Book Blitz & Excerpt: Hawk + Giveaway

Hawk Banner

Hawk, by Amber Malloy

Book 3 in the Perfect Stats series

Word Count: 59,896
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 255

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MULTICULTURAL

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

Hawk thought he had everything he wanted until Lexington Waters showed up. That’s when he discovered he needed so much more.

Tech Guru Lexi Waters needs to snatch her company out of the grasp of her greedy ex-husband. The only problem is the restraining order that keeps her away from the business she built from the ground up. With no money left to her name, Lexi is forced to go back to Chicago and face the first man to ever let her down—blues legend Sugarfoot Moe Waters, her father. While she’s stuck fixing up his crappy bar, the last thing she needs to deal with is a pushy, arrogant professional hockey player—Hawthorne Maze, aka Hawk. Hopefully the gorgeous distraction won’t derail everything she has worked so hard for.

From the outside looking in, Hawk’s life seems perfect. Professionally, he’s at the top of his field, and personally, he has his pick of any groupie. Orphaned by teenage parents, he only knows is that his mom is white and his dad black. Other than that, there are only two people he considers family—his childhood friend Gavin Knox and geriatric bar owner Moe. He thinks he knows everything about the famous blues artist, but the sudden appearance of his hot-ass daughter is not only unexpected but also unwanted. Contemplating retirement, Hawk needs to figure out what to do next, but fate keeps throwing the sexy egghead Lexi in his path.

Reader advisory: This book contains incidents of revenge porn, racial slurs by minor characters, and scenes of blackmail and emotional abuse.

Excerpt

As Lexi Waters’ advanced coding class put the finishing touches on their latest assignment, she flew her fingers across the screen of her phone a million miles per hour. Drowning out the click clack sound from more than a dozen girls pounding away on their keyboards, she polished off her last text.

“Okay, girls!” she hollered over the noise while pushing away from her desk. “We’ve got fifteen minutes left, but I wanted to say…uh—” Flashing lights drew her attention toward the window. A police cruiser turned into the community center’s parking lot. Shit! Standing up, she slid her phone into the back pocket of her jeans before she stepped in front of her students.

“Girls, code has been one of the biggest joys in my life, and you guys will never know how much you truly mean to me…” Lexi took in each one of the girls’ faces, wanting to commit every detail to memory. “I’ll be taking a little time away, which means I won’t be able to teach the class.” Groans filled the room at her announcement. Lexi had been with some of these girls since their tween years.

Do not cry. Do not cry. Swallowing the emerging lump in her throat, she encouraged herself to keep it together for a smidge longer.

“Miss Tracy will be taking over for the foreseeable future.” Lexi steadily ignored her phone buzzing in her back pocket. “She will help you tie up the loose ends on your video game concepts, starting with the plot all the way down to character development.”

“But we wanted to do it with you,” the best coder in the group whined.

“Uh, don’t worry,” Lexi’s assistant Tracy groused. “I’m not standing here or anything.”

Limited on time, Lexi refused to acknowledge the little feud that had been brewing between them for weeks.

“Trust me. You guys are in good hands. You’re all set for the Fire Code submissions, and… Well”—she took a deep breath because goodbyes were always hard—“every single one of you is intelligent, awesome and there’s nothing you can’t and won’t do. Now make me proud!” She pounded her fist in the air with more enthusiasm than she actually felt.

Chairs scraped against the tile floor, the sounds bouncing off the concrete walls as the girls unexpectedly rushed her. Lexi stumbled back from the weight of their enormous group hug. For a moment, she allowed herself to open up, and lowering her head on top of her students, she soaked up all the good feels.

“Ms. Lexi.” The smallest in the class reached up and pulled something out of the messy bun piled on top of her head. “You have glass in your hair.”

“Oh?” She took the chunk out of the girl’s hand. “Mirror broke.” With assistance from her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s golf club—she had smashed it into a million pieces. She was snatched out of the warm comfort of her hugs when the community center secretary waved from the small window in the door. “Okay, time to go. Take care, girls.”

Determined to not get emotional, Lexi slipped away from the girls’ surprisingly strong grips. Grabbing the doorknob to open the door, she turned back to wave goodbye, leaving her home away from home.

“Ms. Stewart—”

“Waters,” Lexi corrected the nervous woman. She needed to distance herself from her ex-husband’s name ASAP.

“The community center’s director doesn’t understand…”

Flinging the piece of mirror into the janitor’s cart on her way past, Lexi tuned the woman out. Josh had always loved her hair long, but the weight of her curls had grown into a burden. Lexi couldn’t wait to change it. She had narrowed down the haircut she wanted to either a symmetrical chic or a perfect Toni Braxton à la Betty Boop pixie cut.

