Peyton’s Ride by Jennifer James Info
Peyton's Ride Blurb
She's about to trade her treasured motorcycle in on a much wilder ride--Ian Coghlan.
Divorcee Peyton Reynolds is ready to escape the the judgement of a small town, bad memories of her failed marriage, and the grief of her mother's death. A month long, cross-country ride should do just the trick. One last check-up on her new cruiser has her tripping over her hormones while alone in the garage with the town's sexy bad boy, Ian Coghlan.
Tattooed, pierced, and able to shape-shift, Ian will give her the ride of her life.
Ian Coghlan knows he's nothing but disaster for a woman like Peyton. His place in the Wild Hunt and killer instincts have held him back from acting on a five-year attraction. When the curvy brunette responds to one tiny grin with a spark of interest, sockets fly out of the toolboxes and Peyton is knocked to the floor.
That month of solitude she wanted just disappeared, but the consolation prize is looking pretty...damn...hot.
With the magic of the Hunt in the air, Pixie pranks abound, and his old biker gang roars into the parking lot, dousing the heat in the garage with the cold dredges of mayhem. Peyton's life is on the line with his bad brothers' return to his world, and Ian has to decide if he can let her go or if he's willing risk her eternal hatred by changing her life forever.
Peyton’s Ride Links
Others--links to come once ebook is live on release date 2/28
Peyton's Ride Excerpt 1 (funny/non explicit)
Ian crouched near the rear tire, bent over, and examined the tread. The move put his ass in the air, and man oh man did he fill out those jeans. She gulped, glad he hadn’t caught her ogling him, and moved her attention to a safer location. A large frown line bisected his forehead as he used his thumbs to pick at the rubber. The bright colors in his tattoos rippled and moved as his muscles flexed under the skin.
Damn, who knew a forearm could be so . . . enticing? Muscles, skin, and tendons rippled around and her mouth watered. Was she turning into a cannibal? Maybe this was the beginning of menopause, and she was developing a case of pica. Pretty soon she’d have an undeniable urge to stuff rocks and bits of glue picked off craft projects in her mouth.
A furious desire to trace the ink lines with her fingertips and tongue took root and refused to be banished. The designs had snippets of words interspersed with tribal art, Celtic knot work, leaves, vines, and even animals. The tats sat on him well. Maybe it was his aura, the masculinity he exuded, all self-confidence and quiet watchfulness.
She needed to stop staring before he caught her drooling. Even if she wanted to peel his shirt up and inspect his torso for more ink. Man, the first time she’d seen him five years ago when she’d first come in the dealership looking at the bikes, she’d almost knocked over an entire row of brand new, gleaming, thirty thousand dollar machines. Walked in, saw him, and bashed right into a black cruiser. The levels of her bad-assery knew no bounds.
Peyton’s Ride Excerpt 2 (X Rated)
“Yes. I’m sorry Peyton. But I want you to live.” He hauled her up tighter to him and cradled the back of her head in his hand. “I hope you forgive me.”
Tight bands of steel wrapped her chest, and she fought to gain a breath.
The soft, sensuous glide of a tongue inserted between her lips, and coaxed her into a response. He plunged deeper and bit her mouth. The crest of a wave broke open in her, and the sensations she’d experienced before when he’d changed shapes from horse to man
centered in her being.
She clenched his hair in her hands and managed a deeper breath. Icy cold and wild, his scent permeated her nostrils and flowed into her lungs. The throb of his erection ground into her abdomen.
Her clit pulsed, and wetness slicked her pussy as urgent need overtook her. Never had she felt this kind of sexual craving. It burned and soothed, claimed common sense and destroyed it on fires of passion. A whimper tore from her throat, and she went limp.
“Figures…” Of course she’d finally get the guy naked, right before she passed out and was half dead. She was a total failure at cougar-ing.
About the Author--Jennifer James
For a girl whose first book was called “The Scariest Forest Ever,” the jump to romance may seem to be a far one. But a love of happy endings and the stories she kept making up in her head for strangers on the street lead to an unhealthy amount of time spent behind the keyboard typing away and giggling mischievously over sassy heroines,
sexy heroes, and healthy sprinklings of geek humor.
With time split between a day job staring at teeth, two little girls, college courses, workaholic husband, and too many voices in her head, Jennifer still finds time to sneak off and devour all the books she can find – even if it means hiding in the closet to read them.
