Friday, September 28, 2018

BLOG TOUR: Perversion by T.M. Frazier

PERVERSION BLOG TOUR.jpg
“T.M. Frazier sucked me in from the very first page 
and then slayed me with the end of Perversion. 
This trilogy is EPIC!
- Meghan March, New York Times bestselling author


PERVERSION, book one in the Perversion Trilogy from USA Today bestselling author T.M. Frazier is available now!

PERVERSION FRONT AMAZON

Love is supposed to be a fairy tale.
Ours is a death wish.
I'm the executioner for the Bedlam Brotherhood.
She's a con artist working for my greatest enemy.
I use her.
She manipulates me.
We find ourselves on opposite sides of a bloody war.
My heart and head tell me I have to stay away.
My lust for her doesn't give a sh*t.
Nothing's fair in love and gang war.

PERVERSION IS BOOK ONE IN THE PERVERSION TRILOGY
BOOK TWO: POSSESSION
BOOK THREE: PERMISSION


Download your copy of PERVERSION
Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/perversionGR


Holy mother of all cliffy’s! I swear TM Fraizer tries to up her anty every single time she writes a duet/trilogy! PERVERSION is one of those that you’ll find yourself hanging on at the end and not wanting the story to end… sigh! I love the dual POV… getting inside Grim’s mind is dark and sinister but really you see things you don’t expect. I love the feel of this story… the way it feels like a modern spin on Romeo and Juliet.   
So we have a story of Grim and Emma Jean. I love the way Ms. Fraizer tells this story. Going back to the past and see how they became who they are in the present. My heart skittered in my chest by how easily Emma Jean could pull him out of himself and into who he really is… not just what people think of him. She looked past that scared and battered exterior. This is one of Ms. Frazier’s best books. It will pull you in and refuse to let go before until the ending, and even then, you will be sad it’s over while you’re waiting on book 2. There may b e a bit of triggers too… so tread carefully!
I received an ARC of this book with the hope that I would leave an Unbiased Opinion. I was not required to leave a review, positive or otherwise, and my opinions are just that... my opinions.


 
 
PERVERSION TRILOGY


Pre-order POSSESSION now
Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2xsJXCn


Pre-order PERMISSION now
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/Permission
Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2Np7gHa


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Excerpt:


Emma Jean
When I was younger, I fell in love with magic. I learned every card trick there was from library books and unmasking magic TV specials. I used to put on shows for Gabby that included escaping from complicated knots and trick handcuffs. But what’s magic besides a sleight of hand?

It’s a lie.

And lying is what I’m damn good at.

My ability to spin a tall tale or two lead to stealing wallets and conning people into taking stray pets for the thrill of it. Now, I’m using it to earn for Marco. The thrill is there, but it’s muted, hindered, lost under his pile of mounting threats.

The inside of the casino smells like stale cigarettes, spilled beer, and burnt coffee. We’re not supposed to be in here. It’s Bedlam territory. But that’s also why it’s perfect.

It isn’t like anyone would recognize us here.

We’ve made friends with a few of the cocktail waitresses by giving them a small cut, and they don’t ask questions or ring any alarms when they see us working. I’ve also been straightening my hair over the last few years since my crazy curls stand out like a reflector on a dark highway. I’ve dyed it a few shades darker than my normal honey blonde to help blend in.

Tonight is starting off well. Gabby and I are working a con we’ve run a few times before.

Gabby walks away, her long dark hair swooshing behind her. She gives me a nod as she passes me by on the slot machine I’m pretending to play. She’s just faked losing an expensive engagement ring at another slot machine. I watched out of the corner of my eye as she frantically looked around for it, then loudly announced a thousand-dollar reward would be waiting at the casino cage for whoever returned it.

She is flawless. She should be an actress. And in another life, she would be.

But we don’t live in another life.

We live in Lacking and belong to Los Muertos.

Our lives are not our own.

A few people casually look around the area, then return to their machines when they don’t find the ring Gabby was ranting about. They won’t either. Because it’s not there.