“Ms. Stewart!” a couple of boys on the basketball court yelled.

She waved at the teens, fighting off the mist in her eyes. The kids were about the only thing she wished she could take with her.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“The officers wouldn’t tell me what they wanted to talk to you about,” she nervously babbled, “but I put them near the back door like you suggested.”

“Did you get the numbers that I sent you?”

As they walked through the corridors of the enormous Inglewood Center, the secretary fumbled with her phone. It took every ounce of Lexi’s patience not to snatch it from her hands. “Moe’s Blues and Jazz, Sugarfoot Moe Waters and or Simone, the manager of the club, correct?”

“Yes, perfect,” Lexi told her.

“And forgive me for being obtuse, but why did you send me these numbers?”

“Bail money.” She walked into the administrator’s front office. Thankfully, there was an exit away from the classroom, where none of the kids could witness their mentor’s arrest. #superembarrassing. “If you would be so kind as to call them and let them know that I will need to be bailed out, that would be awesome.”

“Excuse me?”

“The asshole I will soon be divorced from froze all my assets.” She shrugged. “So, yeah, there’s that.”

“Lexington Stewart?” Two officers waited for her.

“Waters,” she corrected the cop. All she’d done was smash every breakable item in Josh’s secret hideaway. Considering it was her hard work that had paid for that crap, it technically shouldn’t have been a jail-able offense.

“Lexington Waters, you have the right to remain silent.” The stocky officer who demonstrated a severe case of Napoleon complex grabbed her arm a little too harshly and handcuffed her.

For a minute, it crossed her mind to feign innocence, but she was super guilty, because…

Fuck Josh. That’s why!

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

Amber Malloy

Amber Malloy dreamed of being a double agent but couldn’t pass the psyche evaluation. Crushed by despair that she couldn’t legally shoot things, Amber pursued her second career choice as pastry chef. When she’s not writing or whipping up a mean Snickers Cheesecake, she occasionally spies on her sommelier. Amber is convinced he’s faking his French accent.

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Notice: This competition ends on 7th September 2021 at 12AM EST. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Book Blitz & Excerpt: Leave a Widow Wanting More, by Charlie Lane

leave a widow wanting more

  Leave a Widow Wanting More
Books 1, Cavendish Family Chronicles
by Charlie Lane

Historical Romance (steamy)

Date Published: August 26, 2021

A penniless widow. A baron running from love. Will a marriage of convenience save them or tear them apart?

Widow Sarah Pennington has no time for love. Sending a son to Harrow is not cheap, and her husband’s lies left them in poverty. When she loses her position at the bookshop, she knows marriage isn’t the answer. Only her own hard work will save the day.

It seems Baron Eaden can’t love a woman without her dying. To keep his daughters, and his heart, safe, he roams the world, keeping his distance. But when his hunt for a rare book brings him back to London, he knows he must do the one thing he’s avoided for years—find them a mother. He needs a woman who’s up to the challenge, not one to fall in love with. Because he’s vowed never to make that mistake again.

The determined, lovely-eyed widow in the bookshop challenges Henry in every way. She’s exactly who his daughters need. But she’d rather have the book he’s after than his hand in marriage.

A marriage of convenience could save Sarah and her son, but when she finds passion in the baron’s arms, she realizes security isn’t enough. She wants Henry’s heart. If he can find the courage to trust her with it.

Purchase Link

Amazon

Leave a Widow Wanting More Blitz

 

Excerpt

Sarah stopped their progress and pulled away from him. Twisting her hands in front of her, she watched her son walk farther ahead then drew in a breath, and seemed to conquer whatever ailed her. Henry enjoyed watching the process of her gathering fortitude for whatever it was she was about to say.

Did you truly come back to issue a third proposal of marriage?”

You know I have.”

She smirked. “Third time’s the charm?”

No. That suggests luck. Luck doesn’t obtain much of anything important. I’ve come prepared this time.” He resisted looking toward James. He kept his eyes pinned on hers. “The first time I proposed I did so on a moment’s whim. The second time, I’d determined that my whim was logical and correct, but I was not in the best of states to make a persuasive argument.”

She eyed him from boots to hat. “And you are in a better state now?” she asked.

While James had been fitted for new clothes, Henry had returned to Steven’s for a bath and a shave. He knew he didn’t make a shabby picture.

I believe I am prepared.” Henry stepped closer and untwisted Mrs. Pennington’s hands. Folding them in his own, he said, “Mrs. Pennington, we just met yesterday, but I believe we have much to offer one another. I’ll not repeat those arguments I made yesterday. You know them as well as I. Instead, I’ll say what I did not and should have.”

