Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Simon in Charge Series Box Set by Libby Campbell

Simon in Charge Series Box Set
Includes Simon Say, Winning Sadie and Sadie Says I Do
by
Libby Campbell

Release date June 2nd, 2017 by Blushing Books


Genre: Erotic contemporary DD romance, billionaire heroes, Canadian erotica

Total length: 150,000 words, 486 pages
Buy links: AmazonBlushing Books


Tagline

  • Simon is looking for a smart, funny, obedient woman. Sadie thinks two out of three should do.

Hashtags: #eroticromance #spanking #spankingromance #dominance #HEA #erotica #wealthyheros #KindleUnlimited

When feisty Sadie Donohue meets billionaire Simon Jacobson at a New Year’s Eve party, she thinks it’s a chance encounter. Little does she know that Simon has arranged it all.
Widowed for six years, he is looking for another woman to share his life. She must be smart, sexy, and able to obey his inflexible rules. He has observed Sadie from a distance and decided she is just what he’s looking for.
Always one to challenge authority, Sadie tests Simon’s boundaries with her lively wit and recalcitrant behavior. He is amused but unmoved. Soon Sadie is regularly over Simon’s knee for being her sassy, strong-willed self. And she loves it!
When he proposes, she accepts without a second thought. The time arrives for her to leave her working-class world of public schools and sausages on the backyard barbecue to move into Simon's circle of wealth and privilege where children attend private schools and servants serve guests in lavish society homes. Sadie panics.
That’s it: engagement off!
Sadie's doubts, fired by a secret from her past, may be their undoing. Only Simon is in charge and he has other ideas.

Publishers’ note: These books are intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Tough stuff, but worth it. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books’ or the author’s advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or spanking of minors.


Buy link: Amazon Blushing Books




Excerpt
from
Winning Sadie:

Simon stood and put his champagne flute on the table. His lips twitched, as if he was fighting a smile. “Let me guess when you started having these doubts. I’d pin them as starting about a week ago, maybe the day you drove out to the airport and picked up your mother?”
Without meeting his eyes, I took his outstretched hand let him help me to my feet. He’d pegged the moment precisely. I was lifting Mom’s suitcase off the carousel when she made the first jibe. She looked over my shoulder as if searching for someone.
With a lift of her chin she taunted, “Where is the legendary Simon Jacobson? Is he too busy to welcome me himself?”
To the outside world, Mom acted as though she admired Simon. She complimented how well he treated me, how lovely his house was, how generously he treated his guests. When it was just the two of us she cracked critical, undermining comments that bit like a thousand beestings.
She said things like, “Simon’s friends live in a different world. You can’t have him without them and they speak a foreign tongue.”
With a skill perfected over my lifetime, Mom eroded my confidence that someone like him could love someone like me, and that the rest of world would accept us. Her week-long campaign to make me question my future with Simon was a resounding success. The more time I spent in the company of his friends that weekend, the less I believed that I would ever belong there.
Now it was just Simon and me, a lazy Sunday afternoon, and an engagement to cancel.
I breathed in the soft savory smell of him standing in front of me. His hand was warm and strong as he held mine. He lifted my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “I asked you a question: did you start having second thoughts as a result of your mother’s visit?”
I turned away.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He kissed me on the cheek. “I think we need to discuss this. With you over my knee.”


Don’t miss this other great book from Libby Campbell and Blushing Books:

Seeing Ronnie.(Romancing the Coast, Book 1)

Winning Sadie is also available as an audio book from Audible. Buy it here.

Libby Campbell, spanking writer and mischief maker

Libby lives on the West Coast of Canada with her leading man of thirty years. An avid reader, she savors books that feature strong, independent women and the loving men who challenge them.

She loves mountain hikes, deep bubble baths, and all animals, but particularly small dogs with big attitudes and big dogs who think they are lap dogs. A woman for all seasons, Libby is happy cuddling in front of a winter fire, watching a summer sunset, listening to birds in the spring and walking in the autumn rain.

