RELEASE BLITZ! ~*~ Red Velvet ~*~ by Tess Oliver & Anna Hart

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Synopsis

“There’s a fine line between reality and fantasy and all it takes is the right amount of desire to cross that line.” ~Coco, owner of the Silk Stocking Inn

An erotic confection from bestselling authors Tess Oliver & Anna Hart.

Jessi has it all, success, money and a corner office with a view. The only thing she doesn’t have is the right man. But when a wrong turn lands her at the welcome mat of the Silk Stocking Inn, and in the arms of hot handyman, Grayson, Jessi’s well-planned life is turned upside down . . . both in and out of bed.

Jessi is about to get a tasty sample of love, erotic fantasies and red velvet cupcakes.

Red Velvet is a standalone book and the first installation of the sexy Silk Stocking Inn series.

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Teaser

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Excerpt

I stepped into the water. Teeny, opalescent bubbles floated up as my body sank down into the lavender scented water. I put the blindfold over my head and pulled it down over my eyes. My elbow hit the bar of soap resting on the edge of the tub. It thudded on the floor. I was too cozy in my bubble quilt to reach for it.

The tub was designed perfectly for reclining. I relaxed back with a long sigh.

A rush of cool air ushered inside the bathroom and footsteps plodded over the tile floor. Coco returning with the towels, I decided.

“Coco, I think I just invented a new type of sigh. It’s one that goes perfectly with the act of melting one’s body into a splendid tub of warm water.” I repeated the sound, and it swished around the room like a lost whisper. “Thank you so much for this. If you don’t see me in the morning, you’ll find me still sitting beneath the bubbles. You can just leave the towels. If it’s not too much trouble, could you retrieve the bar of soap? I knocked it off the edge.”

Footsteps tapped the tile as Coco neared the bath. I was growing drowsy behind the blindfold as I lazily lifted my hand above the bubbles. Surprisingly callused fingertips grazed my palm as the soap landed on my hand.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” The deep voice echoed off the walls and sent me upright.

I yanked off the blindfold and was staring at a faded pair of jeans. The bulge in front assured me of what my terror-filled mind had already surmised. Coco wasn’t the second person in the room.

I peered up at the impossibly tall man. His broad shoulders cast a giant shadow over the tub. His dark blue eyes stared down at me, more specifically at my breasts, which I’d now revealed by sitting straight up out of my bubble cloak.

I sank back down into the water. “I don’t know how you got in here, but—”

“Came in through the door, and I heartily approve of the new type of sigh. Works well in this context.” He stooped down next to the tub with a crooked smile that could only be described as a knee wobbler, a term Cara and I had come up with for a man whose smile caused a woman’s knees to turn to jelly. The rest of his face went well with the smile.

His hand curled around the edge of the bath. I scooted away, which was comical considering I could only move about two inches before coming up against the far side of the tub.

“Coco sent me up here with the towels.” He inclined his head toward the vanity where he’d placed the towels. He made no attempt at hiding the fact that he was staring down into the bubbles.

“Thank you for the towels. Now please get out.”

He didn’t move. His smile pushed a nice crease alongside his mouth that only added to its appeal. His eyes were a dark blue, framed by thick black lashes. Dark brown hair was just messy and long enough to make me take a long, steadying breath. The hair curled up nicely on the collar of his flannel shirt. For a brief, scandalous moment, I imagined running my hand through his thick head of hair.

My uninvited bath guest rested his chin on the edge of the tub, bringing his face even with mine. One foot closer and our mouths would be pushed together.

“Are you always this uptight when you’re soaking in a bubble bath?” he asked.

“Only when I have a big, intimidating stranger hanging on the edge of the tub.”

“I can’t do anything about the big, or intimidating”—he raised a brow about that assessment—“but—” He stuck out his hand. It was huge and looked as if it could wield a hammer as well as it could finger me into a raging orgasm. Whoa, where the heck did that erotic thought come from? Must have been the sugar high and the heady scent of lavender. The gorgeous man staring at me didn’t hurt either.

“I’m Grayson.”

