COVER REVEAL With CHAPTER ONE!!! Grand Slam: The Boys of Summer by Heidi McLaughlin

Grand Slam:  The Boys of Summer

by Heidi McLaughlin releases on May 23rd!

Pre-order Available NOW!

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Synopsis:

Coming... May, 2017

The third novel in New York Times bestselling author Heidi McLaughlin's Boys of Summer baseball series.

A beast at the plate, Travis Kidd is a superstar for the Boston Renegades. But when baseball isn't occupying his time, Travis - named Boston's Most Eligible Bachelor - is known as a ladies' man.

Saylor Blackwell knows sports. As a public relations specialists, her focus is on the athletes. The hours are long, the job stressful, and she's prohibited from dating any of the overly friendly athletes, but the result is what matters - she's financially able to care for her daughter.

When a drunken night spent with Travis threatens that, Saylor knows she's made a mistake. Unfortunately, when he's accused of a horrible crime, it causes a PR nightmare and forces Saylor to come to his rescue. But when Saylor's ex comes back demanding custody, it might up to Travis to save her right back...

***

GRAND SLAM

The Boys of Summer

© Heidi McLaughlin, 2016

Chapter 1 – Travis

    The one I’m eyeing for the night bends at her waist and lines her pool stick up with the cue ball. She slowly pulls the wooden rod through her fingers, until the felt top finally connects. The hard white plastic ball rolls toward her target, hitting it perfectly and stalling as the blue-striped ball rolls into the pocket. I let out a massive sigh and lean on my stick, waiting my turn. I should’ve known better when she approached me, asking if I wanted to play a game or two of billiards with her. I know better than to let a good-looking woman hustle me out of money but I wasn’t thinking with my right head. I never am, and once again I’m getting my balls get busted, no pun intended, by a pool shark.

    “Sweetheart, are you going to let me play? My balls are getting lonely.” If she thinks I’m crude, she doesn’t say anything. In fact, she looks at me from over her shoulder and winks before shimmying her ass toward my crotch. My internal groan is epic. I’ve been watching her bend, lick her lips, show me her ample cleavage, and shake her ass for almost an hour. Not to mention, she brushes against me each time she passes me. And the touching isn’t subtle. I can read her loud and clear, all the way from her tight as-sin jeans to her plunging neckline.

“I can’t help it if you suck.”

“Do you?” I ask, stepping in behind her. My crotch is lined up perfectly with her ass, earning me another hair-tossing look over her shoulder.

She stands and turns to face me, resting her ass on the edge of the table. “What do you have in mind?” Her finger trails down the front of my shirt until she reaches the buckle of my belt. The tug is slight, but definitely felt. Message received loud and clear.

“What’s your name?”

“Are names important?”

“Of course. When I demand that you come for me, I need to know what to call you.”

“Demand?” she questions.

“I’m greedy like that,” I tell her, placing my cue stick against the table as I step closer to her. I lean in and try to get a whiff of her perfume, but a mix between the stale air from the bar and the beer on her breath makes it hard to tell what she’s wearing. I do love a woman who takes the time to dabble the perfect scent on her skin though.  

“Blue.”

“My balls aren’t blue, darling, and haven’t been in years.”

“No, my name is Blue.”

“That’s a very unique name,” I say as my hand rests on her hip.

“What can I say? I’m a unique woman, Travis.”

Ah, she knows my name. That’s usually how things go for me. Rarely am I given the opportunity to introduce myself. Everyone knows who I am, and while I enjoy the fruits of my labor, sometimes anonymity would be nice. One day, I’d like to talk to a woman who doesn’t know that I’m Travis Kidd, right fielder for the Boston Renegades and one of the town’s most eligible bachelors. “You know who I am?”

“Doesn’t everyone? I’m a Boston girl; I know my Renegades.”

I nod and reach for my beer. It’s the off-season, and technically I shouldn’t be here. I usually head south for the winter but opted to stay home this time. After a long season, one that saw my former managers die and one of my closest friends on the team become a dad to twins, I thought I’d stay around and see what the winter had to offer. Aside from the cold, I haven’t found much, except Bruins hockey and Celtics basketball. Those games have been the highlight of my time off.

The pickings for women have been slim. Without trying to bag on the female population, it’s evident that they’re seasonal as well. Right now, the puck bunnies, gridiron groupies, and court whores are in full effect, and the cleat chasers are resting like the rest of the baseball world. Maybe I should’ve been a dual-sport athlete. This way I would’ve had the best of both worlds.

“Travis?”

“What?” I ask, mentally shaking the cobwebs out.

“Where’d you go? It’s your turn?” Blue nods toward the table, and I look over her shoulder to see the cue ball sitting there.

“Why don’t you help me?” I know how to play the game of pool, but since she seems to be a pro, why shouldn’t she show me? I would’ve happily slid up behind her and taught her how to handle her stick but she took the fun out of it.

Instead, she’s off to my side and leaning into me, giving me a perfect sideways glance down her shirt. I smirk, ignoring everything she tells me, and watch as her mounds of flesh move each time her hand does. They’re real, that’s for sure. None of that fake silicon shit on this chick.

