Monday, December 11, 2017

Roll The Dice by Wayne Avrashow - Book Tour Excerpt


Roll the Dice
Fiery Seas Publishing
November 28, 2017   
Political Thriller

What happens when one of America’s biggest rock stars leaves the Las Vegas stage to run for the United State Senate?  

The ultimate celebrity candidate, Tyler Sloan is no stranger to politics – his estranged father was a California governor who narrowly lost a Presidential campaign. He runs as a political independent, refuses campaign contributions, and dismisses special interests and lobbyists.

Sloan is caught in a political campaign fraught with; sexual scandal, corruption and conflicting loyalties.  Will he be able to navigate through political turbulence and his own past to win the race?

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EXCERPT FROM ROLL THE DICE BY WAYNE AVRASHOW
CHAPTER FOUR

Sloan eyed Chris Collins deliver her remarks with pitch-perfect tone and cadence. Republicans were breathing rarified air as Collins led in the early polling. Sloan studied her as she bolstered her words with gestures, timely pauses, and full smiles—a performance that held all the spontaneity of an Olympic synchronized swimmer.
            Rogers’s remarks were an octave too loud as he nailed every touchstone of the progressive agenda. When he began citing a boring laundry list of his voting record, Sloan’s confidence spiked; his opponent was as thrilling as a mashed potato sandwich.
            Sloan rose from his seat as Rogers and Collins cast steely glances toward him in a prefight staring down of an opponent. Sloan returned a playful nod to Rogers and a quick smile toward Collins.
            The union delegates greeted Sloan with a thunderous ovation. Many delegates hoisted pre-printed signs in the air that read, “I Believe!” Approaching the lectern, Sloan stooped to autograph numerous Teamster caps that were thrust toward him.
            Sloan understood that public speeches were not analogous to the child's game of skipping rocks on a lake’s surface and watching the resulting ripples. Once released in the public domain, the speaker “owned” those ideas, and proposals dismissed as “silly” could guillotine a public career.
            “Good to be back,” Sloan opened with a broad smile. “I haven’t been on a Vegas stage for . . . what? Five weeks?”
            Sloan noticed the near-hypnotic nods of a middle-aged woman who gazed upward from the front row. He understood how any brush of her pedestrian life with his celebrity would bestow upon her an ephemeral wisp of status to share tonight on social media and to regale her co-workers at tomorrow’s coffee break.



About the Author:

Wayne Avrashow was the campaign manager for two successful Los Angeles City Council campaigns and a Deputy/Chief of Staff to those two elected City Council members. He served as a senior advisor for a successful city-wide referendum in the City of Los Angeles, co-authored ballot arguments on Los Angeles County-wide measures, served as Chairman for a Los Angeles County ballot measure, and was a Los Angeles government Commissioner for nearly twenty years. He currently serves as a Board Member of the Yaroslavsky Institute, a public policy institute founded by long time Southern California elected official, and now UCLA professor, Zev Yaroslavsky.
His background in politics, government, business, and law provides unique insight into the machinations and characters that populate political campaigns.
Wayne is a practicing attorney who specializes in government advocacy, real estate, and business law. Formerly, he was an officer in two real estate development firms.  As a lawyer-lobbyist, he has represented clients before numerous California municipalities and in Nevada and Idaho. He has lectured at his law school and taught at Woodbury University in Los Angeles. He has also authored numerous op-ed articles that appeared in daily newspapers, legal, business, and real estate publications.  In addition, he is the author of a self-published book for the legal community, Success at Mediation—10 Strategic Tools for Attorneys.


Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Forsaking Hope by Beverly Oakley - Blog Tour Excerpt and Giveaway


Forsaking Hope
Fair Cyprians of London By Beverley Oakley
Beverley is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here

About the Book: 
Two years ago, she missed their secret assignation and disappeared without a trace. Now the divine "Miss Hope" is in Felix Durham’s bed - a 'surprise cheering-up gift' sourced by his friends from London's most exclusive brothel. Felix is in heaven - and he wants to stay there. So does Hope, but she can’t. Hope Merriweather lives by a code of honour – even if she’s a prostitute. Having sold her soul, she’s prepared to sacrifice everything else to protect what she believes in. Even if honour – in her eyes – comes at the cost of thieving and breaking hearts. Including her own.



