Under My Skin by Laura Diamond #ReleaseBlast #Giveaway @chapterxchapter @DiamondLB @SwoonRomance

Release Day Celebration: Under My Skin by Laura Diamond with Giveaway



Happy Release Day to

Under My Skin by Laura Diamond!

Join us in celebrating this new release from Swoon Romance!

Enter the giveaway found at the end of the post.


Happy Book Birthday, Laura!


Under My Skin Cover


Bookish Brit Adam Gibson is one wonky heartbeat away from a fatal arrhythmia. But staying alive requires Adam to become keenly focused on both his pulse and the many different daily medications he must take in exactly the right dosages. Adam’s torn between wanting to live and knowing that someone else must die in order for him to do so. He needs a new heart.

The pressure is getting to him. Adam stops talking to his friends back home, refuses to meet kids at his new school, and shuts his parents out entirely. His days are spent wondering if can cope with having a dead man’s heart beating inside his chest, or if he should surrender to the thoughts of suicide swirling around in his head.

And then a donor is found…

Outspoken artist Darby Fox rarely lets anything stand in her way of achieving her goals . Whether it’s painting, ignoring her homework (dyslexia makes a mess out of words anyway), kissing a hot boy she doesn’t even know, or taking the head cheerleader down a peg , no one has ever accused Darby of being a shy. She also happens to be the twin sister to a perfect brother with good looks, good grades, manners, and the approval of their parents – something Darby has never had.

Darby’s always had bad timing . She picks the worst time to argue with her brother Daniel. In a car with bald tires, on an icy road in the freezing cold, the unthinkable happens. In a split-second, everything changes forever.

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Under My Skin by Laura Diamond
Publication Date: April 12, 2016
Publisher: Swoon Romance

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Laura Diamond


Laura Diamond is a board certified psychiatrist currently specializing in emergency psychiatry. She is also an author of all things young adult—both contemporary and paranormal. An avid fan of sci-fi, fantasy, and anything magical, she thrives on quirk, her lucid dreams, and coffee. When she’s not working or writing, she can be found sniffing books and drinking a latte at the bookstore or at home pondering renovations on her 225 year old fixer upper, all while obeying her feline overlords, of course.

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 I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl

Spindle by Shonna Slayton #CoverReveal #Giveaway @chapterxchapter @entangledteen @shonnaslayton

Cover Reveal: Spindle by Shonna Slayton presented by Entangled Teen with Giveaway



YA Historical Fantasy? Retelling of Sleeping Beauty?

Welcome to the Cover Reveal for the

Spindle by Shonna Slayton

presented by Entanged Teen!

Fans of fairy-tale retellings, this one’s for you!


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From the author of Cinderella’s Dress, a brand-new standalone novel that retells the story of Sleeping Beauty, this time set during the Industrial Revolution.

Sleeping Beauty’s happily ever after isn’t the end of the story…

The evil fairy’s magic is still trapped in her unfulfilled curse, and the only way to release it is to see a girl to the death. But the spindle has been hidden away for centuries, until a peddler offers it to an unsuspecting mill girl during the Industrial Revolution.

Briar Jenny had planned to escape her life of poverty and hardship with Wheeler, an ambitious young man who plans to leave the valley and start his own business. Trouble is, he no longer cares for her, fancying the new girl who just moved into town to work at the cotton mill. When Briar tries to use the spindle to win back Wheeler’s heart and secure her future, she has no idea the power she has unleashed.

After pricking her finger on the magic spindle, she falls under a sleeping sickness that slowly claims her body bit by bit. It will take all her strength, to not only survive, but also break the curse and defeat the evil fairy for good.

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Book Title: Spindle
Author: Shonna Slayton
Release Date: Oct. 4, 2016
Genre: YA Historical Fantasy

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Shonna Slayton


SHONNA SLAYTON writes historical fairy tales for Entangled TEEN. Cinderella’s Dress and Cinderella’s Shoes, set in the 1940s are out now. Spindle, a Sleeping Beauty inspired tale set in the late 1800s, will be out October 2016.

She finds inspiration in reading vintage diaries written by teens, who despite using different slang, sound a lot like teenagers today. When not writing, Shonna enjoys amaretto lattes and spending time with her husband and children in Arizona.

The best way to keep in touch is by signing up for her monthly newsletter. She sends out behind-the-scenes info you can’t read anywhere else. Sign up is on the sidebar of her website Shonna Slayton.