Yet.

It's go time.

I strut over to the area Gabby just left and put a dollar in the machine. While the wheels spin, I pretend to pick up the dime store ring I already have in my hand. By the time the machine dings to tell me I’ve lost my dollar, I’m turning the ring over, inspecting it like I don’t have half a dozen more just like it in my drawer back at the apartment.

“Would you look at that?” I mutter to myself loud enough so others around me can hear.

A man in an Adidas jumpsuit with a potbelly taps me on the shoulder. “I’ll take that. I saw the woman who dropped it. I’ll go return it to her.”

Liar. You just want the reward.

“That’s so nice of you,” I say. I hold it out, about to drop it into his hand when I pull it back. “I bet there’s a reward for something this valuable.” I start to walk around the man. “I’ll take it up to management. Maybe, they know…”

“Here,” the man says, holding up a hundred-dollar bill. “Take this. I’ll take it to her. I just…you know, as I said, I want to make sure it gets back to the right person.”

You’re not even a good liar.

Sometimes, it’s just too freaking easy. And this scam wasn’t even an Emma Jean and Gabby original. We saw it a long time ago in a movie starring Jennifer Love Hewitt. Doesn’t anyone else watch movies?

I shrug and pass him the ring. Plucking the bill from his hand, I tuck it into my bra. “Thanks,” I say before quickly making my way toward the large glass front doors. It’s Thursday. Marco’s money is due in two days, and we’re short this week.

Really short.

I walk slowly and wave goodbye to the valets with a smile on my face. “Any luck, tonight?” One asks me.

“I think so,” I answer with a smile. Once I’m down the sidewalk and out of view, I scramble to the side of the casino where I kick off my heels and change from the sequined dress I’d stolen from a dry-cleaner into a pair of cut-off shorts and my yellow Keds.

Now, all I have to do is wait for Gabby.

I don’t have to wait long.

“Run!” Gabby yells, darting from the doors of the casino with two large men wearing tight black security t-shirts close behind. Running from security is terrifying enough, knowing that we’re running from members of the Bedlam Brotherhood kicks it up a notch.

I grab my backpack and sling it across my shoulders. I move as fast as I can until I’m running right alongside her. We race through the gates, cross the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by two cars. We duck into a hole in a fence and run through one backyard after the other.

“One of those cunt waitresses must have tipped them off!” Gabby says, through shallow breaths. She’s barefoot in a black mini-dress hiked up to her ass to give her long legs room to run. Her long thick hair is wrapped around her face, sticking to her mouth.

We hit the sixth backyard. Without another word, we separate behind a clothesline. We’ve mapped out this escape plan a thousand times, but this is the first time we’ve ever had to use it.

When I make it into the central part of town, to the Los Muertos/Bedlam border, I can no longer hear the shouts of the security guards. I lost them.

Hopefully, Gabby did, too.

I use a tower of stacked-up wooden pallets on the sidewalk like a ladder to scale a concrete wall, then drop down into the alley.

I grow more panic-stricken the longer I wait for Gabby. I bite the inside of my lip, pacing back and forth along the high wall. The Bedlam Brotherhood runs the security at the casino. If they catch her and find out who she is? Or worse? Who her brother is? They'll... I shake the thought from my mind. She’ll be fine.

She HAS to be fine.

Please be okay, Gabby. Please.

I’m trying to catch my breath and pull myself together when I hear a clink echo through the alley as if someone dropped some spare change, followed by the sound of something heavy dropping to the asphalt.

“Gabby?” I ask into the darkness. Thinking it’s her, relief washes over me like rain on a barren desert.

My only answer is the flickering of a fluorescent light mounted high on the roof’s edge of the adjoining building. And the hiss of what sounds like a cat behind a dumpster.

I walk over and peer around it. “Gabby? Are you hurt? Say something!” I whisper-shout.