Available for preorder here:
~*~*~*~*~*~
Excerpt: 

Chapter One
Wilfred Hunt. If there was a name to tip Hope into the abyss of despair she was hearing it spill from Madame Chambon’s lips now as the older woman directed Hope to take a seat in the reception room, presumably so Madame could loom oppressively over her. With her hands on her ample, expensively padded hips, Hope’s benefactress—procuress, employer and gaoler were other monikers—sent Hope a beetling look that needed no interpreting: Regardless of Hope’s true feelings, Hope must project the required show of warmth and delight at being the chosen one. Madame patted the side of her faux curls. Years of hot irons had reduced her hair to the texture of wool but her crowning glory these days was supplemented by the lustrous locks of those girls who dared cross her – before they were thrown back into the street from where most had come. Nevertheless, Hope had to make her resistance clear. Surely Madame who knew her history would understand her loathing for this man, above all others. “I shan’t do it,” she whispered. There was little evidence of the willful child and wild adolescent who’d been the despair of her family. “I won’t—” Outside, the noise of the traffic rumbling over the cobbles and the shrill calls of competing vendors settled upon the tense silence. Madame Chambon’s other girls, ranged around the sumptuously appointed room on red velvet upholstered banquettes, watched the exchange with prurient fascination. Hope knew it had been a calculated ploy of Madame’s to conduct her interview in public so that Hope would serve as an example to them. No one crossed Madame Chambon. The shrill cry of a fishmonger caused Madame to look pointedly out of the window. With something between a smile and a sneer, she smoothed a Marcel wave. “Is that where you plan to return, Hope? The gutter?” Her nose twitched and in the sunlight that filtered into the room, the grooves chiselled between mouth and chin were thrown into harsh relief, highlighted rather than hidden by the thick powder she used to conceal her age. Madame Chambon’s comfort, now and into retirement, depended on obedient girls. Hope knew that as well as anyone. She’d had to bury her rebellious streak just to ensure food in her belly. The Frenchwoman raised a chiselled brow and began to pace slowly in front of her girls. A painter with an eye for beauty would have been ecstatic at capturing such a spectacle on canvas. The discerning young man about town who visited 56 Albemarle Street was frequently rendered ecstatic by the range of delights Madame Chambon's girls offered in addition to the visual. “You forget yourself, Hope. I put a roof over your head and deck you out as handsomely as Mr Charles Worth ever did for his most discerning customer.” There was acid in Madame Chambon’s tone. “But for me, you'd be starving and glad of the pennies you could trade for a grubby stand-up encounter in a dark alley.” Madame Chambon thrust out her bosom and breathed through her nose, her response a calculated warning to the other girls arranged in various languid poses about the ornately decorated reception room that intransigence would not be tolerated. “Mr Hunt has requested you.” She paused and when Hope remained silent, though her stance and expression left no one in any doubt as to her horror regarding this enforced assignation, went on. “Remember what I told you—what I tell all my girls when they first come here? The past must be forgotten the moment you step over my threshold. You are reborn, remodelled, refashioned into the most exquisite delectation of womanhood. A marquess, a prince, is well recompensed for the tidy sum he hands over in order to enjoy your sparkling wit, to converse with you in French, or if he chooses, on philosophy…to enjoy your charms…and,” she added significantly, “your gracious hospitality and tender ministrations to his needs. That is our agreement and you are no different. If Mr Hunt wishes you, Hope, to attend him at his residence then you will go.” Faith, one of the kinder girls, patted Hope’s arm in silent solidarity. Hope didn’t expect any of them to speak up in her defence. Not when they all relied on Madame Chambon as much as she did to provide them with the necessities of life. Anything more than that was part of a strict contract that indentured a girl for life unless she was able to secure a generous benefactor to settle Madame's severance bill. The fine clothes were part of the charade, necessary to entice a more elite clientele. Hope’s exquisite wardrobe did not belong to her though she'd have forsaken all the dupion silk and Spitalfields lace for the freedom of the gutter and to be mistress of her own destiny – and her body - if she could only be sure of a plate of gravy and potatoes every second day. Closing her eyes, she hung her head, the carefully coiffed curls that fell forwards brushing against her tear-streaked cheeks. It was as well that they not be in evidence. Tears, weakness, vulnerability were like a red rag to a bull where Madame Chambon was concerned. “How long…do I have to prepare myself?” She was not so stupid she couldn’t admit defeat when there was no alternative. Obduracy was beaten out of one, but tears ensured a girl got the very worst next assignment. Their clients weren’t all marquesses and princes, though they did require a very fat pocket book. “Tomorrow.” “Tomorrow.” Hope repeated it in a leaden tone, and stared at her hands, clasped in her lap; white-knuckled. As white as the rabbit-fur that edged her fashionable black-and-white striped satin cuirass. Hope had the tall, slim figure suited to the scandalously tight tie-back skirts that were all the rage, the back flowing into a train adorned with elaborate swags and trimmed with bows. She'd turned heads the length of Oxford Street as she’d promenaded along the pavement following a walk through Hyde Park earlier that afternoon. In fact, for the first time in two years, she’d almost felt happy as she’d pretended a sense of freedom in the afternoon sun, blocking her mind to the prison to which she was returning. She drew in her breath and forced herself to be brave, knowing the punishment she’d invite for daring to speak her mind. “Please tell Mr Hunt I will see him again under sufferance.” Madame Chambon’s voice was surprisingly caramel. “Well then, now that you have made your objection clear, Hope, you will be pleased to hear that Mr Hunt’s desires are not only motivated by fond memories of your no-doubt mutually satisfying congress. I believe he wishes to acquaint you with news of your family.” Hope hid her shock. “I have no family.” With care, she modified her tone so it was as leaden as before though emotion roiled close to the surface. “Not even a sister?” Hope raised her chin. Here was the chink and Madame knew it. The woman did her research. Aware that the other girls who surrounded her were tense with anticipation, Hope struggled not to respond. Camaraderie existed at surface level but one never knew when it might profit one to have the dirt on a fellow prostitute. It was, clearly, another reason Madame Chambon had chosen to make this conversation public. “Mr Hunt will see you at nine tomorrow evening,” said the so-called Frenchwoman who, it was whispered, was from the gutters of Lambeth, not Paris. “At his apartments in Duke Street. Now go and prepare yourself for Lord Farrow. Married to a monolith like the venerable Lady Farrow, he likes his girls vivacious and free-spirited. There’ll be less coin in your pocket if you sully the transaction with that long face, Hope.”

