Cover Reveal: The Book Binder by C.A. Cordova
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The Book Binder
C.A. Cordova
Publication date: December 6th 2024
Genres: Adult, Adventure, Mystery, Suspense
Choice is an illusion gifted by the gods.
Aria never expected to be a mistress, especially to the Pharaoh’s son.
But when she accidentally witnesses the poisoning of his cup and intervenes, he is intrigued. Even more so when he discovers that she can speak the betrayer’s language and many others.
Aria’s forbidden education as the daughter of a book binder makes her valuable, and she quickly
becomes the prince’s obsession.
As she embraces her newfound power, she begins to question the rulings of the palace and uncovers a world of deception.
Is Aria destined to receive the spoils of the gods or will tragedy befall her?
The Book Binder is an epic adventure novel with elements of suspense and mystery. C.A. Cordova’s tale is woven with intense emotion, dire situations, and female cunning.
Author Bio:
C.A. Cordova is perhaps best described as a whimsical nomad. She has an ever-present thirst for new adventures that has resulted in many moves and many more stories.
C.A. Cordova’s unique novels are crafted under a shroud of bergamot from a bottomless cup of Earl Grey tea. She declares herself an observer of the countless tales that play out in her mind. It is not unusual for her to have upwards of ten works in progress at any given moment, the most active being determined by the tone of the day.
Guided by her love of reading, C.A. Cordova hopes to capture the feeling of blissful immersion she has experienced with her favorite books.
When she is not feverishly tapping away at her laptop with a cat in her lap, C.A. Cordova can be found enjoying time with her family, training her parrot, or tending to her flowerbeds.
C.A. Cordova lives in Texas with her family and many pets.
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She’s Got The Time by M.O. Mack blitz with giveaway
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She’s Got The Time
MO Mack
(Suite #45, #3)
Publication date: August 29th 2024
Genres: Adult, Thriller
From author M.O. Mack comes the third, heart-stopping thriller in the Suite #45 series, SHE’S GOT THE TIME.
SENTENCED FOR A CRIME SHE ONLY WISHED SHE COMMITTED…
Emily has broken plenty of rules. Some she regrets. Others, well, not so much.
Running from her husband Ed for example? No regrets. He was a controlling predator who trafficked women while working for the FBI. But had she known she’d end up working for a group of hit men, she might’ve made different choices. Big regrets.
On the bright side, the group only kills bad guys. On the not-so-bright side, every cartel south of the border wants the group dead, and she’s number one on the cartel’s list.
Emily also regrets trusting Charge, her hit man boss. She regrets caring about him more than she should.
But when the feds arrest her for the murder of her ex, Emily knows she’s been set up, and all signs point to Charge. Why would he do this to her? The prison is filled with cartel gangs, and there’s a price on her head.
Can she find a way out before her time is up?
The clock is ticking…
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo
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EXCERPT:
“I thought you loved me,” she said, knowing now that the confession he’d made after she’d saved him all those weeks ago had just been another lie.
Charge jerked his head back, like she’d taken him off guard. “What’s that have to do with anything?”
“It’s everything.” Because he’d told her that while he’d been preparing to do the hit on Ed, he’d watched her from afar and fallen for her. He’d said it was the reason he’d helped her after she’d run from Ed. “You’ve been playing me this entire time. Haven’t you? The story about you
loving me was a scam to get me to keep working for you.” And it had worked. He’d probably done it because he believed she’d eventually lead him to Ed.
“I don’t have time for this right now. And I’ve proven my loyalty to you.”
“No. You said whatever you had to in order to make me trust you.” She hung her head. “I can’t believe I fell for it.” Not to mention, she’d started having feelings for Charge. She’d taken a life for him. She’d risked her own ass, too.
“I’m sorry you think that,” he said smugly, “but it doesn’t change the situation or what has to be done next.”
“And just what’s that? Am I supposed to take out the warden next? Or the head of one of the gangs here so you get paid?” She pushed back in her chair. “I’m done, Charge. Done.”
“Don’t be silly. You won’t get out of this prison alive unless you pull your head from your ass, Justine, and follow my instructions.”
This again. And why did he always call her Justine when he wanted to control her? Did he think it was some kind of psychological magic wand to garner compliance?
