Spotlight & Excerpt: Restrained Desires + Giveaway

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Restrained Desires
Katherine McIntyre has a new FF contemporary romance out: Restrained Desires.

One rule: don’t fall for your best friend’s straight sister. Especially not when she’s pretending to be your fake girlfriend.

Chelsea Moore is officially divorced from her asshole husband, and after wasting her early twenties putting up with his shit, she’s burning to get out there and play the field—especially a certain kinkier side he made her feel like garbage about.

Kyle Walker’s terrified to put herself out there. According to her mother, she doesn’t have the looks to hook anyone, but what makes it worse is that her dating history falls in line. However, when her family tries to claim she’s not really a lesbian, she tells them she’s bringing her girlfriend to Christmas. Only problem? She doesn’t have one.

In comes sexy, newly divorced, and straight Chelsea Moore to the rescue—her best friend Aubrey’s little sister. She’s doing Kyle a favor—like any friend would—except Kyle’s half in love with her from the moment they start hanging out. All too soon those lines begin to blur—lingering touches, flirting, kissing…. And when they connect on kink and begin hooking up, that’s when Kyle knows she’s screwed.

Chelsea might have Aubrey to protect her heart, but Kyle could lose both her best friend and the only woman who’s made her feel like she’s worth more.

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Giveaway

Katherine is giving away a $10 Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link


Excerpt

Restrained Desires Meme
“So, care to explain how I ended up here?” Chelsea asked, leaning against the counter. “Everything got a bit hazy after I jumped onstage to do amateur burlesque.”

Kyle ducked her head, the blush lighting up her cheeks. “Yeah, no one managed to top your performance.” The tension in the air between them thickened, and Chelsea cocked her head in curiosity. Before she could ask anything, Kyle continued. “Then we all proceeded to drink. A lot. And when Aubs was ready to ship you home, you told her if you got in a car you’d hurl. Then you explained that we were having a sleepover, since I lived right up the street.”

Chelsea snorted. “Yeah, sounds about right. I’m sure my sister went apoplectic.”

“I got a stern talking to, but that was about it,” Kyle said, bringing the laden plates over to the small two-seater stationed in her kitchen. “And then I got you into the bed, and I took the couch.”

Christ, this woman. She’d never met someone as genuinely caring as Ky, and she wouldn’t again. Her brows drew together. “Wait, why’d you get the talking to?”

Kyle arched a brow, a blush spreading to her entire face. “Because we’re both single women, and she seemed to think I’d try to jump you in the middle of the night or convert you to the gay.”

“That ever-contagious gay.” Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Aubrey’s one to talk. Besides, I’d way rather wake up in bed next to you than half of the guys at the bar last night.”

Until the words escaped her mouth, she didn’t realize how suggestive they sounded. Right, that was going to go over great, flaunting herself in front of her sister’s best friend. Not like the woman wasn’t hot as fuck, especially all relaxed like this in her own environment. Kyle glanced away, letting out a slow breath. Chelsea’s heart sped a little faster, probably from the coffee kicking in.

“Better dive into breakfast before it gets cold,” Ky muttered, as if she wasn’t trying to divert the conversation. “Cold eggs just taste like scrambled rubber.”

Chels snagged a slice of bacon and began to chew, enjoying the salty flavors exploding on her tongue. When she added the buttered toast to the mix, she almost let out a groan. Breakfast might be simple to fix up, but this was cooked to perfection. The yolk of the sunny-side up eggs split, running across her plate, and she dipped the pieces of toast into it. The breakfast and coffee started to invigorate her, as if she wasn’t roadkill in the wake of bad decisions.

Still, she refused to count her divorce as one. Marrying Noah, yes, that had been a grievous error on her part, but leaving him had been her best choice, even if Dad had been disgruntled about the whole thing the past few months.

“Did you have fun last night?” Chelsea asked, curious to have some of the blanks filled in. The outing had been necessary, a chance for her to let loose and declare her freedom to the world. “Sorry if me crashing here vag-blocked you or anything.” She scratched her wild waves, more than aware she looked like a train wreck right now.

“Please. Me?” Ky responded, shaking her head. “Do I look like the type who’s bringing home girls every night? Maybe like the type who owns a thousand dogs, but I don’t play the field like that. I had a blast, mostly because you were so trashed it kept Aubs and Sky from trying to hook me up with any single lady they found at the bar.”

“What would be so bad about that?” Chelsea asked, taking a sip of her black coffee. She’d known Kyle for years but never got a chance to talk with her one-on-one like this.

