10 October 2018

Review & Excerpt Tour for QUICK FALL by Michelle Dayton!

Review & Excerpt Tour for QUICK FALL
by Michelle Dayton!
Thank you for joining the Review & Excerpt tour for QUICK FALL
by Michelle Dayton!
We can’t wait for you to read this spicy, sweet, ‘opposites attract’
romance. While you’re
here, make sure to snag Book 1 of the Tracy Brothers series,
FAST RIDE, while it’s on sale
and enter to win a $25 gift card!
Title: Quick Fall
Author: Michelle Dayton
Published: October 8, 2018
Publisher: Self-published
Series: Tracy Brothers #2
Genres: Contemporary Romance


Synopsis:


Justin Tracy, the perennial life of the party, is used to being teased by
his friends about his success with the ladies.  Not that he’ll ever
get serious with one. Why should he?
His life is absolutely perfect the way it is. But at his brother’s bachelor
party, a drunken bet about his womanizing skill gets a little out of
control. Before he knows it, his friends have invited his new tenant –
a woman he’s never even met – to go to his brother’s wedding with him.
Single mom Maddy Trainor has just moved back to Chicago, ready to
reclaim her life and conquer the city.  Maddy’s determined to get
her new business off the ground and build a happy home for her son,
Teddy. She didn’t expect a gorgeous landlord, but ogling Justin Tracy
is definitely a bonus to her new
apartment.


Justin intends to apologize to Maddy for the out-of-the-blue wedding
invitation and get gone, but his new neighbor turns out to be funny,
whip-smart, and sexy as hell.  Why not take her to the wedding for
real? Just as friends, of course. To Maddy, the wedding – one night
of champagne and dancing with a self-admitted Peter Pan – sounds
like amazing no-strings fun.  But the sparks that blaze between the
two of them can’t be contained to one night. And two people who
think they have life figured out are
about to realize they know nothing about love …
Add to Goodreads Here!  
Goodreads → http://bit.ly/2u4rvyg
Buy Now: Amazon | iBooks | B&N | Kobo
Amazon → https://amzn.to/2Mtn6uZ
iBooks → https://apple.co/2Mu2K4W
B&N → http://bit.ly/2MrfObi
Kobo → http://bit.ly/2MsPMnS
Quick Ride Excerpt
Copyright © 2018 Michelle Dayton
Ding!
Justin caught her hand and pulled her out of the elevator before
the doors even had a chance to fully
open. “I’m all the way at the end of the hall.”
He was walking too fast for her sore feet; she tripped in her heels.
“Wait. Slow down. My feet. Blisters.”
He assessed the complicated gold sandals. “How long does it take
to get those off?” Given the tiny buckle on the ankle strap … with the
way her hands were shaking… She sighed. “Two minutes.”
He grinned, mischief sparking in his eyes. “That’s two minutes
too long.” Without another word, he lunged forward and threw her
over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.
Maddy shrieked. She’d never been picked up literally by a man
before. Upside down, she felt both ridiculous and ridiculously feminine.
Uncontrolled laugher—her noisy, high-pitched kind—bubbled out of
her mouth. She wouldn’t have thought she could move from unspeakable
arousal to hysterical laughter in the space of five seconds, but
apparently that’s what Justin did to her.
“Almost there,” he called.
Another thirty seconds and he carefully set her down. She clung
to his shoulders until she stopped quivering. Eyes sparkling, Justin
inserted the key card into the lock. “After you.” “Oh,” she breathed.
The room was so pretty. Dark wood furniture, a crisp, white duvet on
the bed, and an incredible view of Michigan Avenue.
“The hotel sent up a bottle of champagne as a thank you,” Justin
said. “Can I pour you a glass?”
“Please.” She’d stopped drinking at the wedding once the dancing
had started. Since that was more than three hours ago, she was
stone-cold sober now. And since the laughter had subsided and the fact
that she was in a hotel room with a man was sinking in, a glass of liquid
courage would be very welcome indeed.
Although ... she wasn’t nervous, actually. There was nothing to be
nervous about. She was a grown woman whose child was perfectly safe.
For once, her legs were shaved and her bikini area was waxed. She was
with a no-strings-attached man, but one who was genuinely kind and
committed to his family. Someone funny. Someone trustworthy.
Justin handed her a glass of champagne and finished removing his
bow tie. Someone unbelievably gorgeous. Someone who wanted her
badly, if his hungry expression was anything to go by.
She set her champagne glass on the nightstand and slowly turned.
“Unzip me?”
Meet Justin’s older brother, Garrett Tracy!
FAST RIDE is on sale for $.99! Grab your copy today!
Buy Now: Amazon | iBooks | B&N | Kobo
Enter to win a $25 Amazon gift card + FAST RIDE eBook!
Five will win an eBook of Fast Ride!!!


