Wednesday, May 11, 2016

BLOG TOUR ~ Waiting For Him by Dawn Stanton

Blog Tour

(Blog Tour- 11th May to 15th May,2016)

Waiting For Him by Dawn Stanton

Release date- 3rd May
Cover design - RBA Designs


Have you ever had a secret that weighed on you so heavily you felt as though you might crumble from the burden of it?

I’ve been lying to all of my loved ones for months now, lying right to their faces. I know at some point the truth will have to come out, but I’m dreading that day with every fiber of my being. I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially Jeff, my fiancé.
My past and present are at war, pushing and pulling me in two different directions and sooner or later I’m going to break. How do I choose between the two men I love?

Garrett, my ex, who disappeared from my life without a trace has now returned. He claims he still loves me and he wants me back.

Jeff, the man I’m engaged to marry built our relationship on lies, but he proves to me every single day how much he loves me.

Are the mistakes of the past too much for me to move on from or can I find a way to forgive one of them?

Maybe it’s time for me to start with a clean slate and just focus on me.

This is the emotional conclusion to Shelby’s story which began in Waiting for Love.

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“What are you so happy about? I just told you what a disaster my life has become and you think it’s funny?” I poke his rock hard stomach. He catches my hand with his and uses it to tug me forward. I stumble into him awkwardly, landing against his chest. His arms slide around me, resting low on my waist...dangerously low...almost into ass territory low. Both of my palms are flat against his chest and it’s difficult for me to resist the urge to slide them down his stomach and back up under his shirt. His skin would be scorching hot on my hands as I slowly traced his defined abdominal muscles. Stop it. Focus. My eyes raise up to meet his and there’s an answering smirk playing around the right corner of his lips as if he knows I was lost in lust filled thoughts of him.


About the author
Dawn Stanton, author of the Waiting series, lives in Massachusetts with her husband and two sons. Dawn's obsession with books began at an early age and although being an author doesn't leave much time for her to read, there's nothing she likes better than to relax on the beach, toes in the sand and a great book on her kindle.

COVER REVEAL ~ Stanton Bliss by T.L. Swan @TLSwanAuthor

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T.L. Swan’s newest release in the Stanton Series drops on June 5th!
Add Stanton Bliss to your TBR at:
You don’t want to miss this final chapter!

We've changed. Darker, damaged and unable to conform. My husband Joshua is dealing with the past the best that he am I.
Nobody else can understand the language we speak. The trauma we have been through.
But with the pain comes pleasure and happiness is our gift.

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Haven’t read this series yet?  
Now is your chance to grab the Stanton Box Set for ONLY $4.99
or Free with you KU subscription!

About the Author:
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Tee Swan was born in Sydney Australia and is the author of Contemporary Romance novels, Stanton Adore, Stanton Unconditional and Stanton Completely.
Her new novel, Find Me Alastar is due for release in early 2016.
She studies Psychology and works for the Australian Schizophrenia Fellowship. When Tee is not working in the depths of mental health, you will find her daydreaming about her next story, writing, drinking coffee or hanging with her beloved husband and three kids in her sleepy beach side town south of Sydney.
Tee’s aim is to write steamy, tender love stories that stay with you long after you close the book.
STALK HER:  Website |  Facebook  | Twitter |  Goodreads

Release Day Blitz ~ HETCH by RIVER SAVAGE @RiverS_Author

Title: HETCH (Men of S.W.A.T. #1)
Author: River Savage
Release Date: May 11, 2016
Add to your TBR: Goodreads

Purchase Links: 
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verb \ˈsāv\ 

1 a: Keep safe or rescue (someone or something) from harm or danger.

Synonyms: rescue, come to someone's rescue, save someone's life, set free, liberate, deliver, extricate.

Saving lives is the end goal.
It's a responsibility I live with every day, the reason I wear the badge.
Built on a brotherhood that runs deeper than blood, this way of life has become my very existence...

Until Liberty.

I thought I was saving her.

I never expected her to be the one saving me.


They say moments of clarity hit you hard. Like suddenly a deep understanding smacks you in the face. Your vision becomes unclouded, and a truth that’s been out of your reach rushes at you. It’s in that second your perception of reality becomes so clear you can’t begin to describe it.

Some call it beautiful, some say it can be saddening, some even compare it to the moment your drug of choice washes over you, offering a moment of escape.

I wish I could I say my moment of clarity is an epiphany or some kind of life-defining moment that showed me where my messed-up life is going.

No, my moment hits me as the first wave of the orgasm I’ve been chasing the last few minutes washes over me.