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 I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl

Friction by Sapphire Knight #Giveaway @sapphireknight3 @IndieSagePromo


by Sapphire Knight
An Oathkeepers MC Novel
Publication Date: April 7, 2015
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense, Thriller, Organized Crime


Purchase: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks

I lost my mind that day.
I arrived home, to my wife’s sweet color, stripped. Her body motionless, slain in a puddle of blood, her delicate skin, riddled with multiple stab wounds. The brutality of the rape was horrendous. My precious little girl lain in the middle of the floor, pillow securely duct taped on her face. Her tiny body, left unmoving. I’ve never screamed so savagely, wishing I was dead before in my life.
I’ve long given up on any light in my life, jaded. I wasn’t expecting to be blinded with friction, by a fucking ray of sunshine.

I had no idea what to do with my life or my baby’s. I trusted the wrong man, who turned out to be a ghost, disappearing, leaving me scattered. I head to my brothers club, in hopes of leaning on the only shoulder I’ve ever known.
What I find instead, is a hunter. A fiercely loyal, broken man, just waiting for his next kill.

Come fall in love with the next installment of the Oath Keepers MC from Internationally Bestselling Author Sapphire Knight.

About Sapphire Knight

Sapphire Knight is the Internationally Bestselling Author of Secrets, Exposed, Relinquish, Corrupted and Forsaken Control. Her books all reflect on what she loves to read herself.

Sapphire is a Texas girl who is crazy about football. She has always had a knack for writing, whether it is poems or stories. She originally studied psychology and that has only added to her passion for writing. She has two boys and has been married for ten years. When she’s not busy in her writing cave, she’s busy playing with her three Doberman Pinschers. She loves to donate to help animals and watching a good action movie.

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I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl

Geomancist by Charmaine Pauls @CharmainePauls @bookenthupromo #Giveaway

Geomancist by Charmaine Pauls Release Blitz

release day blitz

Geomancist by Charmaine Pauls Release Blitz
Book Title: Geomancist
Author: Charmaine Pauls
Genre:Paranormal Erotic Romance
Release Date: April 12, 2016
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
book blurb

All is fair in love and war, especially when the loot is HIS woman.

Sean Rivers lives with a dangerous secret. He possesses a forbidden art. As geomancist, it is in his power to destroy landscapes with earthquakes and volcanoes. Knowing his kind is hunted by forces of both good and evil, Sean’s job as mixologist in Cartagena, Colombia is the perfect cover. Until Asia, a zesty beautician walks into his life and wrecks the very laws of physics.

When Sean and Asia compete for the premises where Sean intends to open his cocktail bar, he pulls out all the stops to win the challenge … to Asia’s detriment. Together they end up catering for the guests of a drug baron who rented Isla del Pirata for a week-long birthday celebration, and the kingpin has no intention of letting Asia leave. Ever. If Sean is to rescue her, he’ll have to use his art, blow his cover, and maybe even his life.

* Geomancist is Book 5 in the paranormal erotic romance series, Seven Forbidden Arts, but also reads as a standalone. The story contains adult content with explicit language and consummated loves scenes, including kink and sexual punishment. Reader discretion is advised.


On the landing, Sean stopped in the door. From over his shoulder she saw a small group of people in a big lounge and dining area who were either dancing or lazing on the sofas with drinks in their hands. Her heart started beating even faster than before. She tried to calm herself with logical thoughts. Surely Jeanne wouldn’t hurt them in a room full of witnesses.

“Get inside.” With the gun pointed at their back, Jeanne moved them to the middle of the floor and kicked the door shut. “Kill the music,” she said into the small crowd. “Our entertainment is here.”

The eyes of the men locked on Asia. They were filled with excited anticipation that she didn’t like one bit. A woman dressed in a skirt so short her ass cheeks showed under the hem pressed a command on an iPod. The loud beat turned to silence. Whoever wasn’t already slouched on the sofas, made their way over there, forming a tight circle around her and Sean.

“Whatever you’re planning,” Sean said, “you’re making a mistake.”

Jeanne pointed at the suitcase Sean still carried in his hand. “Drop the bag. She won’t need it for a while.”

Sean lowered the case to the floor without removing his eyes from Jeanne. Asia tried to be brave, but it was hard when Jeanne’s warped friends looked at her like she was the main attraction. One of the guys on the sofa rubbed his crotch.

“What do you want from us?” she asked.

If she knew what Jeanne’s plan was for them, she could work out some kind of defense. Her body had gone from trembling to shaking. As if sensing her mounting distress, Sean gripped her fingers.

Jeanne came closer and pushed the pistol against Sean’s temple. Anger and helplessness washed over his features, telling her the truth. He was as powerless as she was. He looked at Asia with amazing calmness, but it failed to soothe her. The gun was pressed against his temple, but she could almost feel the barrel against her own.

The man who palmed himself spoke. “Do it, Jeanne.” His eyes were wide and his face coated with perspiration.