Optimistic by nature, Libby wants a solid HEA in her reading and her writing. She hopes you will enjoy escaping to the dream worlds where she spends far too much time.

Recently she’s been dipping into Pinterest and building boards with images of people and places that inspire her characters and the worlds they live in.

Connect with Libby Campbell on social media:

Visit her website and blog here: Libby Campbell
Follow her on Twitter: @LibbyC26


The Rebel's Secret by Zoe Blake

Title: The Rebel's Secret
Series: Ride Hard - Book 3
Author: Zoe Blake
Publication Date: July 2017
#therebelssecretblitz
This is book three in the Ride Hard Western trilogy but can be read as a stand-alone.
She was determined to claim her revenge. He was determined to claim her.
Michaela Armistead had only revenge in mind when she stepped into that frontier saloon. Disguised as a boy, she had been on her father’s murderer’s trail since the end of the war-between-the-states. 
What she hadn’t counted on was Major John Thomas Brice, commanding officer of the nearby fort, taking her prisoner!
One look at those flashing violet eyes and Major Brice knew this was one little rebel who needed to be taken in hand. He would be damned if he allowed her to continue on her dangerous quest for revenge. She needed to learn, in this part of Texas, his word was law. If that lesson came at the end of a leather strap then so be it.
Problem was, his feisty Rebel was not going to give in without a fight!
ON SALE FOR JUST 99 CENTS