About Michelle Dayton:

There are only three things Michelle Dayton loves more than sexy and
suspenseful novels: her family, the city of Chicago, and Mr. Darcy.
Michelle dreams of a year of world travel – as long as the trip would
include weeks and weeks of beach time. As a bourbon lover and
unabashed wine snob, Michelle thinks heaven is discussing a good
book over an adult beverage
Follow Michelle:  
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Amazon | BookBub


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09 October 2018

Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover – A Paranormal Love Story By Kelli A. Wilkins Book Spotlight!

Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover – A Paranormal Love Story
By Kelli A. Wilkins
Hi romance lovers,
Although I write in several romance genres (contemporary, gay, historical, fantasy), I also like to write horror stories. Many people think that’s an odd combination, but I like to say that one half of my brain writes the horror, and the other half writes the romance. So naturally, it was only a matter of time before I combined the two and started writing paranormal romances.
My contemporary paranormal, Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover, is a different type of romance. For starters, the novella is told in the first person from the hero’s point of view. The story also makes use of a setting where you don’t normally find vampires—the beach! 
I got the idea for the story while sitting on a nearly deserted beach at the end of the summer season. (I’m not a beach person, but I was there with my husband, a surfer.) As I sat there watching the few people milling around, I wondered: “What if a vampire went to the beach? And what if she fell in love with a surfer?”
I liked the idea of contrasting typical sun worshipping beachgoers and surfers with a darkness-loving elusive vampire. Besides, what could be more mismatched than a die-hard surfer falling in love with a nocturnal blood-drinker?
I started toying with ideas and knew that although the book is about a vampire, I wanted to keep the central focus on Brian and Anya’s relationship and not on the ‘bloodier’ aspects of vampirism (show her feeding, etc.) There’s a fine line when blending horror and romance into paranormal romance. Too much gore or a “too terrifying” creature can snap the readers (and the characters) out of the romance and into a full-on horror story. 
When I wrote the book I made sure that the love scenes were highly sensual and almost surreal. Aside from being a vampire, Anya is a woman with needs, and she makes sure Brian satisfies them. I don’t remember how I was inspired to have the story told by Brian, but it worked. Readers and reviewers like the first-person aspect—it pulls you into a story that would seem unbelievable.
Several people have asked me if it’s hard to write horror and romance. Not really. I enjoy it. Writing horror allows me to change up my writing style, use different settings, and create characters you wouldn’t find in a romance. My horror stories are more psychological/spooky/creepy than gory, and I like to explore darker plots and not always give the characters a happy ending (as I do in my romances).
Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover
The moment Brian spotted Anya sitting on the moonlit beach, he was hooked. Beautiful, smart, and sexy, Anya was the girl of his dreams. She didn’t mind that he spent the hot summer days riding the ocean waves, because once the sun set, he belonged to her—all night long!

Everything is perfect between them—until Brian discovers Anya’s shocking secret. Can Brian give up the sun, sand, and surf to be with the woman he loves?

