Friday, June 15, 2018

BLOG TOUR & REVIEW - A Wish for Us by Tillie Cole

































From the author who brought you A Thousand Boy Kisses comes the new emotional novel, A Wish For Us.
A story of music. A story of healing. A story of love conquering all.






Nineteen-year-old Cromwell Dean is the rising star of electronic dance music. Thousands of people adore him. But no one knows him. No one sees the color of his heart.

Until the girl in the purple dress. She sees through the walls he has built to the empty darkness within.

When Cromwell leaves behind the gray skies of England to study music in the South Carolina heat, the last thing he expects is to see her again. And he certainly doesn’t expect that she’ll stay in his head like a song on repeat.

Bonnie Farraday lives for music. She lets every note into her heart, and she doesn’t understand how someone as talented as Cromwell can avoid doing the same. He’s hiding from his past, and she knows it. She tries to stay away from him, but something keeps calling her back.

Bonnie is the burst of color in Cromwell’s darkness. He’s the beat that makes her heart skip.

But when a shadow falls over Bonnie, it’s up to Cromwell to be her light, in the only way he knows how. He must help her find the lost song in her fragile heart. He must keep her strong with a symphony only he can compose.

A symphony of hope.
A symphony of love.
A symphony of them.

I let the rush of nicotine fill my lungs and closed my eyes. As my eyelids shut, I heard quiet music playing somewhere nearby. Classical. Mozart. My drunken mind immediately drifted off to when I was a little kid . . . “What do you hear, Cromwell?” my father asked. I closed my eyes and listened to the piece of music. Colors danced before my eyes. “Piano. Violins. Cellos . . .” I took a deep breath. “I can hear reds and greens and pinks.” I opened my eyes and looked up at my father as he sat on my bed. He was staring down at me. There was a funny expression on his face. “You hear colors?” he said. But he didn’t sound surprised. My face set on fire. I ducked my head under my duvet. My father pulled it down from my eyes. He stroked my hair. “That’s good,” he said, his voice kind of deep. “That’s very good . . .” My eyes snapped open. My hand started to ache. I looked at the bottle in my hand; my fingers were white as they gripped the neck. I sat up, my head spinning from the mass of whiskey in my body. My temples throbbed. I realized it wasn’t from the Jack, but from the music coming from further down the beach. I pushed my hair back from my face then looked to my right. Someone was only a few feet away. I squinted into the lightening night, summer’s early rising sun making it possible to make out the features of whoever the hell it was. It was a girl. A girl wrapped in a blanket. Her phone sat beside her, a Mozart piano concerto drifting quietly from the speaker. She must have felt me looking at her, because she turned her head. I frowned, wondering why I knew her face, but then—“You’re the DJ,” she said. Recognition dawned. It was the girl in the purple dress. She clutched her blanket closer around her as I replayed her accent in my head. American. Bible Belt was my guess, by her thick twang. She sounded like my mum. A smile tugged at her lips as I stayed mute. I wasn’t much of a talker. Especially when my gut was full of Jack and I had zero interest in making small talk with some girl I didn’t know at four in the morning on a cold beach in Brighton. “I’d heard of you,” she said. I stared back out over the sea. Ships sailed in the distance, their lights like tiny fireflies, bobbing up and down. I huffed a humorless laugh. Great. Another girl who wanted to screw the DJ. “Good for you,” I muttered and took a drink of my Jack, feeling the addictive burn slide down my throat. I hoped she’d piss off, or at least stop trying to talk to me. My head couldn’t take any more noise. “Not really,” she shot back. I looked over at her, eyebrows pulled down in confusion. She was looking out over the sea, her chin resting on her folded arms that lay over her bent knees. The blanket had fallen off her shoulders, revealing the purple dress I’d noticed from the podium. She turned to face me, cheek now on her arms. Heat zipped through me. She was pretty. “I’ve heard of you, Cromwell Dean.” She shrugged. “Decided to get a ticket to see you before I left for home tomorrow.” I lit up another cigarette. Her nose wrinkled. She clearly didn’t like the smell. Tough luck. She could move. Last time I checked, England was a free country. She went quiet. I caught her looking at me. Her brown eyes were narrowed, like she was scrutinizing me. Reading something in me that I didn’t want anyone to see. No one ever looked at me closely. I never gave them the chance. I thrived on