“And that’s how it’s done,” she says, righting herself. She continues to slightly lean over the table though, jutting her chest out for me to ogle. I cock my head to the side and wink before taking aim at the cue on the table.

My first shot goes in, and the second quickly follows. I line up the third, and that is when I see a raven-haired beauty nursing a drink at the bar.

Saylor Blackwell is off limits to anyone her agency represents. That includes me. Although I wish it didn’t. Saylor is the one I would’ve switched agents for if she told me to, but I fucked that up much I like I screw everything up. When she needed me, I wasn’t there. And I haven’t spoken to her since.

It’s my dumb luck that she’s sitting at the bar with her long, slender legs crossed, and she’s dressed like she recently got off work. Her eyes are set on the television, ignoring the gaggle of men staring at her. I remember that she was a hard nut to crack back when I wanted to know her better. I can’t imagine what she’s like now that she’s more successful.

My last shot is sunk into the corner pocket. “Eight ball, right side,” I say, nodding in the same direction I plan to send the black ball in order to finish this game. I’m in a rush now, eager to speak with Saylor. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself.

“Where ya going?” Blue calls out.

“To the bar. Rack ‘em,” I tell her. It’s not a lie. I am going to the bar but with the intention of speaking to another woman. I’m smooth though, and I can easily play it off while I order another round of drinks.

“Two please.” I put up two fingers as I motion toward the bartender. Leaning in, I know I’m blocking Saylor’s view of the television, which is all in my game plan.

“Hey Saylor.”

“Travis,” she says coldly. We have a history. A small one, but it’s there. I often remember the night we spent together and the regret that was on her face when we were done. I had never been kicked out of an apartment before that night. Usually, once I’m satisfied, I leave. With Saylor, everything was backwards. It’s like she used me to scratch an itch, and once I took care of that, she didn’t need me anymore. “What brings you in?”

She looks everywhere but at me. “I’m meeting a client.”

“And nursing your what?” I take her drink from her hand and sniff. “Scotch? When did you start drinking the hard shit?”

That gets her to look at me.  Her glare is deadly as her blue eyes penetrate into mine. “As if you know anything about me.”

“I know enough.”

“You don’t know shit, Travis Kidd. Go back to your booty call. She’s looking at me like she’s ready for a cat fight, and I assure you, you’re not worth fighting for.”

Saylor turns, giving me the cold shoulder. If I weren’t so stunned by her outburst, which I did not deserve, I’d tease her. But I have a feeling that there’s something bothering her, and I’m the last person she needs making shit worse.

With the bottles of beer between my fingers, I go back to the pool table where Blue is indeed throwing daggers at Saylor’s back.

“Down, kitty. She works for my agent.” I run my hand down her arm, trying to diffuse the situation. Jealous women usually turn me off, and this should be my sign to hit the road except I’m an idiot and want to stay mostly so I can watch Saylor.

Taking Blue by her hand, I lead us over to the stools, and I sit down, pulling her between my legs. My hand is planted firmly on her leg right under her butt check. It’s a risky move, especially with all the cameras around, but I don’t care right now. It’s the off-season. I’m allowed to have a little bit of fun.

“You have nothing to be jealous over,” I tell her. If anything, I’m trying to appease her.

“Okay.”

“We good? Wanna go back to kicking my ass at pool?”

She looks over at the table and nods. “You rack, and I’ll break.” Blue saunters away, giving me space to watch Saylor, who turns and makes eye contact with me. I wish I could tell what she’s thinking. Is she second-guessing her harsh words? I am. I want to go back over and offer to pick her tab. Or ask how she’s getting home. It’s late, and the roads are shit. If she’s driving, she shouldn’t be drinking. She has a kid that depends on her.

“I’m ready,” Blue says, thrusting the stick in my face. Her words catch me off-guard. Is she ready to play another game or two of pool? I hope so because I have no intention of leaving as long as Saylor is at the bar. Or is she ready for me to fuck her and never ask for her number? Because that is bound to happen as well.

I break, sending the balls off in every direction. Four drop. Two of each giving me the choice of what I want to be. Blue is yammering in my ear about the set-up and which would be the best. Her angles only work for her though, and I see that I can run the table on her if I line up correctly.

“We should’ve bet,” I tell her as I walk around the table.

“I’d hate to hustle you out of your money, Travis.”

I laugh off her comment and proceed to clear the table. She huffs when the eight ball falls into the designated pocket.

“Well would you look at that,” I say, taking a bow. Blue pushes me lightly and falls into my arms. Her lips are on mine before I can push her away, and doing so now would be embarrassing for her so I kiss her back and find myself opening my eyes to watch Saylor watch me.

As soon as I pull away, Saylor is sliding off the bar stool and heading toward the door.

“Be right back. I need some fresh air.” A true gentleman would’ve invited his lady friend outside, but that is not who I am.

“Do you need a ride home?” I ask, as soon as I see Saylor standing near the curb. “And what happened to your client?”