Someone moves from within the shadow. “Get out here, Gabby. We’ve got to go before Mar…”

The light flickers again, for just a second. That second is all I need to see that the someone slowly stalking toward me is not Gabby.

It’s a man…twice my size.

“Who are you?” I ask, shuffling backward as the man cloaked in a black leather hood emerges from the shadows. The front of his jacket is open. Underneath, he's shirtless, covered in a sheen of sweat, and more tattoos than visible skin all the way up the front of his throat. His muscled chest and abs flex with each step he takes. The hood shadows most of his face, but when the lights flicker again, yellow eyes glow from within.

And they’re locked on me.

My ‘save your ass’ mode kicks in.

The man is blocking the only exit. My only other chance of escape is to scale the same wall I used to drop into the alley.

I keep moving backward as he approaches until my back hits the wall. I look left and right for something to use to climb on.

There’s nothing but emptiness.

My stomach sinks, but surrender is not an option.

I swallow hard as the alarm bells scream in my head for me to run. Somewhere. Anywhere.

There’s nowhere to go!

My legs tremble. Fear crawls like a million spiders along the backs of my legs. I push myself further against the wall as if I can squish the feeling away, but it’s useless.

Fear consumes me. Swallows me whole.

He continues toward me. As he gets closer, I realize it’s not just sweat glistening on his skin. There’s something else splattered across the tattoos on his chest and on his stubbled jaw.

It almost looks like wet paint.

My breathing stops when he’s close enough that I can make out the tattoo on the front of his throat.

A bleeding black rose.

The symbol of the Bedlam Brotherhood.

I’ve heard stories about Grim. The man in the hood. The executioner for Bedlam. They were all terrifying, but not nearly as terrifying as the reality of coming face to face with the man himself.

“We didn’t do anything,” I blurt. “I mean, we did, but it wasn’t a big deal. I’ll…I’ll give the money back. Just tell your men not to hurt my friend. It was all my idea. Let her go, and you can take me.”

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks. His voice is so thick and deep I feel it more than hear it. Shivers erupt all over my body.

He raises his arm, revealing a long curved blade.

For the first time in my life, I can’t seem to be able to hide my fear with my wit or sarcasm. My throat tightens. I can’t swallow, never mind speak. I’ve lost my words completely, along with my nerve.

The man’s blade drips red onto the pavement from the serrated tip.

Every fear response I didn’t even know I had runs rampant. I’m holding my breath. My muscles tense as if running was still an option. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck prickle my skin as they stand on end. I raise up to my tip-toes and push back, trying to make myself disappear into the wall.

I glance from the knife back to his chest, then back again. The splatters across his skin?

It’s not fucking paint.

Before I can process what the hell is happening, he switches from slow-stalking mode into hyper-speed, pinning my wrists above my head. His hard, bloodied chest pushes against me, smearing blood across my white tank top, forcing the back of my head to connect roughly with the wall.

“I’ll only ask you this one more time. Who the fuck are you?” His low guttural growl rattles my bones.

His unblinking, angry, golden eyes lock onto mine. Without the fluorescent light, they’re more golden brown than a glowing yellow. As much as I want to, I can’t look away. He could be the last person I ever see.

The thought is just the spike of adrenaline I need.

“Let me go,” I say, finally finding my words. I try and jerk my wrists from his grip with no luck. I’m trapped. My fear and anger rise to the surface, but I shove it back down. Fear won’t get me out of this situation, so it will have to wait for its damned turn.

He digs his rough fingers into my skin. “Answer me. Who the fuck are you?”

The bite of pain only makes me angrier. I throw his question back at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

He glances down at my rapidly rising and falling chest before pinning me with his stare. The corner of his mouth tugs up in a half-smirk.

“So much confidence for someone who's trembling,” he says with an amused glint shining in his demonic eyes.

I shrug. “Maybe, I’m just not a fan of enclosed spaces,” I say through gritted teeth.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says.