He went on, “You only have a day, two max, before someone realizes you have a ten-million-dollar price on your head. You don’t have much time, but it’s enough time to—”
“No, Charge. No more. I’m not buying into your crap. I mean, look at where I am.” She tried to throw her hands in the air, but they were chained to the table. “We both know I’m not getting out of here. Not after I killed that guard. At best, I’ll survive a week, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to enjoy what little time I have left.”
Author Bio:
Obviously, M.O. Mack is a cover. Don’t bother looking for the author’s true identity. She must remain secret due to the sensitive information written in her stories…
Okay, most of all that is total rubbish! M.O. is a full-time author from the great state of Arizona, who loves making stuff up and hates a slow story. The faster the better! Most days, M.O. tries to avoid the news (too icky) so it doesn’t interfere with writing nail-biter stories.
Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / Newsletter
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Look, Don’t Touch by Meg Everly blitz with giveaway
**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**
Look, Don’t Touch
Meg Everly
(Pieces of Us, #1)
Publication date: August 27th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Dark Romance, Romance
The scars you see are only the beginning.
Hailey Fitzpatrick
When people see me walking on a New York City sidewalk, they think mousey b*tch and stuck-up c*nt. How do I know? It’s NYC. They yell it to my face. I smile to myself and keep walking. After all, I have clients that need me.
I’m wrapping up my first decade as a licensed clinical psychologist. Things are as good as they’ve ever been. Still, I get the itch. The tattoos worked into my skin take the edge off.
When one of my first clients goes on s*icide watch and on of my newest challenges the very ground on which I stand, I seek relief only being blindfolded and bound can bring.
Arlo Judge
Look all you want. Don’t f*cking touch me. No one does.
I’m no longer that little boy who cowers in fear. I’m six three, two hundred fifteen pounds of muscle, and own the largest conglomerates in the States. Still, that boy’s demons live inside me. One in particular looms over my shoulder, always ready to strike.
When I see her, perfectly poised and in command, I think nothing of the beautiful exterior. Then I see the demons lurking in her striking green eyes. I’m intrigued. Hooked. Obsessed.
I need to know how they came to be and how she hides them so well. I need to dig them out and set her free. I never expected that she could do the same for me.
Doctor Fitzpatrick is now accepting new clients!
Look, Don’t Touch is a dark romance. It is the first in the Pieces of Us Trilogy. It’s an MF, four jalapeño, HFN novel with graphic depictions of s*x and k*nk. Trigger Warning for talks of ab*se, death by s*icide, and m*rder.
Pieces of Us is a polyamorous romance trilogy. Book 2, Forever We Fall is an MM, three jalapeño, HFN novel. Book 3, Hard to Judge is an MMF, four flaming jalapeño, HEA novel.
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble
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EXCERPT:
Hailey
My lips part, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can say anything without sobbing. So I let him go. The door whispers open and, after a moment, closes with an abrupt snap.
I crumple. My hands engulf my face, and I wail. Thoughts of Matt’s handsome face and his bright and tortured eyes haunt me. Sobs burn in and out of my lungs as though they might catch fire. I cry for what seems like forever. My abs cramp, and my fingers begin to tingle.
“Fuck!” I scream for all I’m worth, thankful for soundproofing, and wish I could have it installed in my brain. Where I could turn it on with the click of a button.
Sobs pull a vacuum on my lungs. My chest feels like it may cave in on itself. If I pass out, I can at least avoid this for a little while.
“Hailey?”
My epic cries stop instantly, caught in my shock.
The heavy whispering voice is still in the room and closer than ever. He’s just over my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
I leap from my seat and rush to the window, wiping at my tears and commanding control over my sorrow as I go. My legs wobble but hold me up.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.” My shaking hands smooth down my pants. “The door opened and closed. I thought you were gone.”
“Your aunt…I was going to get her for you, but she’s not here.”
I’m nodding and not understanding anything.
Why is he still here? Why is Matt dead? Why couldn’t I save him?
I stare out at the endless sky.
Mr. Judge’s large frame fills my periphery. He stands no more than a foot away to my left. He faces the window.
“I could tell the call you got wasn’t a good one. I thought your aunt could help.”
No one can help.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminds me as if I’m the patient and he’s my therapist. It’s apt for the moment.
I swallow, knowing I shouldn’t say anything. Knowing I can corrupt his treatment more than I already have. If he knows I’ve failed one client, what would that mean for him? Plus, confiding goes beyond the realm of professionalism.