~*~*~*~*~*~
Author Info: 
Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first her 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Unfortunately drowning her heroine on the last page was apparently not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.
Twenty-six years later Beverley was delighted to receive her first publishing contract from Robert Hale (UK) for a romance in which she ensured her heroine was saved from drowning in the icy North Sea.
Since 2009 Beverley has written more than thirteen historical romances, mostly set in England during the early nineteenth century. Mystery, intrigue and adventure spill from their pages and if she can pull off a thrilling race to save someone’s honour – or a worthy damsel from the noose – it’s time to celebrate with a good single malt Scotch.
Beverley lives with her husband, two daughters and a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy the size of a pony opposite a picturesque nineteenth century lunatic asylum. She also writes Africa-set adventure-filled romances tarring handsome bush pilot heroes, and historical romances with less steam and more sexual tension, as Beverley Eikli.


You can get in contact with Beverley at:

Sunday, December 3, 2017

Black Mercy by Stacy McWilliams - Release Day








Release Day - Black Mercy - Stacy McWilliams  
Author - Stacy McWilliams
Book - Black Mercy
Release Date - 3rd December
Hosted by Hooked on books Promotions




Mason Michaels has it all professionally; he’s a rock god, a shrewd business man and excellent at managing bands, but his personal life is full of struggles.



He has struggled since his wife left him with their baby and has closed himself off emotionally. It's a struggle as he tries to balance his parenting duties with his band and business. Sex is just sex and his assistant is more than happy to meet some of his needs, but when his friend dies of cancer and leaves him with a newborn baby, he needs to hire help.

He doesn’t expect Amber to walk in. At first he’s resistant because she’s gorgeous and he wants more than her employment services. Can he resist this beauty as she becomes a part of his life?

Amber Davis is also struggling. She’s lost her fiancĂ©, her job, been disowned by her family and is awkwardly staying on her best friends couch when she lands an interview with the infamous Mason Michaels.

She needs a live-in position and is good at working with kids so when her friend’s sister gets her an interview as an au pair for Mason, she’s grateful for the chance. As she moves in her life becomes complicated and she finds herself falling for her boss.

Mason is ‘sex on a stick’ and Amber finds it difficult to resist him, but can she trust him with her heart? Or will he be just another in a long line of recent disappointments?













FOLLOW STACY MCWILLIAMS








Friday, December 1, 2017

Fiskur by Dona Migliaccio - Blog Tour


Fiskur by Donna Migliaccio
November7, 2017
Fantasy
The Gemeta Stone Book 2
Fiery Seas Publishing, LLC

With his family's talisman in his possession, Kristan Gemeta is ready to face the Wichelord Daazna – but he has no inkling of the scope of Daazna's power, nor the depths of his hatred.     
      
With the recovery of his family's protective talisman, Kristan Gemeta has found hope, courage – and perhaps even the first stirrings of love.  With the aid of Heather Demitt, her band of rebels, a shipload of Northern brigands and the legendary Kentavron, he readies himself to face the Wichelord Daazna.  But neither he nor his comrades realize the strength of Daazna's power and hatred.  The Wichelord's first blow comes from a direction Kristan least expects, with horrific, lasting consequences.

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 Amazon  ~  Barnes & Noble  ~  Kobo  ~  iBooks






Excerpt from FISKUR: Book Two of The Gemeta Stone
Chapter Four


            Some of the color had drained from Kristan’s face, but he shook his head again. Daazna stepped to the door and threw it open. His commander, together with a cluster of soldiers, still waited in the hallway. “Come here, and bring two guards,” Daazna said, and stepped aside to let the three men come into the room. “See this pretty lad, gentlemen? This is Kristan Gemeta, the heir of Fandrall. I was told he was a weak, fainting little coward, yet somehow he’s eluded us for years, and now, rather than take the soft sentence of joining the Lost Men, he’s elected to taste Gomon’s whip. Take him downstairs, tell Gomon to give him ten strokes, and when it’s done, let me know. I’ll be in my chambers.” He chucked Kristan mockingly under the chin. “Courage, Gemeta. Don’t faint when you see Gomon’s whip.”
      “I know you didn’t take it,” Kristan said.
      Daazna’s heart gave a great heave, and then seemed to stop beating entirely. “What?”
      “The blue glass ball. I know you didn’t take it.” 
      A flush of shame and rage crawled up Daazna’s face, as if once again, he stood humiliated before Fandrall’s court, clutching the coin that symbolized Robert Gemeta’s pity. “Simeon said I did,” he said. His voice was no more than a croak. “Your father believed I did. Everyone in the castle thought I was a thief.”
      “You were done an injustice,” Kristan said. “And for that I’m sorry.”
      Daazna slapped Kristan so hard that only the guards’ grip kept the young man from falling. “How dare you?” he hissed. “How dare you pity me? I am the Wichelord. I killed your father and took your crown and destroyed your kingdom, and I’ll grind you to paste before I’m done with you.” He spun to the commander. “Tell Gomon to give him fifteen strokes. Now get him out of my sight.” 


About the Author:

Donna Migliaccio is a professional stage actress with credits that include Broadway, National Tours and prominent regional theatres.  She is based in the Washington, DC Metro area, where she co-founded Tony award-winning Signature Theatre and is in demand as an entertainer, teacher and public speaker.  Her award-winning short story, "Yaa & The Coffins," was featured in Thinkerbeat's 2015 anthology The Art of Losing.  

Social Media: 

Thursday, November 30, 2017

Fire's Kiss by Brittany Pate - Blog Tour Excerpt



Macintosh HD:Users:mistywilliams:Desktop:Authors:Brittany Pate:Cover:FIRES KISS Ebook2.jpg

Fire’s Kiss
Fiery Seas Publishing
November 21, 2017   
Paranormal Romance Fiction


Embyr tends her tavern while keeping her dangerous parentage a secret, until she's attacked by a hellhound and saved by one of the most feared men in history.