Sean was so still, not even his chest moved. It seemed as if he’d stopped breathing. The atmosphere was thick with expectation. The woman on the single chair moved to the edge of her seat. A younger man sitting on the armrest of the sofa looked away when Asia caught his eye.

A bald man with a girl on his lap and his hand buried underneath her dress said, “Why are we waiting?”

“Oh, I just want the moment to last.” Jeanne almost sounded breathless.

“I don’t think I’ll last,” another man said. When he pointed at the erection straining his pants, a loud round of laughter followed.

“What do you want, Jeanne?” Sean said again.

Jeanne chuckled. “We want a show.” She turned in a slow circle, facing the mindless men and women who participated in her evil sport. “Don’t we?”

“Please.” Asia’s voice shook as much as her hands. “Don’t do this.”

Whatever Jeanne had in mind, it wasn’t going to be good.

“Take off your clothes, darling.” Jeanne’s gaze flickered to Sean. “You too, stud muffin.” She checked her watch and cocked the safety on the gun. “You have ten seconds.”

Asia’s breath caught on a hitch. Jeanne was going to make them strip in front on her friends. Oh, she was a sick woman. If there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that Jeanne wasn’t going to let her off the hook. This was the kingpin’s wife’s way of taking revenge for the interest her husband had shown in Asia. She realized that Sean’s rejection of the woman hadn’t helped. Jeanne was as high as a kite, that much was clear. Who knew what she was capable of in the state she was in? This couldn’t be happening.

“Now,” Jeanne said. “If I have to repeat myself, one of you gets a bullet in the knee.”

There was no doubt in Asia’s mind that she’d follow through with her threat and pull the trigger. With only one thing left to do, Asia turned away from Jeanne to face Sean. She straightened her back and lifted her chin. She wasn’t going to do this cowering.

A muscle ticked in Sean’s jaw. His eyes were narrowed on Jeanne, but when he moved them to Asia, they softened, no doubt for her benefit. God knew, she needed any moral support she could get.

Keeping her eyes focused on him, she unbuttoned her tunic, pulled it from her arms and let it drop to the floor. Her skin broke out in goose bumps. She felt sick. She swallowed the feeling down and kicked off her shoes. Without breaking eye contact, Sean did the same, removing his T-shirt and casting it aside with a reckless flick of his wrist. It didn’t help that Sean had never seen her naked before.

“Faster,” Jeanne said. “This is not a slow striptease.”

Asia’s hands went to the button of her white pants. Her fingers fumbled with the zip. It took two tries before the pants gave way and she could pull them over her hips. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to shed them. There was no way in hell she was going to give Jeanne the satisfaction. She closed her eyes briefly and prayed that Jeanne wasn’t going to draw out the embarrassing torture.

The bald man’s gaze traveled over Asia before it settled on her white thong. The asshole didn’t even try to hide his ogling, or the bulge in his pants. She tried her best to ignore the stares that burned on her back.

Jeanne tapped her watch. “Three seconds.”

By now, Sean was out of his jeans too. He stood proud and tall in his black boxers. His chiseled chest flexed as he clenched his fists and his eyes flashed with unspoken defiance.

Jeanne caressed his cheek with the barrel of the gun, stepping around him so her chest pressed to his back. Her hand snaked around his waist, down his abdomen and into the elastic of his underwear. He flinched.

“That’s better,” Jeanne said, her eyes cutting a path over Asia. “Underwear too, Snow White.”

Asia bit her lip in an effort to stop it from trembling. When she searched for the clasp of her bra at her back with fingers dumb from fear, Sean reached for her.

“Come here,” he said softly, as if no one else in the room existed, as if Jeanne weren’t standing there with a pistol pressed against his head, her hand in his shorts and ten of her fucked-up friends watching the spectacle.

Asia took two steps until she stood almost against him. Her heart beat with an erratic rhythm.

Sean smoothed his hands over her shoulders and down her back, his fingers going to the clip. “Let me.”

His touch soothed her. Asia focused on the feeling of his fingers. She blocked out everything else, trying not to think but only to survive. There was a soft click. The lace loosened around her breasts. He pushed the straps from her shoulders and let the underwear fall to the floor.

His breath brushed over her face. “You know you’re beautiful.”

It wasn’t a compliment; it was meant to encourage.

Asia managed a watery smile. “So are you.”

A grin spread over his face, but quickly disappeared when Jeanne wrapped her hand around his cock.

The evil woman went on tiptoes and said in his neck, “Let me warm you up, my dear, because now you’re going to make our sweet little Asia come, or she dies.”


Geomancist by Charmaine Pauls Release Blitz

meet the author
Charmaine 002

Charmaine Pauls was born in Bloemfontein, South Africa. She obtained a degree in Communication at the University of Potchefstroom and followed a diverse career path in journalism, public relations, advertising, communications, photography, graphic design, and brand marketing. Her writing has always been an integral part of her professions.