“I just lost a patient.” I choke down a sob. “My first.”
He stuffs his hand into nice slacks. “Patient or loss?”
“First patient and first patient loss.” He’s taller than me by a lot, and I’m not considered short.
“How long have you been doing this?”
I notice a cross-hatched design on the sleeve of his suit jacket before I force my eyes away and back to the sky. The sunset is just beginning to blend its colors into the clouds that are no longer heart-shaped but gray and droopy. They promise rain.
Cold. Darkness. Sorrow.
“Six years licensed with my PhD. Thirteen, if you include all the practicums and internships.”
“It’s never good to lose someone, but it seems almost inevitable in your line of work.” His words are soft.
Sure, colleagues of mine have lost patients. But I don’t specialize in suicide prevention. I’d tried to talk Matt into seeing a psychologist who does. I even set up appointments for him. Time and again, he refused to show up at a single one.
“I specialize in cognitive and behavioral therapy. In the beginning, I saw patients dealing with severe depression, anxiety, and PTSD. Slowly, that shifted into phobias, relationships, and sexual disorders. I’ve been lucky.”
“Or good at your job,” he offers.
My throat aches from my cries and screams. It’s thick and cumbersome. Because of his kindness, the threat of more raging sentiments sits on the precipice of erupting.
“Considering I left you raw and vulnerable with no resolution, cried in front of you, and told you things I shouldn’t, I’ll go with luck.”
The room goes quiet for a long time. We stand side by side, staring at the birds, the trees, the people, the nothingness and everythingness of life in front of us. There’s a calming reassurance in the silence, in his disposition.
“I am sorry.” His words vibrate with meaning.
“Whatever for? You’ve done nothing wrong.” I breathe.
He takes his hand out of his pockets. They hang by his side. He has long fingers, and when he balls them into fists, the veins and muscles in his hands bulge.
“I can’t offer you comfort.”
For a moment, I want to cry for him. For all the comfort and pleasure that he’s lost. For all the connections he’s been unable to make in his life. For his discomfort. For his perennial solitude.
“You don’t have to touch, talk, or even allow me to look at you to provide me comfort, Mr. Judge.” I pull my sneaking gaze away from him and focus on the horizon. The sky has turned dark, drained of all its color. For this moment, it looks brighter than it did thirty minutes ago. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness and presence.”
He nods. I can barely see the movement in my periphery.
“Can I call someone for you?”
There is no one to call.
“No. You’ve helped quite a lot. Thank you.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it.”
I nod. “Goodbye, Mr. Judge.”
He retreats from view. This time, I watch his silhouette as it appears in the light of the exit room in the reflection of the window. He stalls in the doorway.
“Goodbye, Hailey.”
Then he leaves and closes the door behind him.
Author Bio:
Meg Everly writes stories with sentiment, smut, and love with no bounds.
Website / Goodreads / Instagram / TikTok / Booksirens
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Designs on Love by Tomi Tabb blitz with giveaway
**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**
Designs on Love
Tomi Tabb
(Friends of the Unexpected Royals, #1)
Publication date: August 30th 2024
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance
Min grew up with dreams of becoming a professional ballerina, but fate had other plans for her.
Fresh out of the London School of Fashion, she’s set her sights on one goal: earning an internship at one of the most exclusive fashion houses in the country—the Clarissa Lee Atelier.
When a series of unfortunate events leads to an unexpected meet-cute with a tall, dark, and handsome royal guard, Min’s plans are suddenly turned upside down.
She never expected to end up with a date with a soldier named Sam instead of applying for her internship.
Despite the setback, it’s not long before Min is offered her shot at a dream design commission. This is everything she’s been working toward. Devoting all her time and energy to it should be a no brainer, except she’s started to fall for Sam, who’s also laser focused on advancing in the army while taking care of his sisters.
As they navigate their growing feelings for each other, Min finds herself at a crossroads. With their careers on the line, can Min and Sam find the time to get their happily ever after?
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EXCERPT:
We spend about an hour and a half wandering around the small space until we’re back to where we started. From the landing overlooking the main entrance, I take a few extra moments to soak in all that we’ve seen. I feel like I’m inside a Barbie Dream House.
“Do you think you have enough inspiration to finish putting your portfolio together?” Liz asks, leaning against the stairwell railing.