“Why do you have blood all over you?” I answer him with yet another question. “You know, if you were committing some kind of crime back there, you should be more careful. I recommend a bleach bath and death by fire for your clothes the first chance you get. If it’s self-harm, I’m sure there’s a helpline you can call.”

He cocks his head to the side. His nostrils flare. His face is only inches away. I can feel the heat from his body against mine. His cool breath flutters against my neck.

I’ve never been this close to a man before. My trembling grows. My inner thighs shake sending a rippling wave of something very unfamiliar coursing through the center my body. I try and press my legs together to stop it from happening again, but when he uses his knee to wedge my legs apart, caging me in even further, it only grows, uncoiling from within like a slinky being pulled apart at the ends.

I swallow hard as the stubble of his jaw presses against my neck.

“Name,” he demands, his voice raspier than before.

I shut my eyes tight for a beat, trying to gain composure, control, something that will help me as I try and reason my way out of this. “Listen, I didn’t see anything,” I blurt. “That is if you did anything. I’m not going to call the police if that’s what you're worried about. I wouldn’t anyway, even if I saw something, which I didn’t.”

His brows knit together in a harsh line. “Why?”

His question confuses me.

“Why what?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell the police?”

Because Marco owns them.

“Let’s just say that I haven’t exactly been a model citizen myself tonight. Let’s face it. If the police around here weren’t being paid not to do their jobs, half this town would be locked up.” I take a deep, shaky breath. “Especially people like us.”

He stills. There’s no more talking. Only heavy breathing and a battle of wills. He releases one of my hands. I think he’s reaching for his knife. My blood turns cold. I can feel my face pale as my heart starts beating as faster and faster as if it wants to get in as many as possible before the end.

I’m surprised when he doesn’t go for his knife. Instead, his hand travels slowly down my chest into my cleavage.

“No, don’t!” I say, but it’s too late, he’s already yanked on my locket.

“Please just give it back, and let me go,” I plead. Feeling like it’s my real heart he's torn from my chest. “It’s the only thing in this world that means anything to me. Besides my best friend, it’s all I have.”

I hate the desperation in my voice, but it’s the truth.

He’s silent for a moment. He raises his arms. I flinch, raising my arms over my face defensively. But when nothing happens, I lower them, just in time to see him push back his hood, revealing his face.

“Why?” I ask, closing my eyes knowing full well that the only time a criminal reveals himself to a witness is right before they take them out.

“Look at me,” he demands, holding my face in his hand.

“No!” I say, shutting my eyes tighter.

“Look at me!” he bellows. He’s on me again. This time, he holds my head in his large rough hands. “Open your fucking eyes so you can see me.”

With no other choice than to get my head squished like a turtle under a car tire, I do as he demands. Opening my eyes, I blink through the haze, and when it clears, I’m met with tousled, medium-length, light brown hair, slicked back on the top, shorn close to head on the sides. His nose is slightly crooked like it’s been broken a few times before. The stubble on his square, defined jaw is a few days over needing a shave. A jagged scar runs through his chin like an angry white lightning bolt.

He’s the most fucking beautifully terrifying man I’ve ever seen.

He’s searching my eyes for something, but I don’t know what.

“Why?” I ask in a whisper.

His hands release mine, but he doesn’t step back. He leans in closer, speaking against my cheek in a rumble of a whisper. The strange feeling from earlier comes back as a zap of electricity bouncing around my insides looking for somewhere to ground.

I’m breathing heavy. Our lips are so close, almost touching. He slides one hand off my face, snaking it around my neck, pulling me closer. He starts to answer in a rumble of a whisper, causing goosebumps to rise on my already prickled skin. “Because I want you to see the face of the man who’s just—”

“Where the fuck are you?” calls Gabby from the other side of the wall. “I lost them!”

The moment, whatever it is, is now broken. The man releases me so suddenly I brace myself against the wall to keep from falling. I turn my head toward her voice.

“Gabby!” I shout back.

My heart is beating out of control. Out of habit, I raise my hand to my chest, seeking familiar comfort.

I look up. The man in the hood is gone.