“He canceled.”

It didn’t strike me as odd earlier when she said she was meeting a client, but it does now. I’ve never met anyone from the agency at a bar, let alone this late at night.

“How about that ride home?”

“Travis,” she draws out my name and then drops her head into her hands. Without thinking, I pull her into my side. “Come on, Saylor. It’s a ride. Nothing else.”

“What the hell is going on? I thought you were taking me home?” Blue speaks loud enough for everyone on the block to hear.

My arm drops, and Saylor steps away from me. I turn at the sound of Blue’s voice behind me.

“I’ll be in. Give me a minute.” I smile, hoping to placate Blue but it doesn’t work.

“I see some things never change,” Saylor says as she steps off the curb and waves at a cab only to be passed by.

Shaking my head, I push my hands into my pockets for a bit of warmth. If I knew Saylor would be out here when I returned, I’d run in and grab my jacket. “It’s not like that.”

“What, do you like her or something?” The sound of Blue’s voice grates on my nerves. Saylor looks over my shoulder and rolls her eyes.

“Or something,” I say, without taking my eyes off Saylor.

As soon as a taxi pulls up to the curb, Saylor is sliding in.

I make a split second decision to get in with her, but not before Blue yells at me. “Where the fuck are you going?”

I answer her by slamming the door shut. I have Blue on the outside screaming and Saylor looking at me like she’s going to kill me. She opens the door, and I hear, “Fuck you, Travis Kidd. You’ll pay for this.” And before I realize what’s happening, Saylor is out of the car and the cab is speeding down the road.

**Also Available on Heidi’s Website here:  http://heidimclaughlin.com/grand-slam-1/**

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**Will be live at time of reveal**

About the Author

Heidi McLaughlin

Originally from the Pacific Northwest, she now lives in picturesque Vermont, with her husband and two daughters. Also renting space in their home is an over-hyper Beagle/Jack Russell, Buttercup and a Highland West/Mini Schnauzer, JiLL and her brother, Racicot.

When she isn't writing one of the many stories planned for release, you'll find her sitting court-side during either daughter's basketball games

Heidi's first novel, Forever My Girl, is currently in production to be a major motion picture.

NYT & USA Today Bestselling Author

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First Chapter Reveal: A PLAYER FOR A PRINCESS by Tia Louise!!!

We're just days away from the release of Tia Louise's A PLAYER FOR A PRINCESS on September 20th and we thought we'd celebrate with a sneak peek at A PLAYER FOR A PRINCESS. You can read the first chapter below - and find out more about how to grab THE PRINCE & THE PLAYER for just .99c for a limited time!

 

About A PLAYER FOR A PRINCESS (Available September 20th!)

From the Mediterranean to the Caribbean, the game continues…

Zelda Wilder is on the run, this time from the ruthless assassins who’ve decided she knows too much to live.

“Playboy Prince” MacCallum Lockwood Tate isn’t about to let the beautiful player who stole his heart get away—if only he could decide whether he wants to save her or strangle her for her dangerous choices.

After tracking her down to a casino in St. Croix, Cal follows Zee back to Tortola where he intends to keep her safe. One problem: Zelda’s criminal liaisons are two steps ahead of her.

Lives are threatened, and all of the players’ skills are tested in this plot to capture a killer and save a princess.

Cinderella meets Ocean's Eleven in this CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE DUET featuring secrets, lies, royal high jinks, scams and double-crosses; breathless, swooning lust, cocky princes, dominant alpha future-kings, and crafty courtiers, who are not always what they seem.

Preorder A PRINCESS FOR A PLAYER now:

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★★★ Missed Book #1? ★★★ Pick up THE PRINCE & THE PLAYER for just .99c for a limited time!!! “Tons of laughs, sex, and suspense...THE PRINCE & THE PLAYER had me on the edge of my seat, biting my nails, and blushing like crazy!” – Shayna Renee’s Spicy Reads Let the games begin... Runaway Zelda Wilder will do whatever it takes to secure a better life for her and her sister Ava. Crown Prince Rowan Westringham Tate will do whatever it takes to preserve his small country. When Zee is blackmailed into helping a vengeful statesman take down Rowan, she never expects she'll be pulled into a web of lies and international intrigue--much less that she'll find herself falling for Cal, Rowan's "playboy" younger brother. Ava's no help, as she finds quiet walks in the moonlight discussing poetry and leadership with the brooding future king irresistible. Even more irresistible is kissing his luscious lips. They're in over their heads, and the more time passes, the more danger the sisters are in. Shots are fired, and it's soon clear even a prince might not be able to rescue these players. 