“Fuck, woman, wait for me this time.” His voice pulls me from my haze first, reminding me how messed up I am.

Heat covers my body, not from the life-altering orgasm, but from embarrassment.

Without thinking rationally, I throw my vibrator to the floor and freeze, afraid to move, as a low moan pauses on my lips. The thump of my beating heart, almost syncing in perfect rhythm to the throb drumming between my legs.

Jesus, please tell me he didn’t hear me.

“Don’t go shy on me now, babe.” He half chuckles, half growls, and even though there is a wall between us, the words wash over me; Goose bumps prickle my skin as if his warm breath whispered over me.




Slowly, as if by some freak of nature, apartment nine can see me through the wall, I roll off the bed and find myself on all fours.

Really, Liberty?

Fully committed to my actions, I slowly army crawl my way to the nearest exit.

A strong tap on the wall halts my escape followed by, “You still there?” Another wave of humiliation crashes over me when I take stock of my predicament.

If I don’t get out of here fast, I’ll be drowning in so much embarrassment, nothing will resuscitate me.

Unable to form a coherent thought, and not willing to engage with the pervert, I continue to low crawl my way out of my bedroom and into my bathroom. Closing the door, I stand, and quickly walk to the shower. After turning the faucet on, I strip the rest of my clothes off, then step under the spray of the water.

Jesus, that was close.

I have no idea what I was thinking. In fact, I know I wasn’t. Which scares me even more.

I, Liberty Jenson, would never take risks like this. If asked what prompted this change in me, I’d answer with two things.

Apartment nine.

And a self-appointed sex sabbatical.

It all started when I moved into my new apartment. At first, I was excited, ready for a fresh start. After a messy break-up, which included dealing with a douche ex who didn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants, I needed a new place. Somewhere closer to town this time, secure, and most importantly, affordable. However, finding a place close to the city, which was secure enough to make me feel safe and would still leave me enough money left over from my program director’s wage, proved to be a feat. After searching for five weeks, I was about to give up, accept defeat and move in with my mom and dad again. I mean it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a single thirty-year-old woman.


Luckily for me, I didn’t have to resort to such desperate measures when this place came up two weeks ago. After a quick walk through, I fell in love with the two bedrooms, one bath, and open kitchen living area. I filled out the paperwork, paid my deposit, a month’s rent in advance, and moved in five days later.

Everything seemed perfect.

That was until I realized how paper-thin the walls were between apartments.

It started out subtle, a sneeze in the early evening on my first night here as I settled into bed. A soft murmur of a man’s voice the third night.

But then came the sex.

The hot, wild, filthy sex.

The fourth night in my new apartment, I was woken to the low moans of what I assumed to be a needy woman.

My face heats up remembering the screams, the grunts. The deep baritone of apartment nine’s voice as he told the ‘bitch’ to keep it quiet.

Unsure what to do, I laid silent, listening to my new neighbor fuck some lucky woman into submission.

I’m not going to lie; I wasn’t turned on by it. I was set alight.

I never thought I would be that kind of person, the kind who got off from listening in on someone get off, but something in the way he spoke to her, something in the way he spoke to all the other women since, stirred a new want in me. Soon I found myself seeking out my room for a chance to hear him.

It was wrong.

So wrong.

But it didn’t stop me from wanting it.

The screams.

The deep grunts of pleasure.

I wanted it all.

I wanted it to be me.

“I’m officially going to hell.” I groan under the water, trying to wash the stupidity off me. Stupid would be the nice way of calling me a fucking idiot. And an idiot is what I am. Especially after tonight.

Purchase Links: 
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About the Author

River Savage is the Author of the Knights Rebels MC Series. She released her debut novel, Incandescent, in August 2014. 

An avid reader of romance and erotic novels, her love for books and reading fueled her passion for writing. Reading no longer sated her addiction, so she started writing in secret. She never imagined that her dream of publishing a novel would ever be achievable. 

With a soft spot for an alpha male and a snarky sassy woman, Kadence and Nix were born. 

River would love to hear from you. You can contact and/or follow her via...
Facebook  |  Twitter ( @RiverS_Author )  |  Pinterest  |  Website 

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River Savage Tee, Mug & Notebook
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Release Blitz ~ CHIMERA by Stephie Walls

Title: chimera
Author: Stephie Walls
Genre: Adult, Dark Romance
Published: May 11, 2016
I couldn’t be anything other than a romantic at heart — it’s my nature, it’s who I am. But this isn’t a typical story of traditional love. It isn’t a fairy tale. No happily ever after neatly tied up with a shiny bow. It’s a memoir of the reality left behind in the wake of grief — the desolation, the resurrection, and final culmination life offers to the fallen.