And so is my locket.



About the Author 

T.M. (Tracey Marie) Frazier never dreamed that a single person would ever read a word she wrote when she published her first book. Now, she is a five-time USA Today bestselling author and her books have been translated into numerous languages and published all around the world.


T.M. enjoys writing what she calls sexy‘wrongside of the tracks romance’ with morally corrupt anti-heroes and ballsy heroines.


Her books have been described as raw, dark and gritty. Basically, what that means, is while some authors are great at describing a flower as it blooms, T.M. is better at describing it in the final stages of decay.


She loves meeting her readers, but if you see her at an event please don’t pinch her because she's not ready to wake up from this amazing dream.


TmFrazier

Connect with T.M. Frazier
Join Frazierland:http://bit.ly/frazierland
Twitter: @TM_Frazier
Stay up to date with T.M. by signing up for her mailing list: http://bit.ly/TMFrazier Website: http://www.tmfrazierbooks.com
For Text Alerts: TEXT “TMFRAZIER” TO 77948
*Standard text messaging rates apply*





COVER REVEAL: The Other Blue Sky by Shari J. Ryan


Release Date: October 24, 2018
Cover Design: MadHat Books

Synopsis

 Very few people can say they were born inside a concentration camp during the Holocaust. Disease, starvation, and much worse, prevented most prisoners from surviving. For infants, it was nearly impossible.
I became an anomaly. I shouldn’t be alive.

As a child, I didn’t know my life was different from that of others. I had nothing to compare it to, and I had no insight about the day I was born ... until the moment I overheard the truth.

In a split second, I became a stranger to my reflection, my name, and my reason for being. I was not Annie anymore, and the people raising me were not my parents. Even the blue sky I cherished became an unfamiliar sight.

I felt utterly alone in a foreign world, but that changed when I met another person who was lost, like me. Fisher offered his hand to hold and began to prove his theory of, “When two missing people find one another, they can consider themselves found.”

Fisher enlightened me, and through him, I gained a deeper understanding of life. Now, I know there are two sides of the beautiful, blue sky. I’m on one side, and my lost loved ones are on the other, but at the end of it all, we’ll be together again under the one and only sky.

Goodreads



Excerpt

 The moments following a first kiss stayed with me in my memories throughout my life. Maybe it was because I only experienced one first kiss, but if I had dreamt of what a kiss might be like ... that one would have exceeded all expectations.
My body felt like it was overflowing with glitter—like a snow globe that had just been set down after being fiercely shaken.
My feet were no longer bothering me as we retraced our steps down the steep hill, and Fisher’s hand was no longer cold because it was holding mine.
I didn’t feel apprehensive with him like I had earlier. It seemed as though we had gone from strangers to the very best of friends, and more, within hours that one day. In reality, though, our friendship had been blossoming throughout the previous two years from within our written words. Our kiss was like the lick of an envelope, sealing in all the certainty we were seeking since we first exchanged letters.
The moments we shared that night were causing me to forgot the reason I had flown across the world. I supposed it seemed as though Fisher was enough of an excuse to go anywhere. I felt things I had never imagined before, and my emotions were uncontainable.
“I should be a gentleman and walk you to the Inn now,” he said as we reached the bottom of the hill.
Disappointment shrouded me with the thought of saying good night, or goodbye, for that matter. I knew there was a chance that our kiss made him feel differently about our friendship, possibly opposite of what I was feeling, and I had to keep that in the back of my mind before I got too ahead of myself. “Of course,” I said, unsure of how else I should have responded. I didn’t want to sound desperate or pushy.
“If that’s what you want for the evening, I will walk you there now,” he continued.
I stopped walking. I was too focused on trying to understand what Fisher was saying, because he sounded as if he meant something different.“Well, what is it you want?” I turned the question around, hoping to earn a straightforward answer.
“If I can be completely sincere with you, I’d like nothing more than the pleasure of taking you out for dinner tonight. Furthermore, I would also like to take you to Old Town for a Trdelnik.”
I could feel the smile on my face beaming even though I was trying to compose myself. I wanted to spend more time with Fisher more than I wanted to do anything else in Prague, which felt silly since I was on a mission to find my roots. I guess the heart has a way of speaking louder than the mind. I learned that lesson a time or two. “That would be lovely,” I told him. “I’m not sure what you mean by a turtleneck, though. In America, a turtleneck is part of a shirt.”
Fisher threw his head back and held his stomach as he laughed. The sound of his laughter was heartwarming. It was full of happiness and joy, yet I had no idea why he was laughing so hard.
“First of all, I know what a turtleneck is. We call that kind of apparel, Polo Necks, here. Second, I said, ‘Trdelnik.' It’s a pastry—one Czechoslovakia is known for."
I was happy it was dark out because I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Fisher's accent was undoubtedly thick, and I was still doing my best to understand him when he spoke fast, but I miss understood that word pretty well. “Oh gosh, I didn’t understand correctly,” I told him while covering my mouth with the back of my hand in an attempt to hide my face.
He reached across his chest and gently tugged my hand away from my mouth. “You are sweet ... please don’t hide your beautiful face again.”
With a chill from his flattering words, I took in a lungful of the crisp, pine-scented air and peered up at the starlit sky.
Everything around me felt so surreal—even the sky. Outside of the town, it was easy to see millions of stars above us. I had never seen so many stars or the sky look so big, not after growing up in a busy city like New York. It was quite hard to see stars there with all the blinding city lights. I’m not sure I had realized what I was missing until that night.