For the last eight hundred years, Ryder McLennon, the infamous leader of Death's Horsemen, has used his army to hunt the vampire who killed his wife. He's earned a reputation as a murderous madman. But in Embyr, he discovers something that could turn the tide of battle in his favor. Her control over fire can reduce an enemy to ash and her flippant disregard of him heats his blood in ways no one else ever has. She's beautiful, powerful and completely different from her violence-loving brethren.

Embyr finds herself thrust into a war she wants no part of, targeted by a vicious vampire because of her cooperation with Ryder. As she learns to wield her demonic powers without letting the madness of her race overcome her, she also has to fight her attraction to a killer bent on her seduction.


Buy Links:



    EXCERPT FROM FIRE’S KISS BY BRITTANY PATE
CHAPTER 9


Embyr lay back in the grass with her hand splayed over her stomach and groaned. Beside her, Kat groaned in agreement.
“I cannot believe we ate the whole thing.” Embyr kicked the empty box of sweetmeats.
“But they were so good,” Kat said. “And they were a present. It would have been rude not to eat them all. Would it be inappropriate for me to unlace my breeches before I split the seams?”
“Probably,” Embyr said with a smile. She rolled to her side and propped her elbow up, shielding her eyes from the midday sun with her hand. “Kat, do you think Ryder is evil?”
“Hard to say. Everything I’ve heard says yes, but everything I’ve seen says no.” Kat sat up with a grimace and turned to face her. “Why do you ask?”
“He tried to kiss me last night. Ouch!” Embyr hissed when Kat punched her in the arm. She sat up with a frown.
“He tried to kiss you and you’re just now telling me? What happened?”
“He told me to let go and listen to my instincts.” Embyr plucked a blade of grass and rolled it between her fingers. “I almost let him, until Nelda came in and I realized it would be a colossal mistake.”
“Why? I mean aside from the mask.”
“You know why,” Embyr sighed. “Besides, I barely know him.”
“That’s a poor excuse. You’ve seen men and women leave your tavern together after only knowing each other for the space of a few drinks.” Kat frowned at her. “You have to stop hiding at some point, Embyr. Don’t assume the world is going to condemn you because of your bloodline. Ryder knows what you are and he still tried to kiss you.”
“But he’s Death. He kills people.”
“I used to kill people for money. Ryder kills people because he’s at war. If anything, his cause is far nobler than mine ever was.”
“You didn’t kill innocent people. The rumors say he does.”
Kat snorted. “I hate rumors. All the ones about me said I was a man. We see how true those are.”
She had a point. Embyr closed her eyes and tried to enjoy the feel of sunlight on her face, but all she could see was Ryder’s bright blue eyes.
Kat stirred beside her. “I don’t want you to wake up one day, old and decrepit, and think ‘I should have lived a little more when I had the chance.’”
“You’ll wake up old a lot faster than I will,” Embyr teased. “Seriously though, I like my life the way it is. Or was.”
“Pretend all you want. We both know you get lonely.”
“Everyone gets lonely,” Embyr argued. “That doesn’t mean I need to throw myself at a mask-wearing legend.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to do much throwing. It sounds like he’s a little tight in the breeches for you. Kissing him doesn’t mean you have to share his bed. You have to do that so can tell me all the sordid details.” Kat grinned.
Embyr huffed, color rising in her cheeks.
“What? Did you see him yesterday? If he makes love half as good as he fights, you’ll show up at my door with another box of sweetmeats as a thank-you gift.”
“I am not having this conversation with you,” Embyr said, shaking her head.
“What conversation?”
Both women jumped and turned to find Ryder towering over them, blocking the sunlight.


Macintosh HD:Users:mistywilliams:Desktop:Authors:Brittany Pate:Brittany Pate.pngAbout the Author:

Brittany Pate lives in Texas with her husband and son. She is a longtime lover of all things fantasy and romance. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys narrating audio books and drinking entirely too much coffee.



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