the podium at clubs because it kept everyone far away, down on the dancefloor where no one ever saw the real me. The way she was looking at me now made nervous shivers break out over my skin. I didn’t need this kind of crap. “Already had my dick sucked tonight, love. Not looking for a second round.” She blinked, and even in the rising sun, I could see her cheeks redden. “Your music has no soul,” she blurted. My cigarette paused halfway to my mouth. Something managed to stab through my stomach at her words. I shoved it back down until I felt my usual sensation of numbness. I sucked on my cigarette. “Yeah? Well, them’s the breaks.” “I’d heard you were some messiah or something on that podium. But all your music comprised was synthetic beats and forced repetitive bursts of unoriginal tempo.” I laughed and shook my head. The girl met my eyes head-on. “It’s called electronic dance music. Not a fifty-piece orchestra.” I held out my arms. “You’ve heard of me. Said so yourself. You know what tunes I spin. What were you expecting? Mozart?” I glared at her phone, which was still playing that damn concerto. I sat back, surprised at myself. I hadn’t talked that much to anyone in . . . I didn’t know how long. I took in a drag, breathing out the smoke that was trapped in my chest. “And turn that thing off, will you? Who the hell goes to hear a dance DJ spin, then comes to a beach to listen to classical music?” The girl frowned but turned off the music. I lay back on the cold sand, closing my eyes. I heard the soft waves lapping the shore. My head filled with pale green. I heard the girl moving. I prayed she was leaving. But I felt her drop beside me. My world darkened as the whiskey and the usual lack of sleep started to pull me under. “What do you feel when you mix your music?” she asked. How the hell she thought her little interview was a good idea right now was beyond me. Yet, surprisingly, I found myself answering her question. “I don’t feel.” I cracked one eye open when she didn’t say anything. She was looking down at me. She had the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen. Dark hair pulled off her face in a ponytail. Full lips and smooth skin. “Then that’s the problem.” She smiled, but the smile looked nothing but sad. Pitying. “The best music must be felt. By the creator. By the listener. Every part of it from creation to ear must be wrapped in nothing but feelings.” Some weird expression crossed over her face, but hell if I knew what it meant. Her words were a blade to my chest. I hadn’t expected her harsh comment. And I hadn’t expected the blunt trauma that she seemed to deliver right to my heart. Like she’d taken a butcher’s knife and sliced her way through my soul. My body itched to get up and run. To pluck out her assessment of my music from my memory. But instead I forced a laugh, and spat, “Go back home, little Dorothy. Back to where music means something. Where it’s felt.” “Dorothy was from Kansas.” She glanced away. “I’m not.” “Then go back to wherever the hell you’re from,” I snapped. Crossing my arms over my chest, I hunkered down into the sand and shut my eyes, trying to block out the cold wind that was picking up and slapping my skin, and her words that were still stabbing at my heart. I never let anything get to me like this. Not anymore. I just needed some sleep. I didn’t want to go back to my mum’s house here in Brighton, and my flat in London was too far away. So hopefully the cops wouldn’t find me here and kick me off the beach. With my eyes closed, I said, “Thanks for the midnight critique, but as the fastest-rising DJ in Europe, with the best clubs in the world begging for me to spin at their decks—all at nineteen—I think I’ll ignore your extensive notes and just keep on living my sweet as fuck life.”


ANGIE'S 5 STAR REVIEW


Wow what an emotional story. Cromwell Dean is a famous "deejay." He mixes electronic music and he's darn good at it. But his first love was classical music. He was a child prodigy. He could see music. He could play any instrument. But after his dad died in Afghanistan he lost the passion. 


Bonnie Farraday has plenty of passion. Music is life. And she's worked hard for her talent. So she's a bit disappointed when she meets Cromwell Dean, the musician she's admired her whole life, and sees how he's squandering his ability.

The characters have so much depth. My heart broke for them. Their romance is a slow burn. My recommendation is to read this when you're home alone so you can cry in peace. Loved it.
















Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.

After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.

Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.

Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.

When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.