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AboutTheAuthor

Tess Oliver

Tess Oliver is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of Freefall.

She is a former teacher, who now dedicates her morning caffeine rush to writing romance instead of teaching math and reading. Tess lives in California, the land of perpetual sunshine and traffic, with her husband, kids and five dogs. She is a longtime romance junkie, who likes her hero to be an alpha with a twist of compassion and if he has long hair and rides a horse or a motorcycle all the better. She writes young adult, new adult and adult romance in both contemporary and historical settings. When she’s not reading or writing romance, she can be found hiking, vacuuming up dog hair or baking goodies for her family.

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Anna Hart

Anna Hart is the author of the sexy new romance series, Stepbrother Cowboy and Stepbrother Fighter. She writes edgy romances that are filled with bad boys, alpha males and plenty of steam.

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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.

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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

Twitter  Facebook  Goodreads Amazon page  Instagram

 

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


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Release date March 28th

 

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Covet2eBook.jpg

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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?

 

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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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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Conklin’s Corruption * Brooke Page * Cover Reveal

 
Synopsis 
“You can’t get caught up in this dicey scheme, Becca.  He’ll ruin you.”
His eyes were as big as saucers, childlike and pleading.  
Tyler was terrified and in way too deep, barely hanging on by a thread from the mess his family created.
I adored and cherished him more than my own life.  I had to keep him safe. 

 

 

Conklin’s Trilogy 
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About the Author
Mother of two, wonder wife, after school art/pottery instructor, self proclaimed runner, and Indie Romance Novel junkie!
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Cover Reveal- Saturdays At The Viper Rooms- Author Kirsty-Anne Still

Cover Reveal

Saturdays At The Viper Rooms

Author Kirsty-Anne Still

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Book Links

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19313632-saturdays-at-the-viper-rooms

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Kirsty-Anne-Still/524455580934384

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BLURB

Book One of The Viper Series.“You and I know I can’t say no.” I swallow my fear and allow my eyes to fall down to his chest, I can’t look at him. “And I can’t lose you.”

Joely Gilbert, one of two head Viper Girls for the club, strives to maintain a double life both full of deceit, betrayal, sex, lust, and fear. She knows the rules of the club and the way the boss works like no other, but she is the one breaking everything she knows in order to keep the new life she has. After running from her past, she’ll do anything to stay away from it. It’s what makes her perfect for the job. It’s what makes her normal.

Everyone has a story when they arrive at the doors of The Viper Rooms.

It’s this that binds clients and Viper Girls together. Each want to forget, each want something to remember, to feel, to lust over. The Viper Rooms gives the exclusive a time in their life to get the things they need from a club devoted solely to them. No strings attached, no questions asked. But what lies beneath the surface can’t always be stopped. It can’t be silenced forever.

And Joely’s one of the girls who knows that more than anyone else.

What happens when her facade starts to break? What would Joely rather give up; the man who wants to save her, but could die trying, or the life that could ultimately kill her? Is pleasure worth the pain?

**Due to themes and scenes in the book, this is not recommended to under 18’s. **
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TEASER #1
We stand still and watch the doors that lead to Clara’s office fly open. Eleanor is dragged out in the grasp of Shads and Benson. Between them, they throw her against the wall, only backing away once she slumps to the ground, a winded mess. I feel my pulse race as Clara steps out, a riding crop in her hand. Eleanor begins to press against the wall, alarming panic smothering every inch of her body. She knows what’s coming and so do we. It’s confirmed as Brianna reaches for my hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Girls, this is to show you what will happen if you break rule number one.” She says no more, just raises the crop and lowers it onto the Eleanor’s body. There’s no care at what the brute force will do. Clara is out to punish with pain and as much of it as possible. The continual whooshing is followed by the slap onto Eleanor’s skin and I recoil in horror. If it wasn’t bad enough, Eleanor’s screams and howls of pain penetrate me and break me inch by inch.

