heavily on the front steps of his tiny cabin. He was going to need to build a fence and get a dog. Maybe several of the doberman variety.

He held up the cream-colored envelope that he had found under his feet when he stepped out the door that morning.

Jared Agnesson

He knew what was inside. His father had been threatening it before Anna’s body had been cold to keep Jared under control. His father wanted him to take over the farm, but Jared had a knack for computers. So, he had sought work in the city, independent of his father, but every job or apprenticeship ended up dead.

Luckily, Jared had the foresight to move his trust fund when he turned eighteen to an international bank in the city, one who hadn’t heard of James Agnesson, or if they had, they hadn’t cared. Jared would have enough money indefinitely if he wasn’t foolish. And his current project was lucrative, but he had to be doubly careful.

He inherited a piece of land adjacent to his father’s ranch with the bones of a hunting lodge hidden by the trees. His father spent equal time at the ranch and in the city, but Jared knew Agnes Oaks inside out, so he felt he could hide more effectively in plain sight rather than a city where he would be constantly looking over his shoulder. He’d underestimated his father. The only way to be truly free of him was death, or to find a way to leave Texas, but Texas only granted visas for work. They were temporary, not for families, and never for women.

If you were born here, you died here, and the fate of the women depended on the kindness of their husbands.

Jared wanted to be kind. It took him several months, but he’d built paradise, and he’d wondered if his future bride would like it. But, he didn’t allow himself to wonder for long. He enjoyed deluding himself on occasion. It was safe out in the woods.

As much as he’d wanted Shula Kelley, as much as he’d always known that she was intended for him, he knew that his father would eventually take her from him. The same way he took Anna, and she had only been his friend from church. His father hated their closeness, never trusted it, and he’d left her because his father had become increasingly nasty towards her.

A week later, he’d found out that she’d died. Jared had to think.

His reach was far and wide, and Jared had to be smart. But, now it seemed too late.

His brothers were too complacent and stayed away, moving their families to the city to represent various family businesses. Their father’s fingers were dipped into trade all over the state of Texas, from banking and real estate, to agriculture and energy. Education and evangelism. Jacob and Jonah managed the bank branches from the Austin-San Antonio Metroplex, to one hundred miles east of Agnes Oaks, with smaller branches all over the state, independently managed. Josiah was in real estate, and was rather successful at it.

They had already moved out when Anna came to live with them. Only Jude had remained. He was the one who had found Anna, and avoided everyone anymore. Jared was fairly sure that Jude will be the one running the farm. So long as his father didn’t find out–

His father had eyes and ears everywhere, was highly respected, but there was a quiet cruelty in his every step that made people cautious around him. He believed it was power, and maybe it was, but Jared had no need for that sort of sway.

He wanted better. He wanted a life without fear for the people around him.

So, he would go. He would dress in his Sunday’s best, and try to meet Shula’s eyes, and hope that he could relay in that glance that he would do anything in his power to save her from him.

She would have to be patient and he would have to be strong.

 

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Arden Aoide lives in San Antonio, Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and three cats. Turn ons include men who cry during sex, long walks on the beach, and talking about herself in the third person. Turn offs include mean people and trying to figure out how to write an interesting author bio.

She doesn’t write about the typical men you normally read about in erotic romance novels. She likes her men brainy and just this side of manic.

She’s an introvert, she loves coffee, Internet, British television, and pot stickers. And pie. She loves pie.

Author Links

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Cover Reveal! ~Covet Not: The Complete Sins of Lethe~ by Arden Aoide


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Release date March 28th

 

goodreads-badge.png

Covet2eBook.jpg

AP - Synopsis.jpg

 

A gilded cage is still a cage.

 

From the womb, she was owned. Shula Kelley was signed away before her first breath, just like everyone else in secessionist Texas. She was called beautiful like it meant something important. Like it would get her a kind husband, or one less cruel. She hoped Jared Agnesson was kind.

 

And the devil you know is still the devil.

 

As punishment for his son’s rebellion, the patriarch of the Agnesson clan claimed Shula for his own. And she saw only one way out. Shula had a plan, but she didn’t realize it would require a savior.

 

Suffer not the sins of the father.

 

First acts of rebellion open doors that are best left closed. Until Jared walked through it. Her savior. But how can she truly love when she only knows obedience?

 

AP- Excerpt.jpg

 

He had been told long before he was to take a bride that it was important–imperative–to assert his place on top of her, between spread thighs, claiming relentlessly that which belonged to him. Her opinion forever insignificant.

He had never been told that a thirst so indelible could suffocate every blessed second. That an unsated hunger would leave him unsettled and a little terrified.

That he would need those same thighs to spread for want of him.

It had been several months, but the gift of her was still overwhelming.

“Did your mother ever call you Shulamith,” Jared asked innocently. He had been watching her for a short time as she methodically and efficiently chopped the onions, carrots, and potatoes for their stew. She was more adept with the large knife than even he was. He wasn’t quite sure why kitchen work made such a difference. Maybe it didn’t, and Shula was just very good with her hands.

He didn’t know why he enjoyed watching it.