Available Now

 




Giveaway

One of Five ARC's for The Other Blue Sky



About the Author


Hi Everyone! I'm an indie writer of Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance, and Romantic Thrillers. Throughout the last six years of my writing journey, I've hit Amazon's Top 100, Barnes & Noble's Top 10, and iBooks at #1. Hiding in suburbia with my hubby and two wild little boys, my active imagination allows me to live life as adult with many imaginary friends.

Connect with Shari


Newsletter Sign Up: http://bit.ly/2vGUfeN
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Thursday, September 27, 2018

COVER REVEAL: The Legacy by Dylan Allen

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He's the king of all he surveys.

Except her.


The Legacy, an all-new steamy contemporary romance standalone from Dylan Allen is coming October 25th, and we have the brand new cover for you!

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Exiled for 15 years, Hayes Rivers has finally assumed his place as head of Houston’s oldest and most powerful family.

Now, they call him King.
A legacy of wealth and prestige are his to claim.
As age-old rivalries, long-buried secrets, and generations of betrayal threaten his birthright, he finds himself in a battle for control of his family’s future.
When he meets Confidence, she’s a sweet distraction.
Everything he shouldn’t want.
But after a weekend of passion and surprising intimacy,
he realizes she's everything he needs
He holds the keys to a kingdom,
But he covets the key to her heart.
And he'll stop at nothing to claim his queen.


Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2NltngQ

Cover Designer: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs
Photographer: Regina Wamba
Model: Ripp Baker

About Dylan Allen

Dylan Allen is a Texas girl with a serious case of wanderlust.

A self-proclaimed happily ever junkie, she loves creating stories where her characters chase their own happy endings.

When she isn’t writing or reading, eating or cooking, she and her family are planning their next adventure.


Dylan Allen.png

Connect with Dylan
Stay up to date with Dylan by joining her mailing list: http://bit.ly/2OcDm8M



RELEASE DAY: Medicine Man by Saffron A. Kent


Medicine Man by Saffron A. Kent
Release Date: September 27th
Genre: Contemporary Romance



Add To Goodreads:







NOW AVAILABLE!
Amazon Universal: https://amzn.to/2I6Ax3A







Saffron A. Kent writes so effortlessly. She tells a complex story that was a really great story. I loved Willow. She was such a strong and complex character. I didn’t know whether to be impressed with her or shocked half the time. Either way, she really fascinated me. She kept me coming back to this story again and again. I had a bit of an issue with Simon. It isn’t that I didn’t like him but, he was hard to get to really like or to bond with. I questioned some of his decisions when he’s a very intelligent man, a psychiatrist for goodness sake.