“If we could skip past the awkward introductions where I say something horrifying, nothing. But I’m the least charming person in the tristate area, and I’ve scared more women away in the first five minutes than I can count.”

“No fucking way,” Chels said, shaking her head. She took a minute to wipe under her eyes, realizing her makeup probably streaked everywhere. “Sorry, I didn’t even look in the mirror. I probably look horrible.”

Kyle shook her head. “Nah, you’re gorgeous.” Her voice was so soft when she said those words in an earnest tone that made Chelsea melt.

“Wait, you’re telling me women walk away from this?” she asked, circling her finger around as she pointed at Kyle. “Between the genuine grin of yours that would make hardened criminals weak in the knees and the way you put the people around you at ease, you’re a freaking catch.”

“I’m going to hope the earth swallows me up in the next five seconds so I don’t die from embarrassment,” Kyle said, taking a bite from her bacon all while avoiding Chelsea’s eyes.

Kyle’s tendency to dodge compliments and downplay herself never struck her before, but while talking one-on-one like this, she noticed immediately.

Kyle swallowed her bacon and glanced back up. “Most women don’t seem to agree. Whenever I meet someone new, rational conversation escapes my brain, and I end up telling them they’ve got great sternocleidomastoid muscles or ask if free will is real or just an illusion.”

Chelsea pursed her lips. Disbelief coursed through her. How had no one found those questions charming? Everything about Kyle Walker was endearingly cute. Maybe her sister had the right idea after all. After Noah, the idea of hopping into bed with another guy made her gut roil.


Author Bio

Katherine McIntyre
Katherine McIntyre is a feisty chick with a big attitude despite her short stature. She writes stories featuring snarky women, ragtag crews, and men with bad attitudes—and there’s an equally high chance for a passionate speech thrown into the mix. As an eternal geek and tomboy who’s always stepped to her own beat, she’s made it her mission to write stories that represent the broad spectrum of people out there, from different cultures and races to all varieties of men and women.

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Spotlight & Excerpt: Last Worst Hopes + Giveaway

FB BANNER Last Worst Hopes

Last Worst Hopes - Lee Hunt
Lee Hunt has a new epic fantasy out in both eBook/print and audiobook formats, set in the world of the Dynamicist Trilogy: Last Worst Hopes. And there’s a giveaway!

Their world was ending, all the heroes were dead, the leaders confused, and their enemies were head and shoulders above them. But there was no one else; they were the dregs, the last worst hopes.

Nehring Ardgour has summoned Skoll and Hati from hell. They have torn through the proud and ancient country of Engevelen and the angelic Methueyn Knights that protect it. Armies have died, cities have fallen. None of the great remain. No brilliant inventors, no powerful knights, no master wizards.

No heroes.

But it gets worse. Farrah Harbinger has looked into the future and foretells the coming of an enemy worse than all the others, a creature of destruction and entropy like no other. A being who will grind all hopes and memory of civilization into dust: the One, True Devil.

Who can stop it? Who is left to even try?

Surely not Val, an arrogant young wizard who no one takes seriously, or Mick, an old man who can’t even remember his name. Certainly not Dav, who cannot seem to tell left from right or up from down, or Aveline, a squire filled with more questions than courage. No one would pick them to save the world, and yet there is no one else left.

Universal Buy Link | Get it On Amazon

 


Giveaway

Lee is giving away a $20 Amazon gift card with this tour:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Direct Link


Excerpt

They watched, hardly daring to breathe. Then, as if buffeted by a sudden wind, something stirred among the trees. An instant later, the movement resolved into soldiers, running, seven of them, bursting from the trees. It looked like someone in the group might have stumbled and been helped up by others.

The horn called a single note, which cut off almost before fully forming.

“Run!” shouted the major.

“Run!” shouted Havard.

The call echoed up and down the line, but to Mick it did not look like the soldiers were running fast at all. It almost never does, when you’re watching someone impatiently, and absolutely never does when they might die if they’re too slow. He wondered how he knew this.

The image of Sir Valence playing fetch with Fenris blazed like the sun in Mick’s eyes.

Last chances.

Mick did not shout “Run!” but suddenly, unaccountably, he found himself over the line with a pike in his hands, running toward the struggling rangers. He did not remember grabbing the pike or leaping over the wall. He did not remember if landing from the six-foot height had hurt his ancient knees. Mick did not remember his earlier self-doubt, never worried if he would get to the rangers in time, never speculated that he might not be needed, or if his effort was a fool’s errand, the futile histrionics of a mad, old fool from a house of fools, never wondered if he might do more harm than good or fretted that a wall of monsters might come out of the trees and dwarf any effort a hundred of him could muster. He never considered in any way the question of leaping the wall or not. There was no thought or speech involved at all.

He simply ran.

“Mick, get back here!” bellowed Havard. “For knight’s sake, stop!”

But Mick was gone.

The ground sped by quickly as the rangers grew closer and closer. Two huge, strange shapes broke out of the trees, aiming straight for the soldiers. He tightened his grip on the pike, lowered his head, and charged.

The rangers abruptly stopped and formed a semi-circle. One of them limped on as the rest rotated their spears and planted them, gleaming tips pointing up and back toward the trees. An instant later, the skolves hit them, hard, pushing recklessly into the rangers’ spears, swiping at them with their rusty swords. For a moment, the spears held them there, but could not turn them back. Mick could see the skolves shake from side to side, paws, swords and bodies trying to dislodge the spears from the rangers’ hands and get inside their arcuate line.

As Mick rushed toward the battle, one of the spears broke. The rightmost skolve lunged forward with a roar and was immediately hit on its horse-length head by an overhand sword stroke delivered by one of the rangers. The creature reeled back and fell.

Mick broke left for several long strides, then sharply right into the flank of the skolve still held at spear length. “Last chance!” he roared as he lunged and thrust his pike straight into the chest of the beast, taking it off its feet so suddenly that its sword flew out of its huge paw, tracing a spinning arc through the sky before disappearing into the grass. Ferociously, the old man twisted the bladed end of the pike, which had penetrated a foot-and-a-half into the creature’s chest cavity, and step-pulled it out. Dark red blood sloshed out of the ragged wound, but the beast was done. It could only collapse and curl weakly around itself.

The other skolve was struggling under spear thrusts from four of the rangers. With an incomprehensible roar, Mick leaped forward and rammed his spear into the skolve’s head, just missing its eye. It skittered along skull until it caught at the base of where its cheekbone would be. Mick pushed harder, forcing the skolve’s head roughly to the earth, and the haft broke, making him stumble forward with seven feet of wood in his hands. He stepped between the rangers, shifted his grip, and speared the skolve again in the snout with the broken end of the pike haft. It tried to scramble up but collapsed, bleeding from dozens of wounds, but the soldiers kept slashing at it. No one was certain when it would be safe to stop stabbing. Another ranger was rolling around on the ground, hands to his leg, blood seeping between fingers.

“Pick him up,” said one of the rangers at last, a man with a rough goatee.

Mick shouldered his way in, whipped off his belt, slapped the man’s hands away from his leg, and wrapped it tight twice around, just above a large gash oozing red. “I’ll take him,” he wheezed, picking the soldier up and slinging him over his shoulder.

“Run!” a female ranger screamed. “There’s more coming!” Her voice dropped. “All of them.”

Mick did not bother looking back, knew that there was no looking back once over the wall once the chance was taken. There were, however, consequences.

A vast, high-pitched wail passed overhead. A sheet of arrows. Mick knew the sound from somewhere in the distant past. A storm punctuated by the pounding of arrows as they struck their targets. Mick did not look back.

“Look out!” cried the man he was carrying, and an instant later something heavy struck the back of Mick’s leg. He stumbled and went down. The soldier flopped off his shoulders with a scream. “Ahhh. Fuck me,” the man groaned. “Why?” he cried piteously as he rolled weakly, one arm over his face.

Mick staggered back up, hopped, found that his legs still worked, saw nothing was sticking out of himself, shoveled the ranger back up into his arms, and started running again.

“Grandpa,” the ranger whispered. “Grandpa … don’t drop me again.”


Author Bio

Lee Hunt
Born with only one working lung and having had the last rights read to him and dying of an influenza related viral pneumonia, 25-year-old geophysicist Lee Hunt experienced several near-death dreams. The power of communication and the need to both understand and be understood was at the heart of each. He had already found that nothing was more important than being able to cross the distance between people.

Lee’s interests are eclectic. He is an Ironman Triathlete, hiker, traveler, and an enthusiastic sport rock climber. Lee also continues to work as a geophysicist on Carbon Capture and Sequestration projects, and is a writer for BIG-Media.ca.

The dream of understanding and being understood has never left his mind, and Lee continues that in his works of fiction through metaphor. His works include The Dynamicist Trilogy, Last Worst Hopes and Bed of Rose and Thorns.

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