As I close my eyes shut, I forget it’s Ellie there and think it’s me. I’m being punished for loving Jace, my most loyal client. Only when I open my eyes do I remember Eleanor is the one being tortured. It’s not me feeling the pain and it certainly is not me who is crying out in painful anguish.

I’m not the wrongdoer here, not right now, and a part of me is regrettably thankful.

With one final swift blow to Eleanor’s back, she collapses onto her palms and Clara stops. “Now,” Clara says as she turns back to us. She swats her palm with the blooded crop and gives all of us a choice look. “Remember this. One of our own defied the rules and I can see a few more of you sinning like that. I gave you six rules, girls, only six. It’s not a tall ask I give you, but I thought you need to see that I am deadly serious with punishment in this place. I don’t know what’s happened lately, but we haven’t had anything go wrong in nearly a year. But I plan to rectify this,” she speaks, but pauses, again swatting her palm. “I’m moving the next party closer.”

I look to Brianna, we know what this means, it means we’re getting a change up on our client lists. We look back and Clara is grinning like a Cheshire cat and we know what’s going on in her head is pure evil. We’ve gotten comfortable and The Boss wants us to squirm. We all begin to look between one another. We all know this means business.
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SONG (For entire series)
Beyoncé – XO
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TEASER #2
He smirks and kisses me again. “You look a mess.” His words set a rush of trepidation throughout me, but he chuckles, kissing me greedily, delaying me from leaving. “A beautiful mess.”
I giggle, push on him and begin to leave him behind. I stumble out of the cubicle, leaving Jace to fix himself out. I go over to the restroom’s mirrors and dare myself to just look at my own reflection. I gasp when I do. Fuck! I’m an absolute mess! My lipstick is now smeared, my hair is unravelling and I know I have to look for a quick fix. I make sure the rest of it looks okay and fix my makeup before I text one of the girls to come to my aid. I can’t let Clara see me like this and I need an excuse.
‘Jace Mason took me against a cubicle door’ just isn’t going to cut it!
My hands are shaking as I quickly attempt to rectify the mess I am in. I need to be back out there with the other girls quickly, but I can’t do that looking like this. I need to be mingling with the clients before Clara even so much as thinks I’ve done a disappearing act.
“Will this help?”

 

I look up and Jace is behind me. I inwardly sigh. He can’t be here. My heart rate accelerates as I wonder if one of the girls will catch him here with me or if I’ll make it out alive. I look to his hand and he’s holding up four of my hairpins. I look back at his reflection in the mirror and can’t help but smile.

“Did you really think I’d feed you back to the lion’s mouth with so much as a strand of hair out of place?” he asks me sarcastically and I know him. He looks after me beyond belief. He drops his hands and comes to stand beside me. As he does, I just turn to face him and allow him to fix my hair back up into the side bun. Once he is done he runs his hand down my jaw bone until his fingers are cupping my chin. “I knew you were going to look stunning tonight, Joely, but I never expected this. You blew my breath away.” He leans in, his lips just before mine as he finishes his statement. “Again.”

This time he kisses me with restraint, just giving me enough to seal his comment. When he leaves me this time I’m less flustered and I’m ready to take on what awaits on the other side of the door. I spend a few seconds just staring at myself, before I hurriedly look into my clutch bag for my makeup and touch it all up. I make sure my hair is pristine and that I don’t look freshly fucked.

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BIO

I used to be just another Fanfiction writer! That was until one person showed real interest in my work. And then another, and then another, until I had this whole group of people reviewing like crazy and wanting original work from me. I’d spent years writing for free online, I didn’t believe I had it in me to publish something!

But I’m glad I did!! I never imagined pushing my work and striving to reach my ultimate. I never imagined I’d be the girl who started The Viper Rooms! But who am I to deny the inspiration when it hits?

I love writing, it’s a lifeline. I love creating a world that others fall into. I love having the control to make a whole new world. It’s like a dependency, an addictive one. It’s one of the things I’m extremely proud of.

As much as I complain, I love the mini dialogues that go on in my head, the plotlines that attack me when I least expect them to. The ones that jump to life at the most inappropriate times and drive me totally crazy!!

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