“Actually, I have a small confession to make.” Heat sears through my cheeks.
Liz turns and studies me for a moment, her lips thin. “Min, don’t tell me . . . Have you scrapped everything you had and started again?”
I look away, bobbing my head up and down.
“Gah, you’re such a perfectionist.” She sighs. “I suppose that’s why we get on so well.”
“I think from what I’ve seen here today, I have enough ideas floating around my head to get started on a new collection.”
“And to finish it?”
“I’ll go to my usual place.”
“The National Portrait Gallery?” she asks.
“Uh-huh.”
We begin descending the stairs, staying to the right.
“Are you going to be able to finish before the deadline for the Clarissa Lee internship? It’s only two weeks away.”
I wave her off. “I have plenty of time. I can get it done.”
Liz mutters something under her breath that sounds like, “I hope so.”
“I will, I promise.”
Reaching into her pocket, she retrieves her phone. “I’ll set another reminder to myself to check in on you next week and the week after.”
“You’re the best. Have I ever told you that?”
She grins. “Yes, but not often enough.”
“Come on, let’s stop by the cafe and grab a tea before we head out. My treat.”
“How can I say no to that?”
We exit the exhibit to the main museum and walk toward the gift shop. A banner advertises a few exhibits coming to the museum later this spring. Liz grabs my sleeve and stops me in my tracks.
“Oy, Min, look, there’s an exhibit for the fiftieth anniversary of the Westminster Ballet in February. That looks like it’s right up your alley. Do you want to stop and book tickets for it while we’re here?”
I swallow hard as my stomach muscles clench. It’s been four years since I was fired from the LABT. I should be able to look at a dumb ol ’tutu and not become so emotional about it. But I can’t. Artum managed to ruin the one thing I loved. I may have moved to London, started a new career, and a new life, but I still can’t seem to let go of the past.
“No, I . . . I can’t,” I sputter.
Liz has never pushed me to talk about the past, but she knows that I used to dance professionally. As she reads my body language, her face softens. “Tea, then.”
Like a mother hen tucking me under her wing, she steers me toward the cafe and changes the subject. “Did I tell you that I have a few ideas for decorating my new flat? I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.”
“OK,” I croak.
Liz starts on about her bedroom, but my mind is still stuck on Artum. Will I ever be free from him?
Author Bio:
Tomi is a sweet romance author who enjoys writing feel-good stories with a heart.
Her first published novel, “Dancing With a Royal,” made its debut in 2020.
Outside of her day job, and attending grad school, Tomi enjoys figure skating and hunting for new pumpkin flavored foods. Her current favorite item is pumpkin spice Milano cookies.
Become a part of Tomi’s Treasured Community of readers by joining her newsletter or visiting her official website.
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CINDER31LA by Freida Kilmari blitz with giveaway
**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**
CINDER31LA
Freida Kilmari
Publication date: August 31st 2024
Genres: Adult, LGBTQ+, Retelling, Steampunk
I have 22,280 days left to live.
She only has 31.
Here in Clepsydra, everyone knows when they’re going to die. Born with a life clock embedded into our wrists, the tick-tock of our heartbeat is a pulse we’ll forever hear. Steambotics rule number one? Never mess with a life clock. For 21 years of my life, I’ve followed the rules and walked in my late father’s footsteps, hoping to one day be as good an engineer as he was.
Until she walked into my life.
The princess is dying, and it’s up to me to break the law and do the impossible. To cure time.
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EXCERPT:
I had 22,280 days to live. That was all the time I would get, whether I liked it or not. The clock never lied. The brass and steel of my lifeclock embedded in my wrist ticked on despite my mental whirring and purring, and I yanked my blue coverall sleeve down to mask the annoying tick tock of my heartbeat.
Returning my attention to the engine in front of me, I asked, “What’ve you got today for me, then?” I popped the hood of the steamer open and watched the faulty lines cross where they shouldn’t and meet where they should, with nothing transferring. “Hmmm . . .” I rubbed sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Seems you’ve got yourself all twisted, little buddy. Don’t worry, we’ll have you fixed up in no time.” As if in answer, the steamer chugged and whined, puffing a dirty cloud of old, used air in my face—clearly on its last legs. But I couldn’t return it to Old Mags like this; it was the only way she could see her grandchildren over in Prago City.