Read Brian’s first-hand account of their unusual love story in… Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover.
***
I first saw her on the beach. I came up over the top of a dune and spotted her right away. She was sitting on the sand, about ten feet from the water. It was almost midnight and the beach was deserted, except for us. The moon beamed down on her, and she seemed to glow with a strange luminescence.
I stood still, listening to the roar of the crashing waves. Seeing the girl had stopped me in my tracks. I felt drawn to her, like I had known her before. But that was impossible, wasn’t it?
Who are you? I wondered.
A gentle wind ruffled the blonde hair cascading around her shoulders, allowing me to see her more clearly. Her head was bent down and she was staring at something she held in her hands.
I inched a little closer and watched her for a few minutes. She looked close to my age, somewhere near thirty. I longed to ask her some inane question to break the ice, but I froze. What could I say to her? Lone figures on the beach at night were probably not interested in making conversation.
I’d never had much luck with women. They thought history teachers were boring and considered surfing nothing more than a juvenile waste of time. Most of the women I had dated wanted successful, professional men like lawyers and doctors who drove fast cars and had money to burn. What kind of woman would fall in love with an unemployed thirty-year-old teacher who drove a beat-up car littered with sand and surf wax?
I turned and gazed out over the ocean. The sets were breaking just offshore. The surf would be good tomorrow morning if the wind didn’t shift.
A minute later, I glanced back toward the girl. She was gone. Not just gone from that spot— but gone, vanished. I looked up and down the beach, but I didn’t see her anywhere. Had I scared her away? Where did she go? I knew she hadn’t passed me, and there were no footprints leading off into the distance.
I wandered to where she’d been sitting and found a paperback book half buried in the sand. I picked it up and squinted at the cover in the dim light. A couple dressed in Victorian clothing was locked in a passionate embrace. Had she been reading this out here?
I heard a whisper behind me, and I whirled around. Nobody was there. The darkness and the roaring waves were playing tricks on me. At least, that’s what I thought.
I headed home. I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl as I gathered my surf gear together.
Who was she? Why was she alone on the beach at midnight? I wasn’t sure why I was so entranced by her. Maybe she—like me—was hoping to find some solace in the eternal ocean waves. 

Order Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover here:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Confessions-Vampires-Lover-Paranormal-Romance-ebook/dp/B01IBYWYCI
All other platforms: https://books2read.com/u/49xp1J
Happy Reading,
Kelli A. Wilkins

 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kelli A. Wilkins is an award-winning author who has published more than 100 short stories, 19 romance novels, and 5 non-fiction books.
Her romances span many genres and heat levels, and she’s also been known to scare readers with her horror stories.
In August 2018, Kelli released her first online course through Teachable. Fiction Writing for Beginners is perfect for anyone who wants to learn how to write. Visit the course page: https://kelliwilkins.teachable.com/ for more details.
Kelli’s historical romance, Redemption from a Dark Past, was published in June of 2018. This full-length Gothic novel is set in the kingdom of Hungary in 1723 and blends a sensual romance with mystery and suspense.
If you like horror fiction, don’t miss her latest novella, Nightmare in the North.
Kelli posts on her Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKelliWilkins and Twitter: www.Twitter.com/KWilkinsauthor.
Visit her website www.KelliWilkins.com and blog http://kelliwilkinsauthor.blogspot.com/ to learn more about all of her writings.

CATCH UP WITH KELLI

Here’s a full list of where you can find Kelli on the web.
Newsletter sign-up: http://eepurl.com/HVQqb

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Apotheosis by Brian Paul Bach Book Tour and Excerpt!

Summary:
Butterbugs is somebody now. He has arrived – at the top. In fact, he’s much higher than that. Ultrastardom, they call it! As the world’s first ultrastar – and trillionaire – he is still compelled to act for acting’s sake alone. Taking the lead in the most ambitious film ever, he will need all his gathered resources for the staggering job ahead.
Butterbugs is a phenomenon for billions. His own depth of character and the diversity of creatures around him constitute a power and influence far surpassing any strolling player’s entertainments. However, not everyone on Earth is so dazzled. Well below his stratospheric plane, undercurrents coil in unholy pools.
The screen upon which APOTHEOSIS shines is gigantic, as befitting the story that commands it. FORWARD TO GLORY is nothing less than an epic-noir-satire. The momentum built by TEMPERING and EXPOSITION does not let up for a second. By its very name, APOTHEOSIS propels the reader toward its merciless climax with determination and grandeur.
Butterbugs is truly blessed with friends and associates who share his triumphs: Saskia and Justy – closer than ever; Sonny Projector – agent and champion; Edna Tzu – favorite director and facilitator; Hyman Goth – studio mogul with a dreaded knowledge; Mayella – stabilizing lover; Egaz – transcendent director and artistic equal; Keenah – the mate Butterbugs has waited for… possibly; The Seven Muses – who inspire the ultrastar in his most challenging role; Marshall – the disabled vet who changes the course of the nation; and Heatherette – always a force for good, who reappears at the perfect time.