She gasped as the knife slipped from her grasp and she nicked the tip of her fingertip holding down an onion. He was at her side grasping her hand with muttered apologies. He had meant to shock her with his new found knowledge, but he hadn’t meant to hurt her. She pressed her lips together, because she didn’t want to complain.

She gasped again when he pressed her finger in his mouth. “I won’t tell anyone,” he whispered.

“How did you find out?” She was afraid she might cry. She hated being named for a harem girl. She liked to believe that her mother did it to make a point.

“I didn’t really. Your name. Shula. I’ve never heard it. I looked through some genealogy information online and no one on either your mother or your father’s side shared that name. But, everyone had sacred names. First and middle. I saw a smudge by yours.”

“Father. He was ashamed. He tried to change it. But, it was too long–”

“Shh. Not now. Later.” His hands moved to both hips. He gripped tightly, and lifted her easily onto the counter. She sucked in a breath and held onto him tightly. The light in the room was waning, but it was the brightest light he’d ever been so close to her in.

He loved it when she was supplicant under him, trying to hide, trying not to spread her legs wider. He loved that by the end, she’s panting in his mouth, with her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. She was his completely, and he never had to ask. She just gave.

He found himself wanting her to want him. Was it fair for him to ask for that when she hadn’t a choice previously? He frowned and stepped back a few inches.

She dropped her hands from his shoulders. “Have I done something to…displease you?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. It took a few moments to speak. “You are my wife.”

She nodded, unsure of his point.

“We didn’t get to choose, but I was happy at the wedding, unexpected though it was.” He stepped in close to her again, and her legs spread for him. He pressed both fists on either side of her hips. “You were my punishment, and I think it’s the grandest cosmic joke ever.”

 

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AP - about the author.jpg

 

Arden Aoide lives in San Antonio, Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and three cats. Turn ons include men who cry during sex, long walks on the beach, and talking about herself in the third person. Turn offs include mean people and trying to figure out how to write an interesting author bio.

She doesn’t write about the typical men you normally read about in erotic romance novels. She likes her men brainy and just this side of manic.

She’s an introvert, she loves coffee, Internet, British television, and pot stickers. And pie. She loves pie.

Author Links

Twitter  Facebook  Goodreads Amazon page  Instagram

 

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Holly Jolly Holiday Sale

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Limited time only! The COMPLETE trilogy only .99 cents!!! And guess what? Amazon, Nook and Kobo include Five Brand New Chapters from Becca and Tyler’s Honeymoon novella, Forever With You! Grab this deal before the price jumps back up!
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Amazon Best Seller Alert

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟
Amazon Best Seller

Alphas on the Prowl is Currently…
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On the Run: #BethanyShawNovels

ON THE RUN by Bethany Shaw 5+ Stars
Marcia, a lone wolf on the run meets up with Declan who is on the run from his pack and find they have a strong attraction to each other. But dare they trust their feeling or run from each other as well. This is the second book in her Wayward Wolves series and yet can be read as a standalone. Full of action, with a fast pace and a sweet love story. Truly another fabulous story by the wonderfully talented Bethany Shaw. This author could make a telephone book into an amazing, prize winning best seller. I swear!

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On the Prowl for some new READS?

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Check out the latest
#BethanyShawNovels  Newsletter
Alphas on the Prowl ( April 30, 2015)
http://eepurl.com/blwfzz

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Thrifty Thursday Reads

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Thrifty Thursday

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KILLER – Clarissa Wild – Cover Reveal

 

Title: Killer (Prequel to Stalker)
Author: Clarissa Wild
Publication Date: May 26th, 2015 (in the Summer Fire Boxed Set)
Genre: Dark Romance (18+)
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/24920177-killer

 

This is a prequel to the Dark Romance Standalone STALKER.


Some secrets are meant to stay hidden …


Secrets could kill you. My husband is the prime example.
I’m a trophy wife. Someone’s prized possession, just there to be pretty. My dreams were pushed aside for his. Until one fateful night, one chance encounter, all his dirty secrets were exposed.
And then my supposed husband is killed.
I should be sad, but all I feel is anger. My husband is a lying, cheating bastard. And if that isn’t bad enough, I’m now the prime suspect for his murder.
Only his brother believes I’m innocent, and in his support, I find relief. However, I will find the real killer and bring him to justice … before he tries to end my life too.




WARNING: This book contains strong language, explicit situations, and disturbing content.

Included in the Summer Fire Boxed Set
Preorder now:

 

Clarissa Wild is the USA Today Bestselling author of FIERCE, a college romance series, but she’s best known for the dark Romance novel Mr. X. She is also a writer of erotic romance such as the Blissful Series, The Billionaire’s Bet series, the Doing It Series and the Enflamed Series. She is an avid reader and writer of sexy stories about hot men and feisty women. Her other loves include her furry cat friend and learning about different cultures. In her free time she enjoys watching all sorts of movies, reading tons of books and cooking her favorite meals.


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Sign up here: http://eepurl.com/FdY71

 

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Last Day to Start 2015 with a Howl…

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🌟🌟LAST DAY – LAST HOURS 🌟🌟

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WHOLE SET on SALE
5 Books – 1 LOW PRICE

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Bethany Shaw​​

The Werewolves Series Box Set:
Amazon:
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( SALE ENDS 12/28/14)

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