I spent all afternoon untangling the steam lines, trying to put them back together in a way that resembled the older models, but this thing was built before I was born and I couldn’t figure out how to line everything up to the radiator.
“Liquid toffee, El,” a synthetic voice croaked out from my desk.
“Ah, sweet toffee.” The bitter and sweet mixture always got my heart pumping.
IoN’s rusted, bronze body no larger than my head whizzed through the air with his new thrusters, his arms dangling behind as he raced back to the kitchen.
“Careful, IoN! You’ll knock something off the shelves if you don’t watch those arms.”
“Well,” he said as he whizzed back out with a can of compressed air, “if you did not pack them full with so many”—he paused and pulled an old project I’d been trying to work on last month from the shelf—“doodads, then I would not have a problem.”
He was always like this, moaning and complaining about the state of the garage these days. But with Dad gone, I had to step up and take over the business—my stepmother wouldn’t want to ruin her perfect new manicure my earnings paid for—and that meant there was no one to help clean up. The shelves on the metal and wood walls had stopped floating some time ago. I had since given up fixing their thrusters and nailed them to the walls the old-fashioned way.
“Just be careful,” I chuckled.
His small, hemispherical body whizzed around the garage, picking up all the tools I’d left lying about this morning after fixing my neighbor’s Instacaff mug. Business had been a bit slow recently—or, as my stepmother liked to remind me, nonexistent. The garage used to shine in the middle of downtown’s business park on level zero; even some of the rich would come to use Dad’s services. “He’s the best in the business,” they’d say, and I’d coo and wonder at his magnificence. Now, it was nothing but a scrappy old building with a broken sign the sun didn’t even reach since they’d built the city’s new level twenty-one a couple of years ago. We’d barely had any sunlight reaching us before, but twenty-one’s entertainment center blocked out the meager shaft of light that used to flicker our way from 11:00 a.m. until 1:00 p.m. every day. Besides, its white marble and old cog design was an eyesore I could do without. I hated the damn sight of it every time I stepped outside.
“Mom to Cinderella,” the radio echoed across the garage, dispelling my thoughts.
I cringed. I hated that name and she knew it, but I was reminded of the warning my stepmother gave me this morning before leaving our apartment: “Cinderella, darling, don’t forget to make some actual money today, or I’ll be forced to resort to grounding you.” She booped my nose, smiled that cruel, frustrating smile at me, and walked to the local spa for her morning massage.
As if grounding me would help pay the bills. I was the only one working!
“Cinderella!”
I snapped out of the daymare that was her plastered-on face and ran to the radio receiver. “Yes, Phyllis?”
“Cinderella!” the radio crackled again, forcing her voice into octaves even higher than her fake personality would usually reach. “How many times must I tell you to call me ‘Mom ’or ‘Mother.’” She sighed over the receiver. “Really, Cinderella, I simply cannot keep telling you.”
“Sorry, Mother.” My voice retained its usual nondescript tone, hiding anything and everything she might use as leverage over my life. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, now that you’ve actually asked.” She coughed to clear her throat. “I may have a job for you. Someone sent us a letter requesting your assistance at the Dome on level eighteen.”
Level eighteen? I’d never even left level zero. Most commoners didn’t venture farther than level ten, and even that was only if you had a well-paying job or an invitation to take you there. Level eighteen? I bet I could see the sun from up there. Not the small slithers we occasionally got when you found the right street corner at the right time of day, but real, actual sunlight.
Author Bio:
Freida Kilmari, an author, writer, and editor from south-west England, has a passion for unique fantasy, one that started with the likes of Philip Pullman, Derek Landy, and Darren Shan. With their fantastical words, she spent her childhood and young adult life vying to create her own world of words one day. Eventually, after finishing her degree and settling into being a business owner, she started writing fantasy romance with LGBT+ twists, and from there, she’s kept twisting tropes, retelling fairy tales and legends, and seeing just how far you can push the boundaries of sexuality and gender.
Living in south-west England, she owns and runs Penmanship Editing, a fiction editing business that strives to make the most out of each author’s unique story, words, and heart. “Every writer is different, and it’s those differences that make our work a part of who we are.” She’s worked on over 100 books in the last two years and has received praise from authors and other editors alike for her encouraging and togetherness approach in a field that is lacking uniqueness and empathy.
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