Chapter One
A lone rider scanned the horizon. The fiery orange sunset bathed the desert valley in a rosy glow. Blotches of desert scrub and tiny bursts of honey yellow flowers from the greasewood plant the only other hint of color across the brown barren stretch of stone, sand and jagged rock. In the far distance, just to the south, were the low mudbrick and wooden structures of Fort McIntosh. The stranger’s destination.
Easing the horse forward, the stranger kept a wary eye on the surroundings. The distinctive grayish-brown coat and black-tipped ears of a bobcat appeared from behind a mesquite bush only a few arm’s lengths away. The stranger pulled on the reins. Although not its natural prey, it didn’t pay to take chances. The bobcat darted east after a black-tailed jackrabbit.
As the fort neared, so did the wide expanse of the Rio Grande as it cut through the valley like a blue ribbon. The dirty canvas tents, tumbledown shacks and brightly, painted clapboard buildings of the rowdy town which sprung up between the banks of the river and the wooden spiked picket fence of the fort also came into view. Shouts of drunken laughter, the tinny sound of a saloon piano and the occasional crack of a gun harshly replacing the calming sound of rushing wind and the call of a mockingbird from the trail.
Wrapping the leather reins around a wooden hitching post, the stranger sucked in a bracing breath before pushing open the frosted glass doors of the Imperial Saloon.
The acrid scent of tobacco smoke and warm, unwashed bodies blended with the cadence of low conversation, clinking glasses and the discordant shrieks of a saloon girl on stage attempting a rendition of When This Cruel War Is Over. The gaudy oil paintings, polished brass lamps, felt tables and mahogany bar of the interior gave an air of tawdry luxury to the saloon that ran counter to the run-down appearance of the town itself.
Eyes averted, the stranger stepped up to the bar. Tossing a bright, double-eagle, gold coin on its grubby surface, their voice scratched out, “I’ll take a flip and some information.”
The barkeep cast a disparaging glance over the floppy, black-felt hat which obscured the stranger’s face. With a shrug of shoulders, the barkeep pocketed the coin and grabbed a bottle of champagne and one fresh, farm egg.
Cracking the egg into a tin cup, the barkeep asked, “What do you want to know?” The town was a popular trade route and the last stop before the Mexican Territories. Folks came and went all the time. Some respectable, most not. It wasn’t uncommon for lawmen, gunfighters, jilted lovers and the like to pass through asking for information. It made for some extra coin in his pocket.
“Looking for a man who goes by the name Black Jack Doolin who might have passed through with a woman not too long ago.”
The caterwauling stopped. The piano music ended with a crash on one long chord. In the sudden silence, the scraping of several chairs along the unpolished, wood-planked floor rent the air.
“Can’t say we like some Johnny Reb strolling into town asking questions,” groused one man as he wiped chewed tobacco spittle from his beard.
After the Northern Aggression, many Southerners abandoned their burnt out farms and headed west for a fresh start. Large swaths of western territory were filled with former Southern belles and Confederate soldiers looking to cash in on the skills they learned during the war.
“I’m talkin to you, Gray Back!”
Apparently this wasn’t one of those territories.
The once bluish-gray shell jacket was now faded to a ragged, brown butternut complete with tarnished brass buttons and frayed black piping. But even through the years of war, the dust of the trail and the ravages of castile soap and the scrub board, the Confederate Cavalry uniform coat was unmistakable.
Resting a hand on the butt of an army-issued Colt, the stranger refused to turn around. “I’m not looking for any trouble. Just trying to track someone down.” The voice was a low, gruff whisper.
“Yeah, well you just found trouble, Johnny Reb. Apparently we didn’t whup your ass enough in the war,” cackled the man. “You still need to learn your place.”
The stranger took a slow sip of the recently poured drink, fingers flexing over the warm, smooth butt of the Colt resting against a hip. In a lot of respects, the war would never be over. “If I’m not mistaken. We’re near Laredo. Didn’t a couple of Rebs fight back over two-hundred Yanks three times at the Battle of Laredo before the Yanks finally left, tails tucked between their legs, crying for their mamas?”
There was a cry of outrage and the shuffling of feet before one beefy hand fell on the shoulder of the stranger, spinning them about. “You’re going to pay for that,” spat out the furious Yankee.
The polished Colt cleared the holster before the Yank had even finished his threat. Taking a step back, the stranger aimed left handed as the edge of their right palm slashed down on the greased trigger. Firing off three shots in rapid succession. Effortlessly turning one man’s shot of whiskey into bits of wet glass, another’s hand of cards into an ace in the hole, and shooting clear through the disagreeable Yank’s kepi cap, knocking it off his damn fool head.
There was the distinctive shrill shout of the Confederate Rebel Yell, an infamous battle cry, before all hell broke loose.