After relocating to Chile with her French husband, she fulfilled her passion to write creatively full-time. Charmaine has published ten novels since 2011, as well as several short stories and articles. Two of her short stories were selected for publication in an African anthology from across the continent by the International Society of Literary Fellows in conjunction with the International Research Council on African Literature and Culture.

When she is not writing, she likes to travel, read, and rescue cats. Charmaine currently lives in Montpellier with her husband and children. Their household is a linguistic mélange of Afrikaans, English, French and Spanish.

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I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl

Have a Bite ( The Vampires of Brooklyn Chronicles) by R.G. Emanuelle #CoverReveal @bookenthupromo #Giveaway


Have a Bite ( The Vampires of Brooklyn Chronicles) by R.G. Emanuelle

Book Title: Have a Bite ( The Vampires of Brooklyn Chronicles)
Author: R.G. Emanuelle
Genre: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy
Release Date: May 13, 2016
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

book blurb

The world of vampires is, by nature, one of darkness, secrecy, and covertness. Vampires are invincible. No one can hurt them. Except vampire hunters.

Delphine Bouchard is a celebrity chef and owner of a world-renowned restaurant in Brooklyn, NY, where the chic and bespoke crowd mingle with neighborhood denizens. She enjoys fame, money, and women, and lives life by her own rules. She also happens to be a vampire.

Del’s life and the local vampire community are rocked when a vampire hunter begins picking them off, and Del has reason to believe that she might be next. Del is also being watched and criticized by the vampire hive council and persecuted by a coven of witches, who are the enforcers of behavior for the supernatural set. In the midst of all this turmoil, Del meets and unexpectedly falls hard for Jocelyn, who she soon discovers is holding back a disturbing secret. Del must decide whether or not to put aside her feelings of betrayal and pursue the relationship.

Meanwhile, when a food critic with a grudge sets out to ruin her business and reputation, Del has to protect her staff and restaurant. But the situation spirals out of control when a human shows up dead, her restaurant is sabotaged, and Jocelyn is threatened. Del must save her business, protect her loved ones, and find out who the vampire killer is before she is the next victim.

Set against a backdrop of elaborate meals and passionate cooking, Have a Bite is book one in the novella series The Vampires of Brooklyn Chronicles. The world of vampires and hunters meets the world of restaurants, foodies, and celebrity chefs—a recipe for paranormal mystery seasoned with suspense, peppered with romance, and flavored with a dash of humor.


Flames shot up, threatening to set the ceiling ablaze. Metal against metal sounded a rhythm as white-coated women and men dashed around in a mad panic, trying to keep everything to an organized chaos. Papers fluttered as they passed between hands, water splashed as used utensils landed in the sink, and more than a few collisions nearly resulted in people being sent to the hospital with head injuries or stab wounds.

The crew shouted out what they needed as the orders kept coming in at regular clips, and finished plates went out with the kind of speed that comes with experience.

“Lamb rack, fire up!”

“How long on the potatoes Dauphinoise?

“I need more sorrel!”

Delphine expedited, checking the plates before they went out of the kitchen to the patrons. “Pay attention, people. The plates are getting sloppy.”

Nervous glances from the crew went in Delphine’s direction. No one wanted to piss off the boss. Ramona, the sous chef, eyeballed the other cookson the line,as she as tossedcaramelized onions in a pan.

One by one, waitstaffrushed in and out andshouted out customers’ orders, cutting through the kitchen noise.

“I need one gluten-free manicotti, pronto.”

“Two roast chicken, sauce on the side.”

“One pork paillard, no mushrooms! One duck, no garlic!”

“Please, make sure I have that porterhouse black and blue!”

“I need a refire on thiswagyu. Customer wants it rare, not mooing!”

“We got an Elaine Benes!”

The Seinfeld reference, the staff’s code for someone requesting a big salad, which was not on the menu, always made Del chuckle.

Tracy, the head server came bustling in and handed Del two more tickets. “Eight salmon, all day!” Del shouted.

“Eight? Shit,” said Ramona. “We’re running low on the salmon.”

“All right, don’t panic.” Delphine ran into the walk-in to check on the inventory. She re-emerged and pressed the button on the intercomthat went to the offices. “Ophelia, go out and assess the room. How many people look like they haven’t ordered yet?”

“Okay,” came the crackled response from her restaurant manager.

“Gluten-free manicotti at the pass!” the pasta cook shouted a few moments later.

Ramona reached into an oven and pulled out a sheet pan of thin, ruddy beet chips. “Hot behind!” She quickly walked behind the others with the pan in her hands and set it down on a work table just as Ophelia came into the kitchen.