Information about the book
Title: Apotheosis (Forward to Glory #3)
Author:  Brian Paul Bach
Release Date: 9th October 2018
Genre: Fiction
Publisher: Clink Street Publishing
Read an Excerpt

When a patiently-waiting firearm is aimed right at your face, you can get all sorts of cinematic images blasting into your mind. That is, if you’re blessed with a few seconds to consider them. Well, maybe you’re a hostage or something, so you might be staring at one all day.
Bor-ring!
There’s always the obvious: when you’re in the audience, looking down the barrel of the suicide scene in Hitchcock’s ‘Spellbound’ (Selznick, 1945), with its gunmetal b&w transformation into bloody color when the trigger’s pulled. Pretty easy to imagine what happened.
However, depending on the nomenclature of the gun, quite a few non-weapon thoughts can also occur. A train tunnel surrounded by a fine metallic gateway. An electrical conduit awaiting wire. A telescope with the glass busted out. A dark jewel in a navel. A skull’s sightless eye socket. A mouse-hole, even. Holes can draw you in, but it’s more likely that something is going to come crawling, or hastening, or spewing out. Mice, spiders, dust… sewage… or even more dangerous objects.  But when the firearm is one of those blunderbuss/matchlock/flintlock jobs, the associations can turn tuneful. A trombone’s bell, like in a Glenn Miller musical, but without a mute. Or a Rudy Vallee megaphone. Or blaring brass in a film biography of John Phillip Sousa. Or any one of seventy-six euphoniums. In any case, there should be music to accompany the image.
But there was no music now. Not with the type of trombone aimed at Butterbugs’ face at this moment in time. Of course, the instrument in play wasn’t musical at all, but a real instrument of death. Indeed, it was one of those blunderbuss-type things, polished, cleaned, primed, loaded, ready to broadcast shot as surely as an old Victrola’s limited-spectrum sound waves could.
Only it wasn’t just this deadly museum piece with which he was now having such an intimate relationship. Another kind of inanimate object usually focused on him, also known to shoot things – through a lens rather than through a barrel.  To be brutally frank, it was a kind of ‘Fuck it; fuck it all’ moment that had come squarely face to face with Butterbugs, the world’s one true ultrastar. Ultrastar meant above and beyond anyone else on Earth. Nevertheless, right now, it was all… just… too… much.
Things, that is.
To Butterbugs, suicide had always been a tangible concept. Reasonable, sensible, realistic. And specifically scripted, documented, written down or spoken or transcribed somehow. If a given role required it, he would indeed write something actual down while the cameras rolled, as every self-respecting suicide pens a farewell note before the self-slaying begins. It’s all part of the great tradition of the human need for communication.
Of course, with Century 21’s new standards, the courtesy of note-leaving has been largely replaced with mainstream media coverage, social media momentum, and pretty much live documentation by the end-it-all ones themselves. Indeed, showbiz temptations have swept the intimacy of shuffling off the coil aside, to be replaced by global online stardom, just because of an exit with a bang. Mass murder suicides are of course the most heinous division of chosen death, especially those who do not do the right thing by committing the suicide portion first.
At any rate, how many times, and in how many fine scripts, had Butterbugs been required to enact the ‘offing one’s self’ commitment in his career? That’s why suicide was such a ‘safe’ notion to him. Always somebody else, never him, even though he had, like 98% of humanity, indeed contemplated it. Like that time when he almost…
Nevertheless, exercising distance was one of the easiest parts of doing acting for a living.
But whoa – there wasn’t any scripted safety net under him right now. Some genuine reasons had piled up, reasons to say ‘fuck it all’. For starters, the film he was starring in, the biggest ever attempted in the known universe, was in severe jeopardy. Long story that cannot be made short. And then, get this: he was on the run from his home country, and maybe even from the President and Administration of that country. First-hand attempts had just been made on his life by intelligence agency forces, in which his assaulter had been reduced to a bloody pulp (some of which still remained on his person). And another agent, too late a friend, had been murdered before his very eyes, as a result of his own brain-dead conduct. To top it off, his lover, the woman he cared about more than anything else in the world – never mind that he’d achieved unprecedented ultrastar status and was one of the richest individuals who had ever strode the globe – had left him for another.  That was the big stuff, and there was plenty of small stuff too, to link everything together, like shrouds of suffocating cobwebs.
Preposterous and inexcusable, but true. He had fucked up. Fucked it all up.  Funny, some people have done themselves in over losing five bucks in a poker game, or having failed to deliver a packet of meth-making supplies by going to a trap house instead of a safe house. So he figured his own woeful lineup rated consideration for taking a fast escape route out of such a collective mess.  For an actor so well schooled in many a classic monologue that featured endit-all language of much stateliness, he was coming up embarrassingly dry as far as farewell addresses were concerned. Not even the epic simplicity (or simplemindedness) of Gary Gilmore’s ‘Let’s Do It’ crossed the blank cue-card panels of his mind. Granted, his present situation was no great example to project upon his public, from either an æsthetic aspect or even a scripted one (made out of whole cloth). This was probably because he knew how ignoble his position was, not to mention indefensible. Especially when everything was added up. In other words, there wasn’t one of his problems that couldn’t be successfully resolved in itself, but when taken collectively, the sum total was a little – overwhelming, even for a very human ultrastar. Thus, with no defense possible, no other action was probable.
It was a cultural fact: when things get overwhelming, bail. Don’t answer the phone. Ignore emails, texts, tweets, sprinkles. Remain silent in discussions. Declare bankruptcy. Etc. Accountability was for losers, weaklings and perverts.
It’s not as if he were actually suicidal, or even depressed. As a professional picture show actor, his primary job in life was to respond to the dual commands of ‘action’ and ‘cut’. Never mind the ‘creativity’ that may lie between. The simplicity of this imperative is certainly a reduction that makes the lowest military person’s operatives look complex. But the problem was, Butterbugs’ psyche, mind and character were as big as all outdoors, so no one, least of all the man himself, could get off the hook by relying on a few banal-isms like ‘stress’ or ‘sleep deprivation’ or ‘cuckoldry’ or ‘career disaster’ or ‘politically subversive target’, or ‘violence trauma’ to define his desperation at this one gun-barrel-staring point in time.
It was just that a whole lot of shit had added up for this ultrastar dude, and in ways that went beyond the capabilities of a ‘two-command’ kind of guy. For once it was a relief to fall back on the notion that all actors are mere dumbos who do just that: e.g. follow dog commands with all the fidelity of an earnest puppy. Thus, in such a process, in the name of the Industry that spawned him and the Bottom Line that propelled him, he was ready to finally screw the ‘Method over-intellectualizing of every syllable’ crap.
That, of course, is actor-speak for ‘take the money and run’, versus ‘take the role and be true to it’. Butterbugs, who had always been basically unclassifiable in every way, was of course way beyond this debate. Yet the compound impacts coming at him at this juncture made him scoot back to a few time-honored (and out-of-date) arguments for just cooling-it. Like when things were so much simpler and resolves more possible after everybody simmered down with a few beverages and remembered the pleasures of humbleness. For it was genuine, heartfelt humbleness that usually cured most of an actor’s ills.
He did chuckle for a second though, as he thought of a pleasant and dog-oriented eatery called Fred’s on Broadway in NYC. Their advertising gimmick was ‘Come. Sit. Stay.’  If only he could!
There were many times in the past when he’d show up at old Fred’s, often accompanied by his amiable and intellectual dogs Hugo and Hudson, in town from their Lazarushian wilderland bliss, in order to catch a few shows. Usually acting as his best friends’ Obedient One, the human liked to kick things off before grub by prefacing his conversations with, ‘We dogs…’ And he’d always manage to pull off a delightful conference with many engaging persons, aided by his chick-magnet pups of course.
‘We dogs… have our gravy rights, you know!’ declared man, fondly watching his masters yick their trays, shake rangy brush-mouths, realign big jazzy lips, then cuzzle their haunches before two or three circlings, and elegant flumps on the ground, capped by satisfied exhaling in harmony.
Afterwards, a couple of Shakespeares (in the Park), new Yampsterdam perambulations, over to Henery Hudson, chats with the Roerich Museum gals, Gothic moments below Riverside’s high gargoyles, replaying the tape of MLK’s electrifying ‘A Time To Break Silence’ speech, Columbian symposia with the Ms. Alma Mater statue, McKim, Mead & White contemplations, progressive sermons at divine St. John, mouth harp lessons with TABP’s dad under the Cotton Club, and late soul fude at Grabby’s above the Golden Goon in Harlem.
What fond memory didn’t he have of those halcyon New York City days, in which he rediscovered his urban imperatives and spread his purposeful endowment amongst so many who needed it?




Author Information
Brian Paul Bach is a writer, artist, filmmaker and photographer; he has worked across the entertainment business. He now lives in central Washington State with his wife, Sandra. His previous works include The Grand Trunk Road From the Front Seat, Calcutta’s Edifice: The Buildings of a Great City, and Busted Boom: The Bummer of Being a Boomer. He writes a regular column for Kolkata On Wheels magazine.

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