Apparently there were actually a few Southerners in the saloon after all.
The stranger adroitly swung both legs over the bar, taking up a secure position behind its solid wooden base. Grabbing an earthenware jug in each hand, the figure swung out at anyone who dared come within an arm’s length.
The sounds of rough men enjoying rough entertainment was replaced by a cacophony of splintering wood, shattering glass, grunts and groans and high-pitched screams…from both the men and saloon girls as the entire room broke into fisticuffs.
It didn’t take long, before the piercing screech of whistles could be heard as men in blue cavalry uniforms burst into the saloon. It was a patrol from Fort McIntosh. The commanding officer viewed keeping the peace in the nearby town as an extension of the fort’s responsibilities.
The federal soldiers quickly subdued the drunk and unruly crowd. Lining them up against a far wall to assess the situation. The stranger included, whose head never lifted, hidden beneath the wide-brim, felt hat.
“Each of you will be fined twenty-five cents for breaking the lord’s peace,” shouted the corporal in charge.
“Attention!” called a nearby private raising a flat hand to his forehead in salute.
All the soldiers clicked their heels, threw back their shoulders and pushed their chests out.
The stranger listened as a heavy boot trod across the boards.
Major John Thomas Brice, commanding officer of Fort McIntosh had arrived.
An imposing man of six feet four inches, he wasn’t just an officer in the United States Cavalry…he was the cavalry.
His family had been serving in the cavalry back since they were called the dragoons. In The War of Southern Aggression, he served under Union Major General Pleasonton, who commanded the Cavalry Corp of the Army of the Potomac. Major Brice was the key strategist behind the Battle of Brandy Station. The largest cavalry engagement during the war, right at the beginning of the Gettysburg campaign. Major Brice launched a dawn attack against the Rebel General Stuart. It was the first time the Union Cavalry managed to beat the superior Confederate Cavalry. The Johnny Reb cavalry never recovered.
Many considered him a hero of the war…others a legend.
No one questioned his authority.
Brice surveyed the room. The damage was minimal. This time. A few broken chairs. A smashed bottle or two. More bruised egos than blackened eyes. At least the expensive saloon mirror and front windows were spared. He scrutinized the ragtag bunch slouching against the wall.
Similar to the army, society out in the west had its own hierarchy and accompanying uniform. There were the homesteaders, easily recognizable in their blue flannel shirts and woolen pants. The hide hunters, covered head to toe in buckskin, always smelling faintly of sweat and death. The prospectors who pitched widely between threadbare, dusty overalls and oil-soaked hats to ruffled shirts and tailored suits depending on their fortunes.
Each stratagem was represented in equal measure as they stood, hunched shouldered and long-faced, shuffling their feet as they avoided eye contact with the imposing commanding officer.
Of course, there were also the soldiers, former and current.
“Report, corporal.” The command was given in a crisp, clipped tone.
“Bar fight, sir.”
Brice spared an annoyed glance for the young corporal.
“What I meant to say, sir, was mostly civilians. One sergeant and two privates of ours.”
“Men,” barked Brice.
It was only one word…that was all Major Brice needed.
Three men stepped forward out of the rag tag bunch. The stranger recognized one of them as the man who started the trouble and stiffened.
“Sergeant Cleave Stinger, Private Gene Covey and Private Reuben Warnock, sir,” offered the corporal.
“It weren’t our fault, Major!” whined Sergeant Stinger as he worried the brim of his hat in his hand. “That dirty Johnny Reb came in shootin his mouth and his gun off!”
Brice’s hard gaze landed on the slight figure of the former Confederate soldier. Back pressed against the wall, one foot propped up, head bowed, the figure looked tired and uninterested. Brice knew better. He could see the tightening in the shoulders. The subtle twitch of the left hand over the Colt.
Something was not right.
The former soldier presented a slight figure. Narrow shoulders and hips. Shorter than the average man. Young. Malnourished. That wasn’t especially surprising; Brice had heard rumors of a desperate Confederacy taking boys as young as twelve to fight for their lost cause toward the end.
Still, something pricked at his instincts about the man.
Brice scrutinized the man’s worn uniform. The patch was faded and dirty but still visible, he was cavalry. No rank. A horse man was a horse man no matter what side you fought on. His gaze fell on the boots. The boots. The boots were all wrong. Too slim and narrow. They certainly were not cavalry boots. Despite the dirt and mud, they looked almost…elegant.
His gaze flew to the lowered head. I’ll be damned, he thought.
“Corporal, take the men to the Guardhouse. Thirty days fatigue duty,” he ordered.
The sergeant and two privates were escorted out of the saloon. It was a harsh punishment but they knew Major Brice did not tolerate his soldiers setting a bad example in town.