★ GET The Prince & The Player for .99c for a limited time ★

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Chapter 1: Old Habits

~ Zelda Wilder ~ My heart is beating too fast. Glancing down, I see my hands tremble, and I take a few measured breaths to try and make them stop. I’ve never been this anxious on a job, but everything has changed in the last six weeks. Looking over my shoulder has become a nonstop addiction it seems. For the first time, I’m alone with Seth, just the two of us. Unknown hit men took out our longtime partner Helen, and we don’t even know how long ago it was. The radio report simply said her body was found in a bathtub in a cheap hotel in Miami. A plastic bag was over her head. Clutching my black purse, again I look over my shoulder. Through the neon lights and arcade noises of the Divi casino in St. Croix, I see men in black blazers dotted among the gamblers. Men with curly earpieces in their ears, men with dark brows lowered over steely eyes, men sweeping the room for any signs of criminal activity. I do another quick sweep, and I realize I’m looking for Ava. Stop that, Zee. My little sister is far away from this life, and it’s because I chose to distance us. I decided her safety is more important than keeping our family together. The last time I saw her, she was wounded and pale, unconscious in a hospital bed. It tore at my heart to leave her, but at least I know she’s okay. Thanks to the Internet, I’ve been able to keep up with the “developing story” of the assassination attempt on the future king of Monagasco and the shooting of his fiancée, a.k.a., my sister. Rowan has taken Ava from the hospital to the palace, where she’s recuperating under the watchful eyes of his royal guards. With a steady exhale, I release the nerves, reminding myself it’s for the best. She’s with the man who loves her, who promised to take care of her. If a crown prince can’t do that, I don’t stand a chance. Still… it isn’t me. I’m not watching out for her. As the oldest, I’ve always had that job. I’ve taken care of us since our parents died, leaving us at the mercy of the foster system. I’ve protected her ever since that last asshole thought he’d try relieving his sexual frustrations on a little girl entrusted to his “care.” It was me who’d bashed him over the head with the lamp, grabbed her hand, and run us out of there. We’d hidden all night in the pouring rain in a concrete culvert, and I came up with a plan to keep us out of that life for good. Passing the baton to someone else—even a future king—hits me harder than I thought it would. My throat aches at her absence, my chest heavy. Stay safe, Ava-bug. Tonight is the first time I’ve ever entered a place like this without her. Ava is the only person I can count on in any situation. Every security guard in this room reminds me of how we’ve always been a team. If anything goes wrong, I grab her hand and we run, just like always. We stay alive. Only, I made the deal that changed everything. I shook hands with the devil. I could argue I didn’t have a choice. We were facing jail time, felony convictions in Florida for grand theft, and while I’d be willing to take my chances in jail, there’s no way in hell I’m letting Ava go to prison. So yeah. Agreeing to work with Reginald Winchester might make me a “bad guy,” but I’d do it again in heartbeat. A heartbeat… Squaring my shoulders, I slide a lock of jet-brown hair behind my ear and force confidence into my stride. I make my way through the glittering, noisy casino to my target—a shiny brass roulette wheel—and prepare to start the show. The last time we worked this con in Miami, Helen had been waiting at the table when I got there. I can still hear her gravelly voice and see her “May Contain Alcohol” sweatshirt. Sadness followed closely by fear ricochets through my insides. Whoever killed her is looking for me. We were on our way to Tortola to hide when Seth said we should stop in here and bank extra cash. As Americans, we don’t need passports in St. Croix, and we can catch a cheap ferry and slip away in the night to our ultimate destination. Keeping off the radar is the goal—as always. We’ll pocket a few thousand and disappear unnoticed. At least that’s the plan. “No more bets!” The dealer passes his hand over the wheel just as I arrive, and I quickly assess the table rules. Minimum ten dollar bet. Decent. Opening my clutch, I remove two hundreds and pass them to the dealer. He quickly exchanges them for twenty pale blue chips. I’ll join the fray next spin. Tonight the transmitter is hidden in my shoe as opposed to my cuff bracelet. I’m wearing a strappy black dress that stops mid-thigh, and my black heels show off my legs while hiding the device facilitating our winning streak. I have to sit with my legs crossed and point my toe to activate it. One dainty point, one shiny silver ball drops right in the tray, predictable at ninety percent accuracy. So far the odds have been in our favor. We’ll play until Seth gives me the signal they’re onto us. Then I’ll calmly cash out, walk away, and meet him at the pier on Grapetree Point. From there we’ll make the forty-mile cruise to Tortola. An elegantly dressed woman shakes her head and gives me a bitter smile as I sit. “Don’t stay longer than three spins,” she grumbles. I smile in response. “That’s the rule, isn’t it?” “That’s the rule.” Her expression tells me she lost a lot tonight. As a student of casinos, I know how steeply the odds in roulette are stacked in favor of the House—they’re the worst of any game. The longer you sit, the greater your chances of losing, times a million. If I were giving advice to a rookie, I’d say stick to blackjack. At least there you can use strategy and possibly win a little. Walking away is something I learned early on. You can never be afraid to walk away—even when you’re certain you’re lucky. Luck is the biggest liar of all. I place half my chips on the black rectangle and watch as the wheel begins to spin. The dealer snakes his hand to the side and releases the ball. It flies around the shining wood with a sharp rasp. I need to lose this round. The job doesn’t start until Seth arrives, and I can’t win for longer than a few spins or it’ll look suspicious. Another glance over my shoulder. He’s still not here. Casting my eyes down, I watch the wheel spinning, black-red, black-red, black-red, flashing brass. “Have you been here long?” A man in an elegant suit steps into the space beside me and fishes out his wallet as we wait for the ball to drop. “I just sat down,” I say without making eye contact. I’m not here to make friends. He passes a crisp one hundred dollar bill to the dealer. “Then we have no way of knowing if it’s a good table.” “Sorry,” I shake my head. “I play red or black.” “Not much of a gambler?” A glance, and I see he’s tall and thick with dark brown hair and a cocky expression like he already knows the answer to his question. “No,” I say in a discouraging tone. No, thank you. Even if I hadn’t left my heart in Monagasco, I never let romance interfere with a job. Well, almost never. “Logan Thomas.” Mr. Persistent sticks a hand at me. He waits, and I hesitate. Two first names. “Regina Lampert,” I lie only barely touching his fingers. “Regina,” he gives me a nod, but that twinkle of knowledge is in his eyes. A knot forms in my throat. I don’t like this. The ball drops on black seventeen, and a lady at the other end of the table emits a little cheer. “You won,” Logan’s voice ripples toward me. The dealer adds more chips to my pile, and I’m ready to hop up and intercept Seth. A swirl of warmth at my side tells me I’m too late. “Roo-lette!” Seth exclaims in the exaggerated southern accent he reserves for our cons. “Well, I’m as happy as a tornado in a trailer park at this turn of events!” He turns to a man at the table. “You know, I’m a student of Roolette. Only three spins and you’re out.” Tilting my head so Logan can’t see, I level my blue eyes on Seth’s green ones. As usual, he’s wearing black horn-rimmed glasses. He ignores my pointed glare, his smile as overblown as his accent. “I hope you don’t mind if I stand right here beside you, Miss—?” “Lampert,” I say, tightening my jaw. Abort, Seth. Abort! “Lampert?” He looks up behind me at the big guy getting too close. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that name before. And you are?” “Logan Thomas.” The men shake hands, and Seth shakes his head. “It’s sure nice to meet you. I tell you, I’ve met the nicest people in Saint Crow—Ah, Dealer? I need a hundred in tens.” The dealer doesn’t even look up as he exchanges Seth’s money, and as soon as the chips are distributed, my partner in crime splits his money on two corner bets. I rotate in my chair so I can cross my legs. He’s sticking to the plan, and my insides are quaking. Logan Thomas is onto us. Somehow we’ve been detected. I’ve been in this situation before, and it cost us a partner, two if you count Ava. I can only guess the man to my right is another of Wade Paxton’s thugs—or worse. Law enforcement. Perhaps Reggie made good on his promise to expose Ava and me to every casino boss this side of the Atlantic. “No more bets!” The dealer’s hand passes over the table, and the ball shoots around the spinning wheel. I sense Seth’s body tense. It’s time for me to do my part. Logan Thomas is probably waiting for this exact moment to arrest me. Five years and a felony conviction. My breath is coming in short pants. Perhaps I should let it happen. Would I be safer in prison? Seth clears his throat, and I swallow my terror. The slightest twitch of my ankle, the slightest point. The ball stutters and drops… Twenty-nine black. “WOO HOO!!!!! Well, I’ll be Johnny Mack Brown!!!” Seth explodes with excitement. “I WON! And on a corner bet to boot!” He grasps the table edge and does a little jig. I can’t breathe waiting to see what our ominous tablemate will do. Will he whip out a badge? Detain us. At least with the device in my shoe they won’t find anything in a pat down. “Congratulations,” Logan says. “That’s two and oh for me, so I’ll be saying goodnight, Miss Lampert.” He does a little nod in my direction, still with that knowing smile. I don’t make eye contact, and Seth is busy distracting the dealer. I haven’t touched my chips on black, yet again they’ve doubled in number. One more turn is all I can stay. “Now this is the hard part,” Seth says loudly, pinching his top lip between two fingers. “Should I leave them there or move them?” He glances down at me again, a twinkle in his eyes. “What do you suggest, Miss Lampert?” Shaking my head, I again feign ignorance. “I don’t know. I only play by color.” He nods looking again at the table. “You know what they say. If everything’s headed your way, you might need to change lanes.” I move my pile of chips to the red field just as the dealer starts the wheel. Final bets are going around, and Seth stares at the green felt, appearing to be deep in thought. At the very last minute, he reaches out and moves his chips to opposite ends of the grid. “No more bets!” The dealer snaps just as Seth’s hands leave the area. He straightens, still doing his very best acting job. His lip is again pinched between his fingers, and now he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I tell you, Miss Lampert, I’m as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers.” My jaw tightens. That makes two of us… I can’t shake this tension, even with Logan Thomas out of sight. For all I know he’s waiting outside the door. The ball starts to slow, and I shift on my stool, pointing my toe as I do so. In that instant, the silver ball drops quickly into the tray. Red Five. “HOLEE SHIT!!!! I can’t believe it!” Seth shouts, slapping the rubber table-guard. “I can’t believe it, I WON AGAIN!” He turns to me, and I glance up, giving him a little smile. “And look at there! So did you, Miss Lampert!” “I should probably quit while I’m ahead,” I say, rising from my chair. Warmth at my back, and a familiar voice clenches my insides. “You shouldn’t break a winning streak.” Jumping away as if I were electrocuted, I turn to face the owner of that sexy voice. Our eyes lock, and standing here, right at this table, a knowing smile curling his lips, is MacCallum Lockwood Tate, my playboy prince. The one I left behind when I ran. If I couldn’t breathe before, now I’m about to faint. “Cal!” It’s a startled whisper, my fingers tightening. His smoky hazel eyes won’t release me, and all the desire I feel is reflected back at me. At the same time, something new is in his—an edge I’ve never seen before. “I’m sorry…” His voice is slow, measured. “Have we met? You seem familiar…” Glancing down, I relax my grip on the chair. I focus on calm, stay in character. I straighten the enormous ring on my hand. It’s costume jewelry—fake yellow topaz set in fake yellow gold. How fitting, considering everything about me is fake. Still, even in this remote location, wearing this silly dark-brown wig, I feel exposed, laid bare. I can’t do this in front of him. Even if he knows what I am, I’m ashamed for him to see me doing it. Seth only pauses a hiccup before resuming the act. “He’s right, Miss Lampert. You can’t walk out when you’re winning.” I want to kill Seth. “I can’t…” I start, but it’s too late. The dealer only pauses a moment before starting the wheel again. My heart beats too fast. It shoots a pain between my shoulder blades, and I haven’t moved my chips. I haven’t moved anything. I have to sit down if I’m going to activate the switch, but if I sit, I’ll be right beside Cal. Our arms will touch. I’m not sure I can handle that. “No more bets!” The dealer’s hand passes over my stationary chips. Seth had moved his a few rows to the left, and I feel his eyes on me watching, waiting to see if I’ll choke. The wheel is slowing. I can hear the noise of the ball decelerating on its track. Cal’s hazel eyes are like heat against my skin, never moving away, not letting me escape this time. I hear his voice the last time we spoke: I love you, Zelda… My chest rises and falls quickly. I’m still standing. “It’s slowing down!” Seth’s voice is eager, but it’s directed at me. He’s trying to snap me out of it. If I blow this spin, we’ll lose everything. I’m on my own now. I left Cal behind, and even if he followed me, it changes nothing. I have to be able to take care of myself. “Slower…” Seth says again. With a blink I break Cal’s spell over me and lean down as if to adjust my ankle strap. A flick of my wrist and a curl of my toe, and the silver ball clatters into red seven. “OH!” Seth bellows. “I DON’T BELIEVE IT!!!” He slaps my shoulder, but I haven’t regained my footing. Pulling up quick, I’m slammed into Cal’s chest. My palms are flat against his jacket, and his warm breath skirts across my cheek. Strong hands grip my waist, and his warm-cedar and citrus scent floods my brain. My insides clench. Whatever made him come after me, it’s certainly over now—unless now he wants to make me pay for what I did in Monagasco, my role in his brother’s assassination attempt. I might not have known what Reggie and Wade were planning, but I helped them get into the country all the same. I lied to all of them. “Zee,” he says softly, his fingers grazing the skin of my lower back. The tiny hairs on my body rise, and my stomach flips the way it always does when Cal touches me. All the places and all the ways we’ve been together flood my mind. “I’m sorry,” I manage, pulling away. I can’t be here with him like this. It hurts so much knowing he knows everything. Everything we had, those moments with him were all stolen. It’s what I am. A thief. And now he knows. Seth grabs my upper arm, pulling me to his side. “I say, Miss Lampert, you must be my lucky charm.” The accent is still there, but ice is in his tone. The muscle in Cal’s jaw moves, and I see his anger flash at my partner in crime. “Cash me out.” I swipe my black clutch off the table, twisting from Seth’s grip. My hands shake as I collect my winnings. I don’t even bother to count them. I take the money and run. Seth will meet me at the dock like we planned. Noises are behind me, but I don’t stop. I practically sprint to the doors and out to the line of cabs. It only takes a moment for me to dive into one. “Grapetree Point,” I say, slamming the door. I fall back against the cracked vinyl seat as we speed off into the night, tears lurking in the corners of my eyes.    

About Tia Louise

The “Queen of Hot Romance,” Tia Louise is the Award-Winning, International Bestselling author of the ONE TO HOLD series. From “Readers’ Choice” nominations, to USA Today “Happily Ever After” nods, to winning the 2015 “Favorite Erotica Author” and the 2014 “Lady Boner Award” (LOL!), nothing makes her happier than communicating with fans and weaving new tales into the Alexander-Knight world of stories. A former journalist, Louise lives in the center of the USA with her lovely family and one grumpy cat. There, she dreams up stories she hopes are engaging, hot, and sexy, and that cause readers rethink common public locations...

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FATAL BEAUTY by Nazarea Andrews - CHAPTER REVEAL

 

Today we are revealing chapter 1 from FATAL BEAUTY by author Nazarea Andrews. This book will be released October 13th and it is an Adult Thriller.

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FATAL BEAUTY BOOK BLURB:

Charlotte was a good girl. Sweet and innocent, a debutante with her Daddy’s credit card and a fiancée who doted on her. She was destined for a perfect picture life in Charleston. Until everything goes wrong. EJ grew up with everything she could ever want, and bored as hell. Nothing surprises her and nothing ever changes, and she wants out—whatever it takes. Getting involved with Anthony Jacobs is probably the worst idea she’s ever had—and that makes it irresistible. Until Charlie needs her. New Orleans. Los Angles. Vegas. Beautiful girls who know just how to get exactly what they want. It’s all fun and games, sexy nights and wild parties. But you can only manipulate your way out of so much, and when their past catches up, not even a pretty fucking smile will get them out of trouble this time.

EXCERPT:

  Las Vegas Police Department, Interrogation Room B. Detective Blackmon: State your name for the record. Charlotte Brooks: (clears throat) Charlie Brooks. Detective Blackmon: Your legal name, ma’am. Brooks: Charlotte Suzanne Brooks. Detective Blackmon: Have you been advised of your rights, ma’am? Brooks: (soft laugh) you advised me of them. So yes. Detective Blackmon: Do you want to tell us how you came to know Ms Ella Jane Munro? Brooks: Where is she? Detective Blackmon: Ma’am, I need you to calm down and give your statement. Brooks: Where the fuck is EJ? Detective Blackmon: At night fifty pm the LVPD were called to a hotel room secured with a credit card in your name. Upon searching it, we found drugs, weapons and almost two hundred in cash. Do you want to say anything about that? Brooks: I wasn’t in that room, and neither were my belongings. You verified that. My wallet was stolen. And I want EJ. Brooks: Why the hell are you looking at me like that? Detective Blackmon: Ma’am… Brooks: (screaming) where the hell is EJ? Chapter 1 If she could look at it, with the hindsight of everything that had happened, she would say that it all began six months before Wallace Bryce Talbert went missing. The day Ella Jane Munro sold Llewellyn Koonts a hit of blow in the locker room of her father's country club. Of course, if she had the luxury of hindsight, she might have changed everything by simply going to lunch at the Greenhouse instead of tennis at the club. Then again. Charlotte had never had much use for hindsight and even less for regrets. * Charlie Brooks was an institution at the Buringtree Country Club. She had grown up in the halls, played tennis early and well, swam in the summer and pranced around the greens in tiny shorts, her blonde hair bobbing in her signature braid. She was a perfect debutant. Sweet as sugar when it suited her, and an utter bitch when it didn't. The staff at the club lived in fear of her temper. HR had to step in when she was in high school and they couldn't keep a staff--Charlie either terrorized them into quitting or demanded they were fired over minor infractions. And because she was Travis Brooks only daughter, she usually got her way. Ella Jane Munro was different from Charlie. Just as bitchy, just as demanding. Filthy fucking rich. But Charlie revealed in who and what she was born to. She never wanted anything but to be the queen bee at her private school, at the club, and Vanderbilt. Everything she did was carefully calculated for how it would reflect on her and how people viewed her. It’s why she and Ella Jane had never gotten along, despite being in the same circles. From the outside, they would have made the perfect frenemies. Self-destructive, the kind of too close back-stabbing that would fuel the wet dreams of high school boys with visions of love hate sexcapdes. Ella Jane and Charlie didn't cooperate. Ella was bored to death with country club life and everything expected of a deb. And she might be an it girl, in her blasé way, but she never aspired to steal Charlie's crown. They existed for most of their life, in a kind of live and let live détente. No one could explain why that changed. It was whispered about, of course. Two of Charleston's favorite daughters, suddenly inseparable? Everyone had a theory. No one knew the truth, though. No one would have ever believed the truth. * The door to her office opened and closed again, in the kind of way that was an announcement. She swallowed a smirk and layered another coat of pale pink on her nails. Most girls would pay for a manicure, but she had always found the ritual of her nail care to be soothing. The cash slapped down on her desk and she blinked at it slowly before letting her gaze slide lazily up to the woman across from her. Sharp green eyes, long jet black hair with a single streak of magenta in bangs cut across her forehead. A pair of designer skinny jeans and a loose, sheer black tank top scattered with polka dot skull and cross bones, lace edged cami under it showing off her amazing tits. Only Ella Jane could stalk into her office in designer jeans and a Walmart clearance top and look perfect instead of ridiculous. “Your half.” She says. Charlie finishes her last finger, admiring it briefly before screwing the lid on her nail polish and giving the other woman her attention. “When are you meeting with Jacobs?” “Tomorrow. Don’t be impatient, greedy girl.” She bites down on the acidic response that wants to rise, and arches an eyebrow silently. EJ stares at her for a long moment, before she huffs a sigh and drops into the high back leather chair across from her. “You can’t do anything until Monday anyway. Isn’t your engagement thing tonight.” It’s posed as a question, but she knows damn well when it is. Charlie goes still and her gaze clouds for a heartbeat. “Do you want me to come?” EJ asks, quietly. The offer startles a laugh from Charlie and she grins, a dry, mocking thing. “And how the hell would I explain that? No. Stay on your side of the club, and I’ll stay on mine. I’ll be fine.” There’ a tense moment, as they stare at each other, and Charlie wonders just how much EJ suspects. They weren’t supposed to become friends—it was a business arrangement. One that benefited them both and made EJ’s supplier happy. But it had evolved. It made her nervous, and nothing made her nervous. She didn’t like it. “Don’t be a bitch, Charlie,” EJ says coldly. “Then don’t fucking hover.” Charlie snaps. Anger flares in EJ’s eyes, for a moment, and then it vanished, and she stands. “Fine. Have fun with your boy.” Her tone is mocking and knowing and it stings a little as she watches EJ leave. For a moment, it occurs to her that she should apologize. She dismisses it just as quickly and grabs the stack of cash, standing and moving to the wall where her safe is. It’s crammed with cash and a small black revolver. As she adds the new stack to the others, she touches the gun. It’s soothing, and her unease and nerves settle at the touch of the cool metal. It’ a standard black Glock. Most of her girlfriends carry a tiny pink pistols they can tuck into their Coach bags with equally ridiculous sized dogs. But Travis Brooks always said that if she wanted to be man enough to carry a gun, she’d damn well carry a man’s gun. “Charlotte? We have a meeting with the partners.” She snaps the safe shut, keying the lock and spins to smile at her fiancée. Wallace Bryce Talbert the Third. Tre to his friends and enemies alike. A golden boy in her father’s law firm, and the man she had promised to spend her entire life with. He’s grinning at her, holding a hand out and she swallows her nerves and fear as she places her hand in his and follows him out of the office. * EJ pads out of her bedroom, her naked body wrapped in moonlight. A bottle of spumante sits discarded in a silver wine chiller, and she grabs it as she moves to her purse and pull out a pack of cigarettes. She smokes almost pensively, staring out the window. Behind her, she can hear him moving and she keeps her gaze trained on the window as smoke curls around her, dissipating slowly. “You should come back to bed,” he says, and she can hear the tease in his tone. She barely manages to keep from rolling her eyes as she wraps her lips around the cigarette again, pulling one last time before dropping it into a forgotten champagne flute. “You should go. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” Surprise and anger chase across his face, and she waits to see if he’ll follow through. Clayton Poole was the heir of an ancient oil tycoon, and would be much more interesting if he would lose his temper every once in a while. He was a fun fuck, always took care to get her off, and he opened doors even she couldn’t walk though. But he was boring as fuck when they weren’t naked. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says, lamely, and she flick a look at him as she pours a glass of spumante. “Don’t. I’ll call you soon.” She gives him a smile and kisses his cheek before returning to her bedroom. She lets out a sigh when the door shuts behind him, and settles on her bed. It smells of sex still, but she’s too drunk and lazy just now to strip the sheets. Besides, she likes the smell of sex, even if Clayton isn’t her favorite fuck buddy. There is a joint in her bedside table and she fishes it out and lights it, pulling on it deeply as she thumbs through her social media. The entire newsfeed is abuzz with the engagement party of the year, and she grits her teeth. She should have been there. Clayton had been invited—Charlie will be pissed he didn’t show, a thought that strings a smirk across her lips—and she could have crashed it. Nothing to be done once she was there. Once upon a time, it would have been amusing just to get a rise from Charlie. When the fuck had that changed? When she realized that Charlie was just as unhappy in their fucking perfect life as she was? Or was it when Charlie blackmailed EJ into sharing her distribution, earning her respect as more than another empty headed social climber. She huffs, and takes another pull on the joint. The smell of weed fill the bedroom, covering the scent of sex. Her muscles are loose and relaxed against the bed and she let’s her phone drop beside her, drifting on her high, drunk and post-orgasmic relaxation combining to pull her down into sleep. The room is pitch black, her body hot and sweating against the rough duvet when she wakes. Her mouth is dry and for a disorienting moment, she wonders where the hell she is, and what happened. Her phone buzzes against her thigh again, and she fumbles for it. “Charlie?” she croaks, and swallows. Reaches for the spumante on the bedside table. “I need you.” The whisper from the other end of the line chills her, and she shudders, rubbing away the goosebumps that trace along her arms. That’s it—those three words and nothing more. Sleep is forgotten completely as she sits up and nods. “I’ll be right there.”         ABOUT THE AUTHOR:  

Nazarea Andrews (N to almost everyone) is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. Which means she writes everything from zombies and dystopia to contemporary love stories. When not writing, she can most often be found driving her kids to practice and burning dinner while she reads, or binging watching TV shows on Netflix. N loves chocolate, wine, and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, spoiled cat and overgrown dog. She is the author of World Without End series, Neverland Found, Edge of the Falls, and The University of Branton Series. Stop by her twitter (@NazareaAndrews) and tell her what fantastic book she should read next.

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