He’d not said words like he was about to say to any woman in over five years, and he’d never said them to anyone on so short an acquaintance. But they must be said. They were true, he found, despite it all. He reached a hand to her temple where a curl had escaped her simple chignon.

I think you’re exquisite,” he said. “I think you’re smart. I think you’re brave. I think there’s no woman in England I’d rather marry half as much as you.”

She blinked several times. Her mouth parted slightly. Her chest rose and fell faster than it had moments before.

I have one more argument, and it may be my most persuasive yet.”

Oh?”

He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest. He dipped his head until their noses touched. “Always put your best argument last.” His lips brushed hers before sinking in to drink long and full. The kiss was to him like water to the desert-lost soul. Her soft curves pushed against his chest, her long, strong back beneath his fingertips, all overwhelmed his senses.

When her hands flattened against his chest, flexed, then roamed upward to wind around his neck, he moaned, then parted her lips with his tongue to drink of her more deeply.

She let him make a spectacle of them both in the street until he was convinced, completely and utterly, of her answer. He grinned in their kiss, pulling away to view her flushed face.

Well?” he asked. “Are you persuaded?” He needed to hear her say it. Yes.

Her hands still curled around his neck, and she stood on tiptoe, leaning against him. Her body resting against his for balance, for stability, felt like perfection. Better than the hot Egyptian sun. Better than a soft bed or warm bath. Better than being back at Cavendish Manor.

She smiled, bit her lip. He knew what her smile meant. It meant victory.

About The Author

Charlie Lane traded in academic databases and scholarly journals for writing steamy Regency romcoms like the ones she’s always loved to read. Her favorite authors are Jane Austen (who else?), Toni Morrison, William Blake, Julia Quinn, Tessa Dare, and Amanda Quick, and when she’s not writing humorous conversations, dramatic confrontations, or sexy times, she’s flying high in the air as a circus-obsessed acrobat.

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Blog

Goodreads

Pinterest

Instagram

Bookbub

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

Spotlight – Baja Clavius: Dream Time for Moon Men, by Madeira Desouza

BANNER 2 - Dream Time for Moon Men

Baja Clavius: Dream Time for Moon Men - Madeira Desouza
Madeira Desouza has a new mm erotic sci-fi serial story releasing on Kindle Vella – Baja Clavius: Dream Time for Moon Men. And there’s a giveaway!

This serialized story continues the science fiction time travel adventures from “Baja Clavius: Moon Men Deep Inside” written and illustrated by Madeira Desouza.

What’s it about? In the 23rd century a gritty, quasi-militaristic time travel agency located beneath the crater Clavius on the moon sends gay male agents on missions to the past on Earth.

The often immoral actions of the time travel agents are unrestricted by the agency which allows the agents free reign to alter timelines to prevent an impending self-destruction of human civilization coming in just a few years.

Read It On Kindle Vella


Giveaway

Madeira is giving away an Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link


Excerpt

Having never traveled farther west than Wichita, an unexpected work opportunity to jet off to Las Vegas jolts into overdrive the imagination of a young man from Kansas. He is deep in sleep, carefully buckled in while reclining in his comfortable window seat in row number one within the crowded first-class section. The smooth, soothing rush of the cool, pressurized air inside the jet masks his awareness of his forward speed and his current altitude at roughly seven miles up in the sky.

As his jet touches down on the runway, he wonders in anticipation what may be awaiting him in the desert playground. The first few seconds as he walks from the aircraft that brought him to the Las Vegas airport, he is immersed in a literal sensory overload designed to force all arriving visitors to forget where they just came from. First, there is the unforgettable ringing of airport terminal slot machine chimes announcing unexpected winners who will start their stay in Vegas with a few extra hundred bucks in their pocket. Then, large overhead video screens in the baggage claim section shine down brilliantly colorful images that seem almost dreamlike.

However, what catches his attention is a video pitching a side-trip from Las Vegas to Amargosa Valley. He only recently learned of a ranch situated in that western edge of Nevada about a hundred miles from Las Vegas where his work assignment awaits. The young man spins around quickly as he stands next to baggage claim carousel number 22 because he cannot shake the eerie sensation of someone standing too close behind him. His surprised gaze comes into instant, direct alignment with the squinting blue eyes of guy about his same age. He immediately notices the blue-eyed guy has a handsome, chiseled face and he is dressed all in black in an apparent paramilitary-style uniform complete with thick black boots.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Josh Lorne. From the ranch at Amargosa Valley,” says the guy with blue eyes. “Supposed to pick up a writer flying in from Kansas.”

The young man in blue jeans, cowboy boots and a tight, bright orange t-shirt replies, “Great. I was told someone would meet me when I got here. I’m Lex—Alexander Sarkis, from Wichita.” Lex Sarkis watches the good-looking man clad all in black steps quickly away from the baggage claim area.

It is Thursday, the 11th day of October 2012, which will be remembered for rare, severe thunderstorms lingering over the entire Las Vegas Valley. Declan Andreas, a rugged-looking young man of Mexican and Greek ancestry also is arriving at the airport not far behind Lex Sarkis.

Someone who is known simply by his nickname of “the rancher” approaches Dec Andreas at the baggage claim area. He stands very tall in his large brown work boots. His head is graced with a large white cowboy hat that allows just enough of his curly light brown hair to fall downward toward, but not quite reaching, his thick, muscular neck. Dec Andreas concludes that the rancher’s impressive upper body especially deserves to be uncovered and admired.

Dec Andreas is dressed as if he wants to pass as a tourist. But Dec Andreas is not here in Las Vegas to visit casinos or to spend money gambling. He is not here for winning or losing anything. He retrieves a small rolling suitcase inside the vast luggage claim area. Nobody will care that Dec Andreas is attired like a tourist. This is the arrival point at the Las Vegas airport where everyone starts off on equal footing looking like everyone else. Looks don’t matter at the start. But then, the winning and the losing in Vegas changes all perceptions.

The rancher’s new, white pickup truck heads north and east away from Las Vegas. The severe weather remains over the valley but in the opposite direction from where Route 95 is taking the rancher and his guest, Dec Andreas. Soon the rancher nudges Andreas so he will notice the battered and worn sign by the right side of the two-lane highway that reads, Amargosa Valley, Nevada.

Lex Sarkis is already at the ranch and has discovered he is in serious jeopardy. He is reclining on his back upon a large metal and plexiglass chair upon a grey metallic floor. He is bound to the chair at his wrists, elbows, and ankles by shiny black straps of an oddly translucent polymer. He stares at a tall, horizontal screen that occupies most the area directly in front of him in the darkened room where he is confined to the large reclining chair. On the screen he sees a man who looks authoritative. Lex Sarkis can only observe the man on the screen from his shoulders to the top of his head, but the man’s familiar all-black paramilitary garment demands full attention.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sarkis,” the man on the screen says while showing no emotion whatsoever.

“Where am I? Why have you restrained me?”

“Excellent opening questions,” the man responds with a slight smile. “You are being held in protective custody at the ranch in Amargosa Valley. I sent someone to meet you at the airport and give you a ride here. Something went wrong.”

“Went wrong? Why am I being held against my will?” Lex Sarkis asks with faked confidence as he struggles to free himself from the chair.

“Let me introduce myself. I am Edward Primero. I run the organization that owns the ranch. You are my guest, Mr. Sarkis.”

Lex Sarkis continues his unsuccessful attempts to wriggle free from the chair that tightly holds him. His torso muscles stand out vividly through his tight, bright orange t-shirt. “You sure have a strange way of treating your guests.” He stops talking and struggling to focus his attention on a thin metallic device connected to a slender, coiled white tube slide up in the air from the right side of the chair. A long, silver needle pokes out from the thin metallic device. When the long, silver needle stops mere millimeters away from plunging into his crotch through his blue jeans.


Author Bio

Madeira Desouza
Madeira Desouza is a gay male author. He focuses upon telling stories about mature, masculine men who are sexually attracted to other mature, masculine men. He steers clear of several deeply embedded traits of American gay culture that can be found in film and in print–eccentric or flamboyant behaviors, alkyl nitrites, dance music, trendy clothing, trendy hair, gay men who think age 30 is old, and so forth.

Desouza’s creative works belong within the bara genre. This little word is shortened from barazuko. Translated from Japanese, it means rose-tribe, which was a code phrase for gay men. Originated in Japan decades ago as gay men created works for other gay men, this genre has not yet been widely embraced internationally. Perhaps this is because bara depicts same-sex feelings and sexual attraction to masculine, muscular men who sometimes behave in aggressive, violent, or exploitative ways towards one another.

As both a storyteller and digital artist Desouza explores conflicting and opposing compulsions that all men have. On one side there are impulses men have towards sustaining life, engaging in love, and being attracted to others. In the opposing direction are impulses men have towards being aggressive, engaging in violence, and, causing pain and death. For centuries, artists and storytellers around the world have found inspiration in these two opposing human compulsions that no man is able to resist or impede merely by his conscious will alone.

Author Website
Author Facebook (Personal)
Author Facebook (Author Page)
Author Twitter
Author Instagram
Author Goodreads
Author Amazon

Other Worlds Ink logo
Scroll Up