“The town marshal has finally arrived. I will turn the rest over to him.” The corporal did little to keep the disdain from his voice. The town marshal was a dissipated, corrupt drunkard with no discipline or morals. He was the very reason why the soldiers were forced to patrol the town, breaking up fights and keeping the peace.
“All but him,” ordered Brice, motioning to the Confederate with a jut of his chin.
“Him, but he started….” The corporal immediately stopped, knowing better than to question his commanding officer.
Keeping their head lowered, the stranger listened to the sounds of grunts, protests and dragging feet as the men to either side were pulled away one by one.
A moment passed.
Then he stepped close.
A pair of polished cavalry boots. A glimpse of bright, blue wool pants with a canary yellow stripe. The clean smell of soap.
Brice crossed his arms over his wide chest and stared down at the black, felt hat. The brim so wide it almost spanned the width of the slight figure’s shoulders. Even at full height, he doubted if the top of their head would reach his shoulder.
“Time to sound the recall. You’re beaten.” Even through the harsh command, his voice held a hint of amusement.
The stranger didn’t move.
Brice whipped the black felt hat off the Confederate’s head. Even having his suspicions affirmed, nothing prepared him for the sight of the startlingly, beautiful, violet eyes which rose in shock to clash with his curious gaze.
Michaela Armistead pulled her Colt.
Baring her teeth, she threated the imposing man, “Stay away from me.”
There was a slight Southern lilt to her voice. He would guess Georgia. What was once, he was sure, a proper head of waist-length hair, had been chopped to the shoulders. What would have looked like a scandalous mess on any other well-bred woman gave this feisty baggage an irresistible appeal, as if she had just emerged from bed after being good and tumbled by a man. The golden honey locks only highlighted the unusual purple color of her eyes, which at this moment flashed brimstone and fire at him.
The corner of Brice’s lips rose on a seductive smile, “Not a chance.”
For a man who had a gun drawn on him, he seemed remarkably unaffected.
He didn’t know what had brought the little beauty to the far corner of the country, alone and unprotected, but he would be damned if he was going to let her just stroll out those saloon doors.
“You have no right to keep me here. Those men started the fight. I didn’t hurt anyone,” rattled off Michaela.
He made her nervous. She had spent the last several years surrounded by men in the cavalry. Men of all shapes and sizes. Of all temperament. Some good. Some bad. But none like him. There was something about him. The way he held himself. A reined energy, like a powerful horse only barely held in check.
“You just violated the Uniform Code of Military Justice by drawing a weapon on a superior officer,” quipped Brice. His voice a low, dark threat.
Michaela lowered her brow in confusion. “But…I’m not even in the army!”
“That is a matter for the commanding officer to sort out. Till then, you’re my prisoner,” said Brice as he took one step forward. The barrel of her Colt pressing into the tight muscle of his stomach.
“You’re the commanding officer!” accused an exasperated Michaela.
“I know,” grinned Brice.
Without thought, Michaela squeezed the trigger. The hammer fell with a hollow empty click.
Brice wrapped one large hand around her slight wrist and snatched her close. “Dammit woman,” he growled.
Just because he had seen the glint of light through the empty bullet chamber didn’t mean he would excuse her trying to fill his gut with lead. If ever there was a woman who needed to be taken in hand, it was this little, feral spitfire.
Tearing the gun from her grasp, he put a shoulder to Michaela’s middle and easily lifted her slight weight high. Ignoring her indignant screams and shouts, Brice walked with a determined step out of the saloon, tossing a final command to the corporal over his shoulder.
“See that her horse and things are sent to the fort.”
“Yes, sir. Where should I have them brought?” asked the somewhat stunned corporal.
“My quarters,” answered Major Brice without hesitation as he carried an angry Michaela out into the night.
USA Today and International Best Selling Author in Dark Romance
We are all attracted to the forbidden. Addicted to the rush we get from reading something naughty...something kinky. We love to lose ourselves in the fantasy. The powerful lord who sweeps the lady away to his remote estate to ravish her. The cowboy who takes the sassy city girl over his knee to teach her a lesson. The devilishly charming pirate who seduces his beautiful captive. I write those erotic fantasies.
Dark Romance Historical Titles
The Submission of Little Emmie
Disciplining the Maid
Penelope’s Punishment
Chosen to be His Little Angeline
The Duke’s Possession
Captive
Papa’s Little Pain Princess
His Dark Obsession
The Dark Forest Anthology
Contemporary Titles
Worth Fighting For
Ride Hard Historical Western Series
The Cowboy’s Revenge, Book One
The Gunfighter’s Pursuit, Book Two
The Rebel’s Secret, Book Three
Box Sets
Little Victorian Ladies
A Little Submission
Check out Zoe’s Website at https://zblakebooks.com/
Twitter: @Zblakebooks
Instagram: Zblakebooks
Pinterest: Zblakebooks

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

His Forbidden Submissive by Brandi Evans


His Forbidden Submissive by Brandi Evans

Released: March 6, 2017

Tagline:

To find happiness, she must do something she swore she’d never do again. Let a man control her.


Blurb:

To find happiness, she must do something she swore she’d never do again. Let a man control her.

After beating cancer, Vivian goes on a mission to cleanse her life. First on the list, kicking her cheating, controlling husband to the curb. Second, she must discover the answer to a question that’s been haunting her. Is the love she harbors for Brock, her bad-boy brother-in-law, genuine or a chemotherapy-induced illusion?

Brock loves a woman he cannot have, his brother’s wife. To claim her would be a betrayal. He knows loving her is wrong but he can’t help it. So when circumstances bring them back together, he can no longer deny his forbidden attraction, and they unite in a fury of passion, lust—and bondage.

But Vivian isn’t prepared for Brock’s BDSM lifestyle, no matter how sexy he looks with his tats and leathers. After ten years with a controlling husband, submission is terrifying—but so is never being with Brock again.
Submission or freedom? No matter which path she chooses, her life will change forever.
Publisher’s note: His Forbidden Submissive contains adult material, including very strong language, depictions of bondage and discipline, and graphic descriptions of sexuality. If you do not care to read such material, please do not open this book.

Purchase Links
Book Page on Brandi's website: brandievansauthor.com/hisforbiddensub.html


Excerpt
“Mmm, you’re playing with fire, baby.”

“I don’t mind getting a little singed.”

Brock spun around and pinned her against the wall. Big, strong hands shackled her arms above her head.  

“I don’t fuck gently, sweetheart. I don’t play games. I don’t relinquish control. And I never, never stop until I’m finished. If we do this, there will be no going back. Do you understand what that means?”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Oh, wow. She hadn’t expected the raw power and need in his eyes. His desire terrified and inflamed her. For the past ten years, she’d only had one sexual partner, and Eugene had never so much as fucked her good and hard, forget the kind of primal response rolling off Brock, so forceful, so utterly and completely in control. So dominant…


 Author Bio
Brandi Evans was raised by a caravan of traveling Gypsies. She spent her days learning the ways of her people and her nights lost in legends as old as time. Okay, not really, but that's way more interesting than the truth!

In reality, Brandi grew up the oldest child of an ordinary family. Grade school, middle school, high school. Nothing extraordinary happened until she left the nest. She joined the military, went to college, got married, and became a mom. And somewhere along the way, she discovered she liked to read—and write!—stories hot enough to melt eReaders.

Social Media Links/Contact
Email: brandi@brandievansauthor.com
Blog: http://brandievansauthor.blogspot.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Brandi-Evans/674481219297772?ref_type=bookmark
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/eScaNr
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/brandievans1/
Twitter: http://twitter.com/brandi_evans
Instagram: http://instagram.com/brandievansauthor

Special Note
I’m doing a big giveaway that I’d like to share on the blog tour. Here’s a link to the blog where I spell out the details: http://brandievansauthor.blogspot.com/2017/02/want-to-name-book-character.html.

Author Interview

What is your writing environment?

Silence. My ADHD requires it. At the very least, there can’t be any words being spoken, so TVs and crowds are out. I can listen to classical music or music in a foreign language, but words I understand distract me. Like seriously. ;-)

Oh, and there are lots and lots of Starbucks cups scattered around me. My Muse thrives on cinnamon dulche lattes, often with extra shots of espresso. All I know is if I don’t strike it rich sometime soon, my Muse may bankrupt me.

What is your writing process?

Feeling my characters. As in going deep into their thoughts and practically becoming them. Understanding them. As a result, my stories are very internal, which I like. On the flip side of things, however, becoming my characters often leaves me feeling emotionally spent.

What is your favorite scene in your new release?

Hands down Vivian’s first bondage scene. *fans self* The anticipation, the vulnerability…the massive amount of orgasms she has before her Dom, Brock, takes mercy on her. What isn’t to like?

What are you working on now and when can we expect it to be available?

The next story in my Restrained Fantasies series. I’m tentatively calling it Reading His Sub, and it features Dom detective Carter Burkes and sexy, curvy bartender Raven. I’m also working on a cowboy ménage featuring two half brothers and the cowgirl they both want. Plus, I’ve gotten right back on some of my older stories, so I’ll have those going soon.

What do you like to do when you are not writing?

Reading, spending time with my kids, and finding new excuse for not cleaning. :-)