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Maverick ~ Lilly Atlas ~~ Cover Reveal

Title: Maverick
Series: Hell's Handlers MC
Author: Lilly Atlas
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: August 14, 2018
Stephanie Little firmly believes the world exists in two states: right and wrong. Good and evil. Unlawful and law-abiding. She chose her side the moment she joined the FBI and pledged to rid the world of as many criminals as possible. Maverick is everything Stephanie isn’t: inked, pierced, flirty, masculine as sin, but most of all, an outlaw biker. When corruption in Stephanie’s crime-fighting world lands her in the clutches of a dangerous gangster, Maverick is there to keep her sane and battle for her protection. With Stephanie’s neat existence so turned around she can no longer distinguish the good from the evil, she finds herself thrust into a world so gray she can’t see three feet in front of her face. To survive the confusion, she turns to the only person who keeps her grounded: the sexy outlaw who melts her heart and weakens her knees. But law enforcement and criminals can never mix. Not in the way her body and heart are begging for. At some point, someone is going to learn her secret, and when that happens her fierce protector could become her greatest enemy.

The world existed in two states: right and wrong.
At least that’s how Stephanie Little had always seen it.
A clear, divisive line separating saints and sinners kept life manageable.
Good and evil.
Truth and lies.
Rule followers and rule breakers.
Criminals and law-abiding citizens.
All the murky gray areas and half-truths were just excuses and loopholes for people who weren’t willing to make the right choices.
After careful consideration, Stephanie always made the right choice or at least she tried to. And if she didn’t, she owned it and faced the consequences of her actions.
The split between right and wrong was what drew her to law enforcement straight out of high-school. Well, that and the fact that she grew up with the police chief for a father.
Born and raised in Pittsburg, she’d hardcore hero worshiped her father through her childhood. He’d received countless commendations for his life-saving work reducing the murder and crime rates in their city.
Stephanie had wanted that. Craved the opportunity to leave that kind of mark on the world. Rid the planet of some darkness and inject good back for those who deserved it. Those who followed the rules and lived in the light.
So, at twenty-one, with a shiny new criminal justice degree, she’d joined the police academy. Dreams of confiscating drugs, saving kidnapped children, and locking up murders powered her to the top of her class.
On the eve of graduation, her father showed up at the apartment she shared with another female cadet. In a matter of twenty minutes, he’d shattered Stephanie’s perfectly compartmentalized world.
“Steppy,” he’d said in the way her younger brother used to say her name. Jake had trouble with the F sound until he was four, but by then the name stuck and she’d been Steppy to her family from then on. “I know you’re excited to graduate and eager to dive into your first position with the PPD, but I need to tell you something important.”
She’d frowned and leaned her head on her father’s broad shoulder. “What’s that, Dad?”
“The world doesn’t always work the way you think it does, Step. You see black and you see white. Well, honey, in the real world, those colors don’t even exist. It’s all a grayscale. You need to know that, really know it, in order to survive the life you chose for yourself. There may be things you’re called on to do that don’t fit neatly into the boxes you’ve created.”
That conversation was the beginning of the end of her relationship with her father. She’d smiled, nodded, and told him what he wanted to hear, but rolled her eyes the moment he left. He was older, nearing retirement, out of touch with the way the world worked.
Such youthful arrogance and ignorance.
But Stephanie managed to hold on to her ideals through her first year on the force. Even when her father lost his position in a shameful bribery scandal that earned him fifteen years in prison, she hadn’t budged.
He’d done the crime, he deserved the time.
Then, somehow, she made it through two years working for the FBI before her perfectly divided world was smashed to bits. And it wasn’t smashed with a sledgehammer either. No, a damn wrecking ball in the form on an undercover assignment crashed through the glass house she lived in, launching millions of sharp shards at her delicate skin.
And it hurt.
God, did it hurt.
“One more chance, bitch. What the fuck are you doin’ here?” some dead-eyed brute asked her about five seconds after his fist connected with her face.
For the second time.
The second punch disoriented her for a second. Long enough to lose her sense of upright and meet the ground.
On all fours, with palms and knees throbbing from the bits of gravel and dirt embedded in the skin, Stephanie spit out blood that had pooled in her mouth from the split lip. “Hiking,” she said, the sound a bit muffled from her swollen lip. “Got lost.”
And…damn…who knew talking with a split lip would hurt so damn much. Tears pooled in her eyes, but she’d rather die than let one of those suckers slip free. She wasn’t the toughest of chicks out there…physically at least. A few arrests during her time as a beat cop had resulted in physical altercations with bumps and bruising. She’d always put on a tough mask in front of her fellow cops but bawled like a baby in the privacy of her own home.
Dead-eyes threw back his head and laughed before looking at his buddy, a guy so overweight, Stephanie was pretty sure she could outrun him even if they broke both her legs. “You believe this bitch, Top?” he asked the larger man.