“Chef, it looks like a few more guests came in. But according to Mariel, most of the people invited are here. Maybe a few more are going to come.”

“Okay, thanks,” Delphinereplied. To her kitchen crew she said, “Let’s pump it out, guys. We’re heading into the home stretch.”

Ramona, back at her station, lifted the lid off a pot, pulled what looked like a clean spoon from the arm pocket of her jacket, and dipped it into the pot. From where she stood, Delphine could see that it was the chestnut-celery root bisque, recently added to the menu to accompany the Arctic char in a ramekin. With a satisfied look, she replaced the lid and wiped her hands. “Fire up the char!” she called out.

Del loved the rhythm and energy of a kitchen, especially hers. Every sense was engaged, every single day. The sounds of pots and pans hitting the burners, utensils scraping against stainless steel, oil sizzling, smoke spitting, and voices and music from the dining room filled the kitchen. With minimal banter, the staff performed their duties, chopping, roasting, braising, frying, boiling, steaming, or otherwise preparing what they were responsible for.

It was all magic. The smell of the kitchen—an intoxicating blend of spices, roasting meats, vegetables being transformed into nectarous edible jewels, and sauces stirred into a magical essence. The intense reds of paprika and cayenne, the glitter of sea salt, the gray fog of smoke rising from a hot pan, or the swirling verdant green of cilantro being puréed for salsa verde. The sensation of flour sifting through your fingers, or the ache in your knuckles after shucking dozens of oysters. The slow burn on your skin after chopping chiles. Or the numbness of your fingertips after rinsing lettuce in ice-cold water. She almost missed the last two—they were pleasurable pains.

She thrived on it all and couldn’t imagine doing anything else. She’d fought against the efforts over the years to take her restaurants down by egotistical reviewers, jealous competitors, and others with more personal agendas, and she always came back strong. And she knew that her crew felt the same way, particularly here at Vie Sang. But nights like this were trying.

Sasha Ziegler, the Grammy-winning singer, had booked the entire restaurant for three hundred guests and requested that the menu, in its entirety, remain available throughout the night as guests came and went and ate at their leisure. This was in addition to the hors d’oeuvres and cocktails that the celebrity had ordered. For the amount of money Delphine was charging, she’d agreed. But in exchange, she and her staff had hell to pay. Just managing the extra seating was a nightmare.

Tracy came rushing back in. “Where’s my tofu teriyaki? I needed it yesterday.”

Delphine looked toward Leslie, who was handling the vegetarian and vegan meals. Leslie was new and had to build up her pace. “Leslie, speed it up. Let’s get that tofu up. I want to see it at the pass in three. Please.”

“Yes, Chef!” Leslie swiftly moved around her station and began squirting soy sauce and rice vinegar from squeeze bottles into a bowl.

The roar of flames hit Del’s ears and she looked toward the grill station. The grillardin, the grill cook, jumped back suddenly as another huge burst of flame shot up. A skillet slammed against the wall, sending pan sauce splattering across the floor and wall. The cook fell to the floor screaming, his hand on his face.

Delphine ran to him. “Stu! Are you all right? Let me see your face.” As she kneeled down beside him, Ramona ran to the grill and salted the blazing burner until it was doused.

Stu writhed on the floor while Delphine tried to move his hand from his face. The other cooks looked on with worried expressions, but continued to cook. Stopping for any amount of time would be disastrous.

Ophelia came running in. “Holy shit! What happened?” She dropped to her knees near Stu’s head.

“Get me the first aid kit,” Delphine said, with a hand on Ophelia’s forearm.

Ophelia jumped up and returned in seconds with the kit. Delphine opened it up and pulled out the burn ointment. “Somebody get me a glove.” A latex glove appeared near her face, although who had proffered it, she didn’t know. She grabbed it and smeared some ointment on Stu’s cheek, which seemed to have taken the brunt of the fiery assault.

Stu cringed with the touch. “Ow! Ow!”

“Shit,” she muttered. “I should have had that stove looked at. Do you want to go to the ER?”

Stu stopped squirming and began to sit up. “No. I’m okay. It just hurt for a few minutes. But I’m fine.” His cheek was a mottled, angry crimson, a bit swollen, and already blistering in one spot.

“Are you sure?”


Delphine helped him get up and step back to the stove, where he paused briefly to take a few deep breaths. He lowered his head, seemingly to regroup and calm the beat of his heart, which must have been racing. He checked the food on the other burners and plucked a clean pan from the wall to replace the one he’d dropped.

Ophelia looked stricken and stood frozen. “Ophelia. You okay?” Delphine asked.

“Um, yeah. That was just…God.”

“I know.” Delphine sighed heavily. “Listen, get back out there and see what’s happening, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Ophelia made her way toward the door, a lingering gaze on Stu’s back.