This is a journey through love…the love of self, love of a friend, and sometimes love is ugly, messy —destructive.

My name is Bastian Thames…and this is my story.

CHIMERA Excerpt © Stephie Walls 2016

When Sylvie died, it left a hole in my being that seemed prodigious. I adorn my face with the plastic appearance people anticipate from me, but internally, I weep. Continuing through the monotonous motion of my daily life, I increasingly find myself lost in what my friends—well, those who remain—refer to as a fictional world: novels, authors, artists, musicians, and the illusion of relationships on social media. The more time I spend on Facebook, the more entrenched I become in the fiction that exists on the screen. I believe these “friends” are truly concerned for me; they’re what relationships are in reality. Sadly, these seem to be the only things keeping me hanging on, but the thread threatens to break daily, frayed from top to bottom. The tightly woven fabric that was once my life has deteriorated beyond recognition.
That’s the crux of my juxtaposition. My life had value, it had meaning. It was everything I had ever imagined it could be. But without Sylvie, black clouds roll through my mind, hindering my ability to think, eliminating productivity, and stifling my creativity. My art is as dead as I am. But online…online I can be anything I want to be, whatever version of myself I decide to show to the world. I don’t have to be the pathetic artist who lost his muse. I don’t have to be the sweet, sensitive man Sylvie loved. I don’t know whom I want to reinvent myself as, but the idea of being whatever still exists in my soul doesn’t appeal to me. My craft has become recreating my persona, anything to escape the pain, the desolation, and the solitude. Surely there’s art in recreating an identity.
Most days, I find it difficult to even get out of bed. The colder it gets outside, the shorter the days are, the deeper I sink—sometimes only escaping the protection of my covers to take a piss or get something to eat or drink. Although frequently, I let those things go in favor of marinating in my misery. My laptop calls to me from my nightstand when the loneliness becomes too much to bear, the darkness too black to see through.
That recognizable blue-and-white screen brings me comfort, the newsfeed seemingly a link to real conversation, touching base with the people I’ve known for years—but it always introduces the possibility of newcomers. The “friend recommendation” is the online equivalent to a friend introducing you to someone new; at least it is in my mind. I always check out the recommendations. They’re often other painters or singers that might have known Sylvie—or people I barely recognize from high school or college. But every once in a while, some totally random person surfaces with no tie to my past.
Those are the connections I find most interesting, most appealing.
They also seem to be the safest, having no knowledge of the person I once was, or how all that remains of me is a fragmented shell. I have made several “friends” this way, people I would say I’m close to—even though we’ve never met and likely never will. Herein lies my fictional world, the one my real friends don’t understand and believe to be emotionally damaging to me. I’m not processing my grief…blah, blah, blah. If I hear that shit one more time, I may scream.
As soon as I log in, the familiar recommendations bombard me as if the universe is playing some cruel joke. There she is, my Sylvie…only her name is Sera Martin. She’s a perfect duplicate with the same striking green eyes, long chestnut-colored hair, high cheekbones, and luscious, pouty lips.
I realize I haven’t inhaled or exhaled.
I gasp and hold my breath until my lungs burn. I haven’t seen her in years. The day she died, I came home and stripped our house of any reminder—every picture, every video, every stitch of clothing, anything she loved. It all had to leave. I couldn’t bear the weight of what the world took from me. I imagined if I discarded everything, she wouldn’t haunt me, and maybe, somehow, I would manage to learn to live again if reminders of her didn’t surround me.
Yet, her loss possesses me daily.
This girl. This Sera. Could this be Mother Nature returning my Sylvie to me in a strange twist of fate? The notion there’s a doppelganger roaming the world has always been a thought I believe in. It’s possible after years of suffering, dying inside, barely hanging on, that my savior has come. Without hesitation, I click “add friend.”
I've lived all over the country but have made Greenville, South Carolina my home for the last 20 of my 37 years. I have a serious addiction to anything Coach and would live on Starbucks if I could get away with it. If you follow me on Facebook you'll also find that I'm slightly enamored with Charlie Hunnam. I'm an avid reader (literary whore to be more precise) averaging around 300 novels a year. I have a penchant for great love stories, sensual poetry and am a romantic at heart.

I currently work full-time in the Greenville area and fill my "extra" time with writing contemporary romance novels with a hint of erotica. I couldn't do it without the support of my family and friends who push me to keep going when I don't have the confidence or patience.
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