The story really had the possibilities of being an amazingly fantastic story. However, it was a bit slow… ok, it was really slow for me. It was so odd… the situations in this story could have made it so fast-paced and so intense but it wasn’t and that bummed me out. The story itself was also something I’ve never read before and I was really pulled in by that uniqueness. The last quarter of this book is where I really loved this story. Simon redeemed himself a bit toward the end. The ending was also the coup de grace for me. 

I received an ARC of this book with the hope that I would leave an Unbiased Opinion. I was not required to leave a review, positive or otherwise, and my opinions are just that... my opinions.







BLURB

Willow Taylor lives in a castle with large walls and iron fences. But this is no ordinary castle. It’s called Heartstone Psychiatric hospital and it houses forty other patients. It has nurses with mean faces and techs with permanent frowns.
It has a man, as well. A man who is cold and distant. Whose voice drips with authority. And whose piercing gray eyes hide secrets, and maybe linger on her face a second too long.
Willow isn’t supposed to look deep into those eyes. She isn’t supposed to try to read his tightly leashed emotions. And neither is she supposed to touch herself at night, imagining his powerful voice and that cold but beautiful face.
No, Willow Taylor shouldn’t be attracted to Simon Blackwood, at all.
Because she’s a patient and he’s her doctor. Her psychiatrist.
The medicine man.
WARNING: This book discusses sensitive issues including but not limited to, depression and suicide.







EXCERPT

“Do you have someone special, Dr. Blackwood?”
Someone you kiss? Someone you grab and pull into a dark alley and press against
walls?
I don’t say that but I’m definitely asking that.
It’s like he hears the unspoken questions because the heat of his body seems to have
doubled. Like his blood is rushing in his veins with an uncanny speed.
With flaring nostrils and a hard jaw, he answers, “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m busy.”
I want to smile. Actually, I’ve never wanted to smile this hard. Ever. His answer calms
me but it also makes me restless to move closer to him. I want to trace my palm over the arch
of his chest and see if I got it right in my dreams.
But I don’t do any of those things. I don’t want him to take away this small concession
he’s given me.
Why is he even giving it to me? I’m not complaining. But still.
“Busy with patients?”
“Busy with my job. Yes,” he says, all professional-like.
That’s what he is. Professional and distant. Dedicated to his job and fixing people. If
Mass General let him go, then they are idiots.
I’m an idiot, too, in this moment.
Instead of backing off, I want to do something. Something that might crack his cool
fa├žade. Maybe reaching up and messing up his no-nonsense hair.
What would he do? If I did that? If I grabbed his collar and pushed him against the wall?
And kissed him?
My eyes drop to his lips, his soft, soft lips. There’s a cleft in the middle of his lower lip. I
want to taste that cleft, dig my tongue in it, wet it, suck on it, bite it.
“So you don’t have fun at all?”
“No. I’m not a fun guy.”
I watch his lips form the words, and every syllable that comes out of his mouth makes
my need to shake him, kiss him, mess him up, stronger. Stronger and stronger.
The need is so consuming that I hardly notice when he puts his hand on my palm and
takes it off his body. It’s final and smooth, his action. Effortless. As though my touch barely
registered to him.
“But I think you have a point. It’s after hours and I should go… have fun rather than
spending my time with a patient.” He steps back then. “I’ll see you next week. Same time.”










About the Author

Writer of bad romances. Aspiring Lana Del Rey of the Book World.
Saffron A. Kent is a Top 100 Amazon Bestselling author of Contemporary and New Adult romance. More often than not, her love stories are edgy, forbidden and passionate. Her work has been featured in Huffington Post, New York Daily News and USA Today’s Happy Ever After.
She lives in New York City with her nerdy and supportive husband, and a million and one books.



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