Delphine grabbed her apron and tied it on. Things were getting out of control, and she needed to jump into the fray to help. “Ramona, get over here and expedite. I’m going in.”

Ramona stepped up to the front of the kitchen, where the dishes came to rest on the counter—the “pass”—just before being transported out to the dining room by the waitstaff.

“Okay, listen up, everybody,” Delphine said, “We’re in the weeds here, but we’re going to get through this. I just want everyone to take a deep breath and relax. Don’t stop, just relax.”

The pace and intensity remained high as the orders kept coming in. Unlike the usual controllable private party, this was a free-for-all.

To make things more stressful, the Council had also taken this opportunity to spy on her. She spotted a few agents among the partygoers. They were enjoying themselves, but observed everything. Tough job.

By one a.m., the food orders had stopped coming in. Del wiped her hands on her towel and stepped outside of the kitchen for a breather, taking the opportunity to assess the dining room.

The partiers were having a great time, if the cacophony of laughter, chatter, and clinking glasses were any indication. Sasha Ziegler held court at the center table and smiled brightly as people stooped next to her to take selfies with her. Despite the insanity, there was a pleasant hum throughout the restaurant that told Del people were enjoying the food. She could always tell when a crowd of people didn’t like what she’d offered up that night—there would be a pall that would pervade the air. Not that it happened often.

She was enjoying her usual game of spotting the insecure sycophant or the nose-in-the-air celebrity who feigned boredom when something made her stop. On the left side of the room was a gorgeous woman in a black halter cocktail dress, her dark hair slicked back, holding a martini glass. The golden flecks of salt and shards of caramel that adorned the rim of the glass told Del that it was one of her bartender’s signature salted-caramel martinis. The woman’s neckline plunged low and Del found herself staring at the flesh peeking out of the material. She looked up and discovered the woman looking back at her. Too busy to get involved in the art of seduction, she returned to the kitchen.

On her way there, she noticed a man with his back turned toward her. Nothing really stood out about him, but that was precisely why she noticed him. He didn’t seem to fit in with the ultrachic, bespoke celeb crowd. He wore baggy-in-the-butt, faded-looking slacks, a wrinkled half-tucked shirt, and a well-worn denim jacket that looked as if it could use a good washing. He stooped slightly, as if life had beaten him down. It was then that she realized that he actually had a small hump on his back. He stood alone and very still, as if afraid to turn around. The only part of him that moved was his thumb, which rubbed nervously over what Del could see was a lighter, an old-school kind with a flip-top.

Del’s hackles stood up. Although she couldn’t see his face, he seemed familiar somehow. She was about to move into the crowd to try and find out who he was, when Ramona stuck her head out of the kitchen.

“Chef, we’re gonna start breaking down the stations,” Ramona said. “Chantel’s almost ready to roll out dessert.”

Dell nodded and went back into the kitchen, taking one last look at the man. He turned his head slightly, then quickly turned it back, as if surreptitiouslychecking to see who was behind him.

Del went to the basement kitchen to check on her pastry chef, Chantel, who was calmly slicing her opera cake. With agonizing precision, she positioned a long, sharp knife over the cake and sliced straight down, apparently using some imaginary guides to cut down the length of the twenty-four-inch, seven-layer cake. Delphine waited until Chantel had finished the slice and had pulled the knife out of the sheet, bits of almond sponge cake, coffee buttercream, and chocolate ganache clinging to the razor-sharp blade.

“Hey, Chantel.”

Chantel looked up and smiled. “Hey. How’s it going up there? I heard you got in the weeds.”

“Yeah, but we got through it. It’s almost over. How’s it going down here?”

Chantel’s face was coated in sweat. “Fine. Everything’s ready. God, I hope we don’t run out of anything.” Finished with cutting, she gazed one more time at her creation, then put her knife into a stainless steel hotel pan filled with water.

“Don’t worry.” Delphine looked at the list hanging on the refrigerator with the desserts and quantities. “I think you made plenty.How did the sugar cage turn out this time?” She referred to one aspect of Chantel’s latest signature dessert that she had been trying to perfect, a complicated affair that also featured chocolate foam, white chocolate-covered rose petals, and caramel-pistachio brittle.

Chantel smiled bashfully. “Really good.”

Del smiled as well and patted Chantel on the back.

Upstairs, the bustling continued but was slowing down. Her garde-manger, who handled appetizers and salads, was standing with her back against her work station, hands perched on the counter. The bussers were coming in with tubs of dirty dishes, as Chantel turned the corner of the staircase with a sheet pan of plated opera cake. The crew oohed and aahed at the plates of perfectly cut slices, a squirt of cappuccino cream atop each and flanked on one side by a rectangular piece of chocolate with a white design on it, along with a pool of vanilla sauce, dotted with raspberry coulis.