Top grunted and shook his head, his many chins wobbling like Jello. “Fuck no. No reason for a bitch to be hiking out here, Shark. Ain’t even any fuckin’ trails.”
Like he would know?
Stephanie bit back the smart-assed remark on the tip of her tongue. Silence was her best bet. Plus, this little gangbanger pow-wow gave her a second to reorient and breath through the pain.
“What about you, King? You believe her?” The man called Shark asked the man on his right and Stephanie held her breath.
This was it. Her way out. Sure, there’d be hell to pay later for the rookie-level mistake of getting busted snooping in the woods outside their compound, but she’d take an ass chewing form her boos over being beat to shit or worse by pissed off gang members.
All her partner, Eric, or King to these pieces of shit had to say was that he believed her. Saw her tromping around like an idiot. Spotted her looking lost and stupid in the woods. He could volunteer to drop her somewhere and scare the piss out of her so she wouldn’t talk.
Shark and the Top dude were scary as fuck and she wanted gone in the worst way.
“No I don’t fuckin’ believe this, bitch,” King said, lifting his military grade rifle and stomping forward until the weapon was pressed dead center against her forehead. “I say we just waste her now. Bury her and get back to those bitches we left naked and needy.”
What. The. Fuck.
Stephanie had never worked so hard in her life as she did to keep the shock off her face and the vile words in her mouth.
Calm down.
King wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be. Her partner was a veteran FBI agent for crying out loud. There had to be a plan to get her out bouncing around in his head.
That knowledge helped her relax despite the fact one twitch of King’s finger would splatter her brains all over the Tennessee woods.
“Nah,” Shark said. “Where’s the fun in that? Let’s take her with us. A few hours hanging with the boys and she’ll be ready to talk.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She stared hard into King’s eyes trying to send him a mental message. This was as bad for him as it was for her. They’d torture her for information and she’d crack.
Everyone cracked.
Especially if they had zilch training in enduring torture.
“Who gives a fuck why she’s here? Let me kill her and be fuckin done with it.”
Stephanie was in serious danger of puking all over the forest floor. As she stared at her partner of two years, the partner who taught her everything she knew about working for the FBI, the partner who teased her endlessly for her opinions on the black and white nature of the world, his lips quirked.
And she knew.
There were no fucking shades of gray.
She’d been right all along.
Only black. Only white.
And King had officially been swallowed by the darkness.
He’d always told her working undercover would change her view of the world. That undercover agents often had to live the life of a criminal and learn to deal with living in the shadows for the sake of doing good. But this wasn’t a case of doing what he had to maintain cover. This was a monster who wore human skin for a time and managed to fool even the most skeptical.
“What the fuck did I say, King?” Shark asked. “I want her at the compound. You can kill her eventually, but it’s been a shit week. The boys need some fun first.”
Stephanie swallowed. Boys? Fun?
There weren’t too many ways to interpret that.
The gun fell away from her head and she sat back on her heels.
Why? What was so appealing about this lifestyle that a decorated FBI agent would do a one-eighty and betray everything he once stood for.
Money?
Frustration with the system?
Sticking it to the man?
It seemed too dramatic to be making a point.
The ultimate hissy fit.
“Let’s roll,” Shark said, turning on his heel and strolling toward the building she could see through the trees in the distance.
The fat one leered at her for a second more before waddling after his master like an overfed but well-trained dog.
Somewhat alone with her partner, Stephanie rose to her feet. Whatever was about to happen, it would happen while she was on her knees in front of him. He’d have to look her full in the eye. For one second, she had the insane urge to call out to Shark. To yell as loud as she could and let the scumbag know his precious King was an undercover FBI agent.
It wouldn’t matter if he pledged his loyalty to Shark forever. He’d be killed. That’s how it worked with gangs.
Nothing less than he deserved at that moment.
But she didn’t give into that urge. Because it would be wrong.
And she always chose right.
“Why?” she whispered when Shark was out of earshot.
King grunted and shook his head. “So fucking naïve, Stephanie. You always have been. It’s all gray out here.”
No. She refused to believe it. This situation was clearly not on any gray spectrum. King was evil. Plain and simple.
“No, Eric, I’m not naïve. But you sure are a fucking traitor.”
“You’ll never get it. And you’ll never survive this world. Wake the fuck up,” King said as he thrust his right arm forward and rammed the butt of his rifle into her head.
His murderous expression was the last thing she saw before her vision blacked.
Lilly Atlas is a contemporary romance author, proud Navy wife, and mother of two spunky girls. By day she works as a physical therapist for a hospital in Virginia. Lilly is an avid romance reader, and expects her Kindle to beg for mercy every time she downloads a new eBook. Thankfully, it hasn’t happened yet, and she can often be found absorbed in a good book.
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Thursday, June 14, 2018

COVER REVEAL - BEAUTIFUL HEARTS DUET by Emma Scott




  


  BRING DOWN THE STARS - Release Day - JULY 26th I fell for Connor Drake. I didn’t want to; I fought against it, but I fell in love with him anyway. With his words. With his poetry. With him. The gentleness and beauty of his soul that speaks directly to mine. He writes as if he can feel my heart, hear its cadence and compose the exact right lyrics to accompany every beat and flow. I’m in love with Connor…so why do I feel an inexplicable pull to his best friend, Weston? Grouchy, sullen, brooding Weston Turner, who could cut you down with a look. Fiercely intelligent with a razor sharp wit and acid tongue, he’s the exact opposite of Connor in every way, and yet there’s electricity in the air between us. The thorny barbs Weston wraps around himself can’t keep me away. But the more time I spend with these men, the more tangled and confused my emotions become. When they both sign up for the Army Reserves during a time of increasing strife in the Middle East, I fear I’ll never unravel my own heart that sometimes feels as if it will tear straight down the middle…for both of them. ********** Bring Down the Stars is an emotional, angst-filled novel of unrequited love by bestselling author, Emma Scott, and is inspired by the classic tale, Cyrano de Bergerac. (Roxanne) It is Book I in the Beautiful Hearts Duet, coming this summer. Book II, Long Live the Beautiful Hearts, to be released a few weeks later. #lovetriangle #confusedhearts #notamenage    

SIGN-UP TO GET AN ALERT WHEN THE BOOK IS LIVE ON AMAZON

   
LONG LIVE THE BEAUTIFUL HEARTS - Release Day - AUGUST 9th BLURB TO COME

                    Emma Scott is a bestselling author of emotional, character-driven romances in which art and love intertwine to heal, and in which love always wins. If you enjoy thoughtful, realistic stories with diverse characters and kind-hearted heroes, you will enjoy my novels. NEWSLETTER | FACEBOOK | WEBSITE | TWITTER | INSTAGRAM | FACEBOOK READER GROUP | AMAZON PAGE

Monday, June 11, 2018

RELEASE BLITZ - A WISH FOR US by Tillie Cole
































































From the author who brought you A Thousand Boy Kisses comes the new emotional novel, A Wish For Us.
A story of music. A story of healing. A story of love conquering all.




Nineteen-year-old Cromwell Dean is the rising star of electronic dance music. Thousands of people adore him. But no one knows him. No one sees the color of his heart.

Until the girl in the purple dress. She sees through the walls he has built to the empty darkness within.

When Cromwell leaves behind the gray skies of England to study music in the South Carolina heat, the last thing he expects is to see her again. And he certainly doesn’t expect that she’ll stay in his head like a song on repeat.

Bonnie Farraday lives for music. She lets every note into her heart, and she doesn’t understand how someone as talented as Cromwell can avoid doing the same. He’s hiding from his past, and she knows it. She tries to stay away from him, but something keeps calling her back.

Bonnie is the burst of color in Cromwell’s darkness. He’s the beat that makes her heart skip.

But when a shadow falls over Bonnie, it’s up to Cromwell to be her light, in the only way he knows how. He must help her find the lost song in her fragile heart. He must keep her strong with a symphony only he can compose.

A symphony of hope.
A symphony of love.
A symphony of them.


































Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.

After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.

Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.

Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.

When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.


Author Links