She insists on her jokes being dirty, drinks spiked, and tattoos placed in intriguing, muscular places you can only find when the clothes come off.
Author Links--Jennifer James
Website--- http://www.
Facebook--- https://www.facebook.com/
Twitter--- https://twitter.com/
Pinterest--http://www.
The Reaper and the Cop by Mina Carter
The Reaper--Blurb
Death’s big business. For Laney Larson, it’s a full time job.
The latest in a long line of Reapers, Laney hits Liberty, Oakwood expecting the usual ‘reap and run’ type of job. However the small town holds far more secrets than she expects, including a sexy cop who blind-sides her reaper instincts big-time.
Liberty. It used to be a nice town until the things that go bump in the night moved in.
Detective Troy Regan moved to Liberty to claw back a little of his soul after working homicide in the big city. But the sleepy little down has problems of the paranormal kind and it’s police department have gone from calls about lost cats to Boggarts in the basement. Then the seriously nasty stuff moved in.
Sparks fly when a sexy Reaper meets a hot as hell Cop...
Troy’s not sure exactly what flavour of paranormal Laney is, but he doesn’t care. She’s tiny, delicate and gorgeous. When he finds a Lycan looming over her in an alley, all his protective instincts flare up. He needs to get her home, keep her safe…in his bed.
But is she the answer he’s been looking for to fill the empty spot in his heart, or the most dangerous creature he’s ever met?
The Reaper--Links
Others--Buy links will be emailed out as soon as book is live on release day 2/28
The Reaper--Excerpt One
Death is inevitable. For most, that means worrying about the how, and more importantly, the when. It’s an obsession the marketing industry has latched onto like a leech, and from one person to the next, ranges from the absent worry about leaving loved ones behind to narcissistic panic at leaving this mortal coil.
For some of us though, death is a job. I would say it’s a nine to five, daily grind, but it’s more of a 24/7/365 deal.
Let me introduce myself.
I’m Laney Larson, and I’m a Reaper. Yeah, you heard me right. I said Reaper. As in the big, bad dude with the robes and scythe—looks like he needed a few extra squares in his life? That guy.
Kinda.
Well, not quite.
It’s more accurate to say that I’m his great—god-knows-how–many—great grand-daughter. Hard to tell since no one has seen his Grimness since the middle ages, but every single Reaper carries a piece of him, their Grimm, within. It’s what gives us our abilities and lets us see things that others can’t. Without a Grimm, a Reaper is a standard human with an interesting family tree. Nothing more, nothing less. With a Grimm? Yeah, even I don’t know everything we’re capable of.
I don’t want to think about what we can do. Not with how many of us there are.
It’s a bit like the Santa deal, but instead of presents, there are lots of souls to be reaped daily all over the world. I have no clue how the big dude in red manages it—yeah, he’s real too. And the Easter Bunny? Don’t get me started on that asshole. Reapers spread the load.
It’s like a franchise. You don’t buy into it, you're born into it. There are Reaper families everywhere, but not all of us get the call and receive a Grimm. When my grandfather died, it skipped over my mom and two older brothers to pick me.
My eldest bro had been so convinced that he’d be the one, he’d gone out and bought himself a costume. Head to toe armored bike leathers in Reaper black, with a death’s head helmet. Idiot can’t even ride a bike. He thought it looked cool though, so he was well pissed when the Grimm passed him over and picked me. You can imagine how awkward Thanksgiving was in our house that year. He’s still not talking to me ten years later. Twat.
So yeah, back to the point. I got the family Grimm—which, by the way, is a cantankerous bastard at the best of times—and I’ve been reaping souls ever since. It’s an interesting job, especially since my promotion less than a week into it.
You see, there are different types of Reaper. My grand-pop dealt with the “Naturals.” Those are the nice and easy reaps, those who die all peaceful of old age in their sleep, or in their garages, or gardens while cutting the grass. The ones who are expecting a visit from the big old GR himself so they’re not surprised to find they’re dead.
In fact, I remember Pop saying that the most exciting reap most months tended to be the old boys who snuffed it while on the job. According to Pop, trying to convince a soul that it’s not still having sex can be difficult. And icky. I don’t want to see no soul’s junk. Ever. Thank God, I’ve never had to deal with one of those.
Nope, after a couple of days on naturals, there was an opening, and I moved on to violent deaths. Gunshots, car accidents, beatings. You name it, I get to wade in and take the souls out. Some fight, but I prefer those to the victims. The pain in their auras, and the relief to see me because they know that their ordeals are over, tears at my heart. Especially the kids.
I’ve put more than a few email requests into head office to be the Reaper who takes their abusers down. Reaping is painless for the reapee. Is that even a word? Huh, I made one up. Go me.
Where was I, oh yeah, we train long and hard to make sure the souls don’t suffer. But since Reapers don’t go to heaven or hell, we’re out of that loop. There’s nothing to stop me from holding up somewhere quiet and taking a couple of days to strip a soul from its body. And believe me, given the right situation, I can be real inventive.
The Reaper Excerpt Two
I turned my attention back to the room, and the other new occupant. My mood picked up. Another cop, but not a Comfortable. Oh no, the owner of the nice shiny silver, almost-ready-to-reap lifeline, was a Young and Driven type. Booyah. Lucked out on the first night. I resisted the urge to fist pump, and took a closer look.
The typical, tall, dark, and handsome, he wasn’t as young as some—around mid-thirties—but boy was he driven. Energy surrounded him like a force-field, his movements animated as he slid into place opposite a Comfortable and started talking. God, I hoped the other guy wasn’t his partner. They’d drive each other nuts within a month.
He turned a little, still talking, and scanned the bar. It was automatic behavior, and with the seat he’d chosen, facing the rest of the bar with his back to a wall, told me that he had to have seen action somewhere with a higher crime-rate. The sort of place where you checked out the entrance and exits and kept a hand on your weapon just in case.
His gaze skittered over me as I expected, but allowed me to get a good look at his face.
Heeeelllo, handsome. Yeah, he was the type I went for. Clear blue eyes, dark hair, and a lean, hard-muscled body no amount of clothing disguised all the way. The shirt clung to a set of broad shoulders, hinted at a wide chest, and tapered into slim hips. Couldn’t see the legs from where I was, but if they matched the rest of the package, I was sold.
He looked at me, gaze direct and unconfused, and I tried to breathe whiskey—I don’t recommend that by the way. The bastard stuff burns the inside of your nose better than paint-stripper. Shit. I was half in the shade, so he shouldn’t be able to see me. Not see me and keep his gaze on me that long. Blue eyes swept me from head to toe, taking in the form fitting bike leathers and heavy boots.
Unlike my brother, I can ride, but I never bothered with the death’s head helmet. Or any. Not like I’m worried about getting knocked off and killed. Reapers are hard to kill, like really hard to kill. Until the big man decides your ticket is ready, you ain’t leaving this mortal coil.
There are legends of Reapers who had tried to kill themselves. They all failed. Even standing in front of a speeding train doesn’t do it, although the guy in question was out of action for a couple of months as all his limbs grew back. I shivered at the thought. I’m not into that level of pain
I managed to stop coughing and shot him another look. He winked at me. Honest to goodness winked.
Shit.
Throwing some bills onto the bar, I grabbed my pack and beat a hasty retreat out the door.
Following the cops to get to the bodies was one thing. Following cops who could see me, and the methods I used to strip the souls from their bodies, was different. The fact that I had zero makeup on and my hair was a mess was absolutely coincidental.
Honest.
About the Author--Mina Carter
Mina was born and raised in the East Farthing of Middle Earth (otherwise known as the Midlands, England) and spend her childhood learning all the sorts of things generally required of a professional adventurer. Able to ride, box, shoot, make and read maps, make chainmail and use a broadsword (with varying degrees of efficiency) she was disgusted to find that adventuring is not considered a suitable occupation these days.
So, instead of slaying dragons and hunting vampires and the like, Mina spends her days writing about hot shifters, government conspiracies and vampire lords with more than their fair share of RAWR. Turns out wanna-be adventurers have quite the turn of imagination after all...
(But she keeps that sword sharp, just in case the writing career is just a dream and she really *is* an adventurer.)
The boring part: A full time author and cover artist, Mina can usually be found hunched over a keyboard or graphics tablet, frantically trying to get the images and words in her head out and onto the screen before they drive her mad. She's addicted to coffee and would like to be addicted to chocolate, but unfortunately chocolate dislikes her.
Author Links--Mina Carter
Website--- http://mina-carter.com/
Facebook--- http://facebook.com/mina.
Twitter-- http://twitter.com/minacarter
Giveaway
Giveaway is for an ecopy of Peyton’s Ride and an ecopy of The Reaper and the Cop. It’s open international.
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