After the servers had served all the guests, the crew each got a piece of cake as well—the throwaways—and toasted each other with their forks.

“Thank you for working so hard tonight, guys,” Del said. “I really appreciate it.” They all beamed before taking huge bites of their cake.

When the partiers had left and the kitchen was cleaned up, the crew began filing out, all ready to meet up at one of their favorite post-dinner hangouts. A beer at three in the morning helped take the edge off a crazy dinner service.

“Night, Boss.” Chantel was the last one to leave.

“Thanks, Chantel. Good work tonight.”

Chantel chuckled. “Did you expect anything else?”

“No.” Chantel was an artist, which was why Delphine had hired her, and probably what had enticed her when they’d had their brief fling. That and her smooth, dark skin and startlingly blue eyes, the legacy of her African-Dutch-Curaçaoan heritage. The clincher was her accent, a sensuous combination of Dutch, Spanish, and African languages. Delphine had made her whisper things in her native Papiamento during the night, when the best thing they could think to do was explore each other’s bodies.

“You are perfection,” Delphine said.

Chantel smiled. “You always were bright.” After a moment, she added, “It was a rough night. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Go on home.”

“All right. Good night, then.” She put a reassuring hand on Del’s shoulder as she walked past her.

When Chantel was out the door, Delphine locked up, went into her office and grabbed her jacket. Everything else could wait until tomorrow. As she shrugged on the jacket, she remembered the strange man at the party. Unfortunately, it was too late to ask anyone about him. Damn. She shut out the lights and walked out the back door to the small parking lot.

It had been a brutally hot day for Brooklyn. But that heat had given way to a cool evening with a breeze coming off the Upper New York Bay and down the East River. When she was human, she would have shivered on a night like this.

Right next to the door was her Kawasaki Cruiser. About to settle herself on the motorcycle’s seat, she stopped.

She smelled it right away. The heady aroma of desire, need, and surrender filled the air, and she knew it was close. But she waited until the source chose to reveal itself. A woman stepped out of the shadows and into the floodlight of the parking lot. She approached the doorway where Del stood.

“Do you desire anything, madam?”

Delphine turned to face the woman. She was young, maybe about twenty-five, slender, with blond hair down to her shoulders and edged with blue. Her skin was pale, and her eyes halfopen with the promise of seduction. This was nothing new for Delphine. Many pretty young things had waited for her outside the restaurant, ready to offer themselves to her. They were like groupies.

Delphine moved a little closer. “What’s your name?”

“Roxanne,” the young woman responded, taking a deep breath, obviously so that her bosom would rise closer to Delphine’s face. Delphine obliged her with a direct stare down herlow-cut blouse, which Delphine was sure had been selected just for the purpose. “Well, Roxanne, I do find myself in need of a little something.”



meet the author

New York native R.G. Emanuelle spent more than 20 years as an editor, writer, and typesetter. When she was child, a neighbor called her a vampire because she only came out after dark, so it’s fitting that she writes about creatures of the night, which includes her first novel, Twice Bitten. She is co-editor of the Lambda Literary Finalist anthology All You Can Eat: A Buffet of Lesbian Erotica & Romance, and the Golden Crown winner Unwrap These Presents, as well as Skulls and Crossbones: Tales of Women Pirates. She is also a culinary school graduate, which is what inspired her to write her romantic novella, Add Spice to Taste, and Have a Bite, the first of The Vampires of Brooklyn Chronicles novella series. Her short stories can be found in numerous anthologies.

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 I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl

Angel Tormented by C. L. Coffey @CLCoffeyx @bookenthupromo #Giveaway

Angel Tormented by C. L. Coffey


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Book Title: Angel Tormented
Author: C. L. Coffey
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Release Date: June 14, 2016
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions


book blurb

Find out exactly what the rules are, and what can be broken;
Find out what is going on with Joshua and me;
Get a whole lot better at using a sword;
Defeat Asmodeus;
Defeat Beelzebub;
Work out where Lucifer is and defeat him…

Ever since a photograph of an angel made the news, people have been camping outside the churches of the city, waiting for their own miracles. To keep a low profile, Michael has kept Angel under house arrest. With the absence of the cherubim, and the remaining angels too busy (or lazy) to help, Angel has been too distracted to worry about the fact there are two Princes of Darkness in New Orleans. That is, until Ty, the Nephilim who has yet to earn her trust provides her with information that could lead to the end of Asmodeus.

When tragedy strikes, Angel has her hands full trying not to let the convent descend into chaos. The list of things Angel must accomplish keeps getting longer, and as each item grows more important, so too does the urgency at which it must be completed. With her list of allies constantly changing, can Angel remove the evil from New Orleans while above all else, keep Joshua safe?


Qube was a small bar on Bourbon Street. It was home to delicious crêpes during the day and above average cocktails on the evening. (Actually, both were served all day long, but many an hour spent upstairs on the bar’s balcony had taught me that was where their sales lay).

It was also the home to Tyrone Hamilton.

I’d thought Ty was my friend. Initially, I’d wanted a fake ID from him so I could get into Bee’s. In exchange, he’d wanted my help with a project for his photography – or at least, that’s what he had claimed. As I’d spent time with him, I’d realized that actually, I kind of liked him. And then I found out that Ty had been using me.

Ty was a Nephilim – the offspring of a human and an angel. In Ty’s case, his father happened to be Beelzebub, one of the most famous fallen angels after Lucifer. Now don’t get me wrong, the fact he didn’t tell me that had upset me, but my biggest resentment came from the fact he had gotten me into Bee’s. It had been a trap in order for his father to literally throw me (and Joshua) out of a window, so that Ty could take photographs of it. The same photographs that had accompanied the news article which had announced the existence of angels in the world and consequently had me under house arrest.

So why exactly was I here?

“Angel?” Ty’s voice startled me from my thoughts. I looked up and found him staring at me like I was a ghost, frozen, mid-conversation with someone sat at the bar.

My eyes scanned the otherwise empty bar, falling on the one person in there beside Ty. I barely acknowledged the dark haired guy before I looked back to Ty. I sighed. “This is a mistake,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. I turned on my heel and marched towards the door.

“Angel, wait!” he called after me. I had no intention of waiting, but he ran, cutting me off at the door. “I never expected to see you again.”

“Neither did I.” I folded my arms across my chest. “What do you want?” I demanded.

“You came here,” he pointed out, though he kept his distance like I was a cat ready to attack.

“And I have no idea why,” I shot back at him.

“I’m glad you did,” he said, before I could step around him. He frowned, glancing over his shoulder at the guy at the bar. “Zeke, could you give us a minute?” I waited until Zeke had gathered his things and exited the bar, leaving Ty and myself alone. “I wanted to call by the convent.” When I narrowed my eyes, he shifted his weight. “We know where Michael’s House is,” he admitted, sheepishly.

“Of course you do,” I muttered with a sigh.

“I did want to call by,” he repeated. “But I also didn’t want Michael to kill me.”

I glared up at him. “I can assure you, Michael would be the least of your problems.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I really am.”

“Sorry is not going to remove me and Veronica from any newspaper archive,” I told him.

“I know,” he acknowledged, sadly. He glanced over my shoulder at the bar, before looking at me. “Can I start to make it up to you with a chocolate crêpe? On me?”

If it wasn’t for the fact I’d had to put up with my pitiful cooking for the last few weeks, I would have turned him down, but I was as desperate as the other angels in the convent for something decent to eat. “Fine,” I conceded, begrudgingly. I stalked over to the bar and dumped my groceries on the barstool next to me. I paused before sitting. “Does your father own this bar too?” I asked, the thought suddenly occurring to me. “Am I about to get pounced on by a dozen different fallen angels?”

I probably should have asked that first.

“No,” Ty replied, firmly. He walked behind the bar and came to a stop in front of me. “I work here because it’s not owned by my dad.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How do I know you’re not lying to me?” I asked. “You are a Nephilim, after all. Why should I trust you? Again?”

“Why did you come here?” Ty asked.

I pursed my lips. “I don’t know.”

“But you did come here,” Ty pointed out. “You knew before you stepped in this bar who I am, and who my father is.” He leaned forward onto the bar, resting his forearms on the worn wood. “Which means, deep down, you trust me,” he finished, his eyes watching me, hopeful.

I chewed at my lower lip, considering him carefully. “Maybe I’m just not a good judge of character,” I said, eventually. I reached over and scooped up my groceries. “Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment,” I added. Once again, I turned on my heel and headed for the door.

“For what it’s worth, I think you are a good judge of character,” Ty called after me. “And I’m going to do what I can to prove that to you.”




meet the author

Cheryl works in an office by day. By night she leads a (not-so) secret life DJing, and throughout it all, is constantly scribbling away as the plot bunnies demand constant attention.

Her first novel was written when she should have been revising for her GCSEs. While it is unlikely to ever see the light of day, it was the start of long relationship with the evil plot bunnies of doom.

A need to do more than just one subject led her to the University of Hull, where she graduated with an honours degree in American Studies. For the third year of the four year degree, she was able to call Baton Rouge home. Since then, Louisiana has claimed a large chunk of her heart, and remains a place she will always consider home.

When not transcribing the stories of the angels and archangels, working, or DJing, she is at the beck and call of three cats – all of whom rank higher in the household than she does.

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 I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl