Cover Reveal + Excerpt – TELL ME A STORY by Jennifer Rebecca

Today we have the cover reveal for TELL ME A STORY by Jennifer Rebecca! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today!

Title: TELL ME A STORY
Author: Jennifer Rebecca
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Day: March 13th
Cover by Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Designs

About Tell Me A Story:

George Washington Township, New Jersey has seen its fair share of crime and tragedy. Most recently, a young boy is missing from his home and the tenacious Detective Claire Goodnite is eager to find him.

But the case is stirring up old memories best left forgotten. When a blast from her own past, FBI Special Agent Wesley O’Connell, turns up, Claire finds it hard to keep old ghosts at rest. And even harder to keep the sexy SAIC out of her case and her bed.

Claire Goodnite is the best damn detective in the state of New Jersey and you better believe she’s coming for you.

Pre-Order On iBooks Today!

Available on all retailers March 13th!

Exclusive Excerpt

A shrill ring wakes me from a restless sleep—I had the dream again. My phone bounces around on the unfamiliar night stand that I must have left it on last night.

“Goodnite,” I rasp, my voice heavy with sleep.

“Detective, this is dispatch,” the disembodied voice from my phone informs me. “We were told to notify you that the body of a male child has been recovered at the rocks near the bottom of the falls. Possible match for your missing person.”

“I’m on my way.”

That’s all I need to know, and I am throwing the blankets back that are tangled around my body—my naked body. I pull my jeans on—without panties—and then my boots. I quietly search for my bra, hopefully not waking . . . not waking . . . I look over at the bed where a man with warm brown hair and a stubbled jaw sleeps on the bed that I just vacated. Nope, not ringing any bells. At least he’s good looking. I shrug.

I should be embarrassed about letting some random pick me up at a bar the next town over. But I’m not. This case has been . . . rough . . . and I needed to blow off some steam. Will I call him again? Uhh, no. Will he call me? He’d have to find me first. Did he have a good time? You betcha.

I see my bra hanging from a lamp shade and grab it, tucking it into my back pocket. I pull my tank top on and then my t-shirt, having found both rumpled on the floor. I reach into the front pocket of my jeans and find a—thank God—a hair tie and toss my long, inky hair on top of my head in a messy bun. I pull on my coat that was dropped by the front door.

I palm my phone and pull my keys out of the same pocket the hair tie came out of. I step out into the New Jersey cold without ever looking back at . . . Mike? No, that’s not it. I shrug to myself, fuck it.

I beep the locks on my car and climb in. I unlock the glove box and feel the weight of my badge and sidearm in my hand as I pull them both out of their hiding spot, placing both on the dash. I fire up my nondescript Tahoe and head towards tragedy. My name is Claire Goodnite and I’m the best damn detective in the state of New Jersey and you better believe I’m coming for you.

About the Author

Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay.

Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta.

10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.

Website | Email | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

 


Cover Reveal + Excerpt – ATTACK ZONE by Jennifer Rebecca

Today we have the cover reveal for Attack Zone by Jennifer Rebecca! Check it out and be sure to pre-order your copy today!

Title: Attack Zone
Author: Jennifer Rebecca
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Day: Jan 16th
Cover Design: Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Designs

About Dead & Buried:

I had one goal.

Win an Olympic Medal.

Winning the Ladies Figure Skating Olympic Gold Medal should be my only focus, but my life has other plans for me. My father, the U. S. Senator, and my Stepmonster like to remind me that my role in our family comes with great expectations — and even greater responsibility.

Translation: Marry a man that will make them even more prestigious and powerful.

But that’s not my plan.

I have one last chance to prove myself.

And now, on top of everything else, I have to aid the sexy as sin Detective Kane F**king Green in finding the person who killed my friend.

My name is Sophia Eleonore Dubois, and holy mother of Dorothy Hamill, my life just got complicated. . .

Pre-order today!

Amazon | iBooks | B&N | KOBO

Exclusive Excerpt:

“You have got to be kidding me,” I growl as I see that big blond bastard climb from his truck. Well, it’s really more of a sandy blond but I’m an alliteration kind of a gal.

The parking lot is still dark, with the exception of the tall lights that pock the black asphalt. It’s four in the morning, so the sun won’t be up for a few more hours. I should be the only one here. Something Kane and I had already argued out last night. I even won best two out of three on rock-paper-scissors.

“Better believe it, Princess,” he barks out as he pulls a gear bag from the bed of his truck.

“No. No, no, no, no, no. Put that back. You’re not supposed to be here,” I plead as I grab my own skate bag and toss it over my shoulder. “I offered to rock-paper-scisor you for this spot and you said no. That makes it mine by default.”

He sighs. “You know, you don’t always have to be such a selfish bitch.” I rear back as if he struck me. “You could share the ice.”

“I’m here at four so I don’t have to,” I whisper.

He shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear a bad thought, erasing something that didn’t turn out right on an Etch A Sketch.

I look away. If ever there was anyone who could make me feel like a bug, like dog poop on my shoe, less than, it’s Kane Fucking Green, and trust me, others have tried. I feel the burn in my nostrils. I refuse to let him see me cry. Ever. And Lord knows I have cried my fair share of tears over Kane Fucking Green, and I’m not going to shed another one. I’m just not.

I take a deep breath, turn on my heels, and walk away from him. I feel his gaze burn my skin. It’s not the only thing he’s burned in the last year. He’s burned almost every bridge I had. Literally, the only thing left in my life is figure skating. I feel him on my heels as I walk up the concrete steps at the front of my home rink, Del Mar Ice House.

The big glass doors and windows that line the entire front of the rink are dark. That’s weird. Usually, Vadim turns the lights on when he comes in to unlock the doors for me. Maybe he’s having a late start this morning. Although, that’s not like him at all.

Most people think that my early mornings are crazy. That my four-in-the-morning practices are insane. But I love it. I love the smell of fresh ice. I love the quiet time when I can pace through my routines free from distractions. It’s my time to think or to not think, to clear my head and just be free. And my life is anything but free. Being a sitting senator’s daughter pretty much guarantees that, so I love this time to myself. I love mornings like this.

Vadim, the rink owner, loves these mornings too. He’s always here well before my early time slot. He unlocks the doors for me and turns on the lights. We once struck up a friendship over our love for Moscow. He was surprised to find out that I trained there for a whole summer under some of the best figure skating coaches in the world.

From that moment on, we were bonded. He’s like a favorite uncle doting on his beloved niece. So Vadim took to surfacing the ice on the Zamboni before I come in, even though it was surfaced right before closing the night before. He sharpens my blades for me when I need it. And he’s the best. No one can get me a better hollow. So it’s surprising when the lights are still out upon my arrival.

Although, he did double-book this time with Kane as well. I was so mad when I found out Kane Fucking Green had weaseled his way into my favorite ice time. I need this time to clear my head. From people like Kane Fucking Green. I haven’t been able to be in the same room as him since The Event.

I don’t think anyone could blame me. Who did he hurt? He hurt me.

I look at my sterling silver Rolex watch on my wrist. It’s ten after four in the morning. That’s so unlike Vadim. He should be here by now.

“What’s wrong?” Kane asks, reading my mood.

“He’s late,” I say softly.

I reach for the handle of the door, and it pulls free without effort. The door is unlocked. I pause for a second and then walk through the door. Vadim must be here after all. He must have forgotten to turn on the front lights.

“Wait, maybe I should check it out,” he says as he places his palm on my shoulder. I immediately stiffen.

I shrug off his hold. “You would just love that, wouldn’t you?” I growl. “Oh, sure, go right ahead and enjoy my ice time while I stand here like an idiot in the parking lot, Kane.” I roll my eyes.

“Is that what you really think of me, Princess?” he asks, his voice low in warning.

“At this juncture, I’m not sure what to believe,” I say honestly, meeting his blue gaze.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he sighs.

“I suppose you do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a National Championship to prepare for,” I say as I start walking down the hall toward the ice.

The rubber mats squeak under my sneakers—the shoes my stepmonster hates with a passion, but which are so comfortable. Especially after a long workout on the ice. I head toward the team boxes. That’s where I’ll put on my skates and stash my music and my water by the boards.

Kane is beside me as we turn the corner and stop in our tracks.

Whereas the main building lights were off, the lights over the ice are on. The whir of the Zamboni is deafening as it circles the ice top over and over. I gasp when Kane’s hand closes tight over my bicep, bringing me to a halt, and I raise my head to see what he sees.

Vadim is sprawled back over the seat of the Zamboni. His eyes point up at the championship banners of the local professional hockey team, all lined up in a neat row, but they don’t see them. They won’t see anything again. The bullet hole between his blank eyes saw to that.

“Holy son of Scott Hamilton,” I speak without thought.

“You got that right, babe. Whatever that means,” Kane says before he leads me back through the rink and out the glass front doors.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but instead find myself racing over to the bushes to toss my cookies. Kane is behind me, rubbing my back and making soothing noises. He hands me a water bottle from his gear bag before pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Dispatch, this is Detective Kane Green, badge number 57635. I need to report a homicide,” he says into his phone before lowering the volume of his voice. “And I have Senator Dubois’s daughter with me.”

Six months ago, I had hoped to put Kane Fucking Green and all of his bullshit behind me. I swore I wouldn’t focus on anything but myself and this next Olympic cycle. Not my dad—the US senator—or his bitch of a wife. And definitely not the feelings of hurt and betrayal that seeing Kane always seems to bring to the surface. Not to mention other feelings. My name is Sophia Eleanor Dubois, “Sophie” to my friends, and I have a funny feeling Kane Green just screwed me and my plans . . . again.

I finish up my program, and the smile on my face matches those of my girls and their moms. I nailed it. But I can’t slack off now. This is my last chance at the Games. I’m aging out, and it’s time for me to transition to coaching full-time. But I want to win one. Just one Games.

“Go home and enjoy your weekend!” I call out.

They laugh and start to file out of the rink. I take a second and then a third victory lap around the rink. I shake out my arms before I move back to center ice to run through my long program.

It’s one of my favorite Celtic Woman songs. A slow, soul-wrenching melody in which I can show off the decades of classical ballet training. I slowly wrap my body around the music, letting it swirl around me as we float and fly down the ice.

This routine is all layback spins transitioning into perfectly choreographed jumps. I’m pushing my body around the short end of the rink and then diagonally down the length in an Ina Bauer when I lean so far back that my long, emerald skirt of my competition dress flows with me, as part of me, during my program.

I’m halfway across the rink when a pair of anaconda arms wraps around my middle and plucks me off the ice.

The scream that rents the air is torn from my lungs, and I have absolutely no shame in that. I’m still tipped over backward, and the strong arms that are wrapped around my waist pull my body flush with a decidedly . . . male one from the waist down. Blades clank against each other as our feet tangle, bulky, muscled legs against slender, sinewy ones, and then up and up and up until my pelvis is pressed against his. And he is unmistakably hard . . . everywhere.

My breath catches in my throat as I realize that we look like the famous V-J Day couple. I see the famous statue every time I drive past the USS Midway downtown. His hot breath blows in heavy pants across my face, and he smells of mint and man, sweat and sin. I open my eyes and stare straight into baby blues so light in color and cold in depth that a shiver wracks up my spine. Suddenly, I’m cold to the core. No, this isn’t some romantic comedy where the guy gets the girl; this man is no Prince Charming. These eyes belong to the snake that lies in the grass. This man is Detective Kane Green, my worst fucking nightmare.

About the Author:


Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay.

Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta.

10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.

Website | Email | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram


New Release + Excerpt – LOVE, SNOW, & MISTLETOE

Today we have the release week blitz for Love, Snow and Mistletoe! Check out this fantastic anthology and be sure to grab your copy now! All proceeds are being donated to St. Jude’s!

About Love, Snow, & Mistletoe:

Seven of your favorite authors have come together for a holiday charity anthology!

Missing your favorite characters? Jump right back into their lives for a little Christmas fun and join your favorite beaus under the mistletoe.

Hilaria Alexander
Alexandria Bishop
Megan Green
D.B. James
Zeia Jameson
Jennifer Rebecca
Rachel Renee

have teamed up to bring you an anthology of sweet and savory tales to catch a glimpse into the worlds you’ve been craving more of.

A Scottish hunk, a pop punk rock star, a sweet hot cop, a smooth Southern lawyer, an Irish bad boy, a football stud, and a mysterious secret agent…winter is here and these guys all want to help keep you warm and toasty this season.

Grab this LIMITED EDITION set and help donate to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital this holiday season.

Grab your copy today!

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AU


EXCERPT

If you would’ve told me last Christmas I’d be spending this Christmas with my ex-husband Julian, I’d have called you a liar. Then again, if you would’ve told me I’d be here with my niece Morgan and her newly acquired fiancé, I probably would’ve had you checked into the nearest mental hospital.

But here I sit, on a floral—yes, floral—couch in Julian’s Paris penthouse watching two of the people I love most in this world celebrate their engagement.

Morgan, my beautiful girl. She sure has grown up over these past few months. She may have been thrown at me like she was a piece of trash by her no-good mother, but she’s the finest piece of trash I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching rise from the ashes. A stunning emerald-eyed phoenix.

At least something good came from my devastating heartbreak.

After my sister’s deception, it was hard for me to get over what she’d done. It was harder for me to move on with Julian, the man she used as her pawn. Eventually it tore us apart.
Some would say we’ve come full circle.

Not me. I feel like I’m back at square one and starting all over again.
I feel…weak.

Which is why I’ve planned to spend as little time as possible in Julian’s company. Morgan promised we’d do things together as a group or just the two of us. So far, it’s been okay. Slightly awkward, but okay. I mean it’s painfully obvious to all I’m avoiding any alone time with Julian. But can you blame me? He was my husband when he slept with my sister.

She got pregnant.

I got divorced.

Not to mention eighteen years spent in this solitary hell of my own making.
But back to the moment. Right this second, I’m…scared.

I’m scared because Julian is looking at me with rekindled love shining in his eyes.

I’m scared because I’m weak.

I’m scared because Harrison just whisked Morgan away to have their own private celebration.

I’m scared because Julian hasn’t stopped staring at me with those damn emotions flickering in his gaze.
Shit. I’m in so much trouble.

You better run, Savannah.

Instead of running, I stay firmly seated on this damn flowery old lady couch while the lights from the Christmas tree twinkle in the room like starlight in the night sky. I should probably head over to my hotel soon, but I sink down deeper into the cushions, releasing a sigh as I do.
Promises may have been made. I told Morgan I’d spend this night here, only so it’d be easier for us all to celebrate Christmas morning together, but I think fleeing to the safety of my hotel is the right answer.

“Care for another glass of wine, Van?” Julian asks from where he stands on the other side of his grand living room, his bottle-green eyes still watching me like a hawk stalking its prey.

“We both know the safe answer to that is no. I’ll be on my way now. It’s past time I turn in for the evening.” Attempting to stand with as much grace as I can muster, I get tangled up in my pants while doing so. Stupid beautiful Louboutin high heels.

The touch of Julian’s hand on my elbow as he helps to steady me feels like a jolt of lightening straight to my heart. All I can manage to do is turn my gaze to his. His jewel-like eyes burn into mine.

I don’t move.

Neither does he.

It’s like this moment in time is what we’ve been waiting nearly half our lives for…a second chance.

Even though I’m stubborn as heck and will probably never let myself go enough to feel the kind of soul-bearing love I once knew in Julian’s arms. Before he betrayed me and stomped all over my heart.

A minute passes and neither one of us has tried to move, his hand still on my arm. I don’t even feel like I’m breathing. If it wasn’t for my chest moving, I’d swear I wasn’t.

Another minute goes by.

The grandfather clock strikes on the half hour; we still don’t so much as bat an eyelid.

Three minutes pass.

Now it’s become a staring contest neither one of our stubborn asses will break.

His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

His lips always were my downfall.

By the fourth minute I’m telling myself if I see him move one more muscle I’m declaring victory as mine and leaving. The bathtub in my hotel room is calling my name. It sounds like a delicious idea to me.

Minute five is here.

He hasn’t moved anything but his tongue.

Suddenly, he reaches his hand out toward my face, his thumb rubbing my cheek near my lower lip. My tongue nearly darts out to lick it, but if I did it’d be a game changer. One I’m not sure I’m ready for.

“You had a droplet of wine. Here, let me take better care of it.”

Before I can protest, his lips come crashing down on mine. Using both of his hands, he shoves them into my hair, threading his fingers through and holding my head in his steady hands. He’s using them to angle my head and hold me hostage. He doesn’t need them though. As soon as his lips dusted mine, I was ready and eager to kiss him back with just as much fervor.

How I’ve missed kissing Julian.
My tongue licks along his bottom lip, begging for access. I want to taste him again. I want to burn for him like I used to for days after a simple kiss. When his tongue meets mine, I hear his responding growl.

The sound is what breaks this momentary insanity.

Breaking the kiss, I push gently at his chest and take two steps back.
“W-We can’t, Julian. It’s too much.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. The one coming from me in this moment belongs to the Savannah whose heart was shattered. Whose soul was ripped from her body. I’d recognize her voice anywhere. But it’s the Savannah I am now who needs to finish this. “I’m saying no, Julian. No means no. Never again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a hotel room to get back to.”

And with those parting words, I grab my purse from the couch and stalk out of his haughty overpriced Paris penthouse. At least I’m wearing thousand-dollar shoes that make me look remarkable while doing it.


About the Authors:

Hilaria Alexander:


Hilaria Alexander was born and raised in the south of Italy, where her family still lives. She was bit by the travel bug early on and lived in Tokyo and Orlando for a while before settling down in Oklahoma City with her husband and kids.

She loves books – obviously – as well as movies and TV, and is addicted to award shows. She can’t play an instrument to save her life, but she loves music, which is one of her biggest inspirations when plotting new stories.

If you have questions about her or her books, ask her on Facebook and Twitter, or email her at hilaria_alexander@outlook.com.

Friend me: http://bit.ly/HilariaFacebook
Author Page: http://bit.ly/HilariaFBPage
My Books: http://bit.ly/HilariaAmazon
Instagram: http://bit.ly/HilariaIG
Twitter: http://bit.ly/HilariaTwitter
Readers Group: http://bit.ly/HilariaAlexanderRockettes

Alexandria Bishop:


Born in a small southeastern island in Alaska, Alexandria moved to southern Oregon early on in her life. Where she still resides with her young daughter, husband, and fur baby.

She’s insanely obsessed with fashion and used to dream of becoming a fashion designer creating new outfits for her Barbie’s with her childhood best friend. For now she’s loving writing and fulfilling her fashion addiction with shopping.

Along with fashion, Alexandria is a big lover of music. She’s always listening to something while writing and creates a playlist to go along with each book she writes. She’s always on the hunt for new music and loves getting suggestions from her readers.

Alexandria spends way too much time on social media and would love for you to say hi!

Facebook: www.facebook.com/authoralexandriabishop
Facebook group: www.facebook.com/groups/bishopsbabes
Twitter: www.twitter.com/allieebishop
Website: www.alexandriabishop.com
Instagram: www.instagram.com/alexandria.bishop

Megan Green:


Megan lives in Northern Utah with her handsome hubby, Adam. When not writing, chances are you’ll find her curled up with her Kindle. Besides reading and writing, she loves movies, animals, chocolate, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. She loves hearing from readers, so drop her a line!

You can find her here:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormegangreen
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MeganGreen616
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormegangreen
Email: megangreenwrites@gmail.com

D.B. James:


D.B. James is an indie author of New Adult Romance. In her spare time, she’s an avid reader. Colleen Hoover, Tarryn Fisher, Teagan Hunter, KA Tucker, Linda Kage, Renee Carlino, and Sarah J Maas are a few of her obsessions. She is a mother to one spoiled rotten fur-baby named Frasier. He’s a bi-colored Persian cat, who thinks he’s royalty and can’t be told otherwise. She’s a Michigan girl through and through but currently resides in sunny Florida. Sarcasm, Supernatural (team Sam!), Harry Potter and coffee are among her favorite things.

www.facebook.com/AuthorDBJames (like me)
www.facebook.com/AuthorDBJames721 (friend me)
www.facebook.com/groups/DBJamesDestinationLove/ (reader group)
Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/dbjames
Twitter: www.twitter.com/AuthorDBJames
Instagram: @DBJames

Zeia Jameson:


Zeia Jameson’s passion for writing compels her to get into the zone and type until her fingers go numb. When not submerged within her own stories, she enjoys curling up in her large reading chair, snuggling underneath a blanket, and feeding her addictions of coffee and reading. She is fond of humor and laughter and believes these are elements that keep the world sane and spinning.

Zeia lives in Georgia with her husband and daughter, where they spend most of their time exploring recipes, bingeing on Netflix, and traveling as much as possible.

Reader Group, the Fierce Romantics: https://www.facebook.com/groups/zeiasfierceromantics/
http://www.zeiajameson.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/zeiajameson
Twitter: @ZeiaJameson
Instagram: @ZeiaJameson
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Zeia-Jameson/e/B00YSH1QCW
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13825338.Zeia_Jameson

Jennifer Rebecca:


Jennifer is a thirty-something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four-letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay.

Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta.

10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of an 8-year-old and 7-year-old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her Fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.

Website: www.jenniferrebeccaauthor.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JenniferRebeccaAuthor/
Author Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/JRDangerousDames/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JenniRLreads
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jennirlreads/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15820510.Jennifer_Rebecca
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2xrluiU

Rachel Renee:


Rachel Renee, born and raised in and around Cincinnati, Ohio, finds herself residing with her family in the suburb of Loveland. After completing a degree in psychology and racking up thousands of dollars in debt, she decided to become a stay at home mom and homeschool her children, all the while working on her writing career. While she is not using her degree in the secular world she uses it on a daily basis, psychoanalyzing her husband of 14 years and two children (9 and 7), her 2 dogs, 3 cats and her life as a writer and teacher. Just like Rachel enjoys reading books from many different genres, she also enjoys writing different genres as well. Her first release being a contemporary romance, Untangling Rose. Rachel’s other two books are part of her Savannah PD series; detective/mystery/thrillers, titled Instincts and Human Nature.

Stay tuned as Rachel continues her journey!
Instagram, Facebook and Twitter @AuthorRachelRM
Facebook friend page – Author.RachelRenee


Enter the Giveaway!!!

a Rafflecopter giveaway


New Release + Excerpt + Giveaway – DEAD & BURIED by Jennifer Rebecca

Today we have the release day blitz for Dead & Buried by Jennifer Rebecca! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today!

Title: Dead & Buried
Author: Rebecca Jennifer
Genre: Contemporary Romance

About Dead & Buried:

You ever hear the phrase, about as successful as a soup sandwich? Well, that’s me, I’m the soup sandwich, but instead of a soggy mess, you have a twenty five year old with a Bachelor’s degree in nothing useful who just quit her job at the local home improvement store where there were definitely no tortured billionaires looking to tie anyone up–and that’s not a bad thing. I know, it’s looking pretty sad right about now, but at least I don’t still live with my parents…

So, here I am, embarking on a new journey covering the Funerals and Obituaries section of the local paper, the San Diego Metro News, for the editor–brace yourself--my uncle, Sal. Unfortunately, while my parents are on vacation, my Granny and her friends are determined to stir up some trouble–but this time, they may have bitten off more than they can chew–especially when some of the residents of the local retirement community are turning up unnaturally dead.

There is nothing that will keep me from protecting the people that I love, no matter how crazy they may be–not even the sexy, I mean stubborn, homicide detective, Trent Foyle, can stop me.

My name is Shelby Whitmore and I’m kind of the newest reporter for the San Diego Metro News, but hey, I’m a hit with the blue hairs.

Amazon | iBooks | B&N | Kobo

Exclusive Excerpt:

Do you ever feel like you’re stuck in an R. Kelly song? Because I’m definitely feeling like I’m living one. You could almost say I’m trapped in one. But not the toot toot, beep beep fun of “Ignition” or the motivational “I Believe I Can Fly”– I’m talking “Trapped in the Closet.” All seventy-five parts. Because, you know, I am actually trapped in a closet. A utility closet to be specific.

I have no idea what happened. One minute, I’m walking up the stairs of the building my granny lives in, Peaceful Sunset Retirement Village, singing, ironically, “Ignition.” I had just gotten to the good part, you know, the “hot and fresh out the kitchen” part—it’s the part where I like to mime driving a car, the part after the toots when I pull down my arm like I’m honking the horn on a big rig. I’m right in the middle of my song and dance repertoire—when all of a sudden, I hear one of the doors to the stairwell open and close, which is normal since the nurses and caregivers use these halls to get around faster and not clog up the elevators that the seniors use. The next thing I know, something hits me over the head, and it’s lights out. I never even saw the guy. Or gal. Who am I to discriminate?

Anyhoo, fast forward, however long that might be, and I find myself awake, with a killer headache. A headache a lot like the one I got when I fell out of my friend’s parents’ camper in the second grade. My friend who was also named Shelby. Weird, right? Anyway, we were playing after school at her house, and her mom found nothing wrong with our playing in one of those VW vans that were small campers with the part that pops up out of the roof for you to sleep in.

So there we were, playing with our Super Spy Barbies in the pop-up part, when she jumped down to get a clothing change for her doll. Shelby B., as our teachers in school called her to distinguish between us, was a lot bigger than me. I was the runt of the litter back then. When she went to pull herself back up, dress included, she grabbed the board I was sitting on, and I wasn’t big enough to hold the board down, so Other Shelby pulled me and the board down on top of her. We landed in order: board, then me, then the dolls and their accoutrements. After that, I bounced off of her and out the open sliding door onto the sidewalk, face first.

Next thing I knew, I was coming to, and her mom was running down the driveway with the phone to her ear. A couple of minutes later, my mom and dad pulled up in my mom’s old Jeep Cherokee, followed by a fire truck and an ambulance.

As it turned out, I had one hell of a concussion, which we found out while my dad was hanging out with all of the firemen and paramedics that he knew because they all played basketball together at the gym. I spent the night in the emergency room and the next week with the mother of all headaches, which is how I feel right now as I struggle to open my eyes and make them focus.

I look around and everything is blurry. I blink my eyes a couple of times to clear my vision. It helps a little. I take stock of what’s around me—there are mops and brooms, shelves of lightbulbs and other various paraphernalia, cleaning supplies—when it dawns on me where I am, which is how I find myself trapped in a utility closet, à la R. Kelly.

I’m sitting on the floor on my butt with my back against some more shelves. My legs are straight out in front of me, and my ankles are tied together with a zip tie. Yippee! I groan out loud when I realize my hands are bound the same way behind my back.

I could lie down and wait for a psycho to come back and finish me off, but that’s not how my daddy raised me. And if I did die because I was being a big baby, Granny would bring me back to life just to whoop my butt and kill me again. I wiggle around, trying to find anything I can break these zip ties on. I notice the door has hinges that look like little hooks, and I scoot over to try to hook the tie on my ankles to it. I wiggle and kick my legs and wiggle some more, all pretty thankful I keep my biweekly yoga date with my grandmother and her friends.

I hook the zip tie on the bottom door hinge and kick my feet by bending and straightening my knees. “Come on, come on,” I chant under my breath as I rub the plastic against the sharp side of the door hinge. “Yes!” I shout as the tie breaks. I swing to my knees and push up to my feet. My legs shake. Impressive considering there’s a polka band playing in my head and I kind of want to puke.

I lean my right shoulder against the shelves and squeeze my eyes tight, hoping to stop the room from spinning before I can find something to undo the tie at my wrists. My eyes pop open at the sudden quiet rattle of the door. I have to squint against the intrusion of the bright light that is immediately switched on. When I open them again, I am face-to-face with the vibrant jade eyes of one sexy Detective Trenton Foyle, San Diego PD.

“Jesus, Shelby, you scared the shit out of me!” he booms. I just roll my eyes, which I instantly regret, slamming them shut again.

“What?” I ask innocently.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asks.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I say coyly.

“You just have to stir up trouble, don’t you?” he asks, shaking his head.

I don’t care to answer, so I don’t. It’s not like I find myself trapped in a closet every day. Who am I kidding? I may not find trouble, but trouble always has a way of finding me. I’d like to say this is the last time, but why lie? My name is Shelby Whitmore, and I’m sort of a reporter for the San Diego Metro News and most definitely trapped in a closet.

About the Author:

Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay.

Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta.

10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.

Website: www.JenniferRebeccaAuthor.com
Email: JenniferRebeccaAuthor@gmail.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JenniferRebeccaAuthor
Twitter: @JenniRLreads
Instagram: @JenniRLreads

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Cover Reveal + Excerpt + Giveaway – DEAD & BURIED by Jennifer Rebecca

Today we have the cover reveal for Dead & Buried by Jennifer Rebecca! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today!

Title: Dead & Buried
Author: Jennifer Rebecca
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Day: July 17th
Cover model: BT Urruela
Image by Kruse Images and Photography
Cover by Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Designs.

 

About Dead & Buried:

You ever hear the phrase, about as successful as a soup sandwich? Well, that’s me, I’m the soup sandwich, but instead of a soggy mess, you have a twenty five year old with a Bachelor’s degree in nothing useful who just quit her job at the local home improvement store where there were definitely no tortured billionaires looking to tie anyone up–and that’s not a bad thing. I know, it’s looking pretty sad right about now, but at least I don’t still live with my parents…

So, here I am, embarking on a new journey covering the Funerals and Obituaries section of the local paper, the San Diego Metro News, for the editor–brace yourself--my uncle, Sal. Unfortunately, while my parents are on vacation, my Granny and her friends are determined to stir up some trouble–but this time, they may have bitten off more than they can chew–especially when some of the residents of the local retirement community are turning up unnaturally dead.

There is nothing that will keep me from protecting the people that I love, no matter how crazy they may be–not even the sexy, I mean stubborn, homicide detective, Trent Foyle, can stop me.

My name is Shelby Whitmore and I’m kind of the newest reporter for the San Diego Metro News, but hey, I’m a hit with the blue hairs.

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Exclusive Excerpt:

“Yes, I need an ambulance at 143 Sunnyvale Road, Unit B. Yes, I’ll stay on the line.”

Hey, that’s my address. I hope now one’s hurt. I open my eye and realize two things. 1) I’m lying flat on my back on the kitchen floor and 2) there is a strange man standing over me staring down with a scowl on his scary, yet handsome face. Upon, closer inspection, I realize I am naked and there is a strange man standing over me. What the ever fuck is happening here?!

“She’s come to,” the stranger says.

“Ma’am, you had an accident, I’m…” But he doesn’t get to finish because I jump up screaming.

“A phone pervert! A phone pervert is in my house!!!! AAAHHHHHHHHHHH……” I scream and resume my naked alien running. I run to my adorable cooking utensil cup and grab the first thing I can get my hands on, which just so happens to be a metal pair of tongs. I lunge at the Phone Pervert in my very best impression of a master swordsman, En garde! Clapping away like a deranged lobster. “You! Out of my house, Phone Pervert.” Clap clap.

Clap clap clap. “I told you I already have a pervert,” Clap clap. I attack again. Clap clap. “And I told you I would call the police!” Strong arms firmly wrap around me from behind and I jump but they only lock tight around me.

“Lady, I am the police. Now put your claws away and grab a robe before I have to take you in.” I let out an Eeep! when I realize that I am naked. My Phone Pervert turned police officer looks over my shoulder and says to the anaconda arms holding me, “Really, Trent, this looney tune is your girl?”

“Hey, I’m not a looney tune,” I pout. “I’m just having a really bad day,” I mumble. The thought of going to jail naked has brought back all the stress of my shit day.

“What can I say, she’s never boring and Nana loves her,” I feel Trent shrug behind me.

“Can you imagine your kids being anything but terrors with her and Marla’s genes combined?” He laughs. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Hey,” I mumble halfheartedly.

“But they’ll be entertaining. And beautiful,” Trent adds.

“Beautiful for sure, crazy as fuck for certain,” he laughs, “Although standing here now, I definitely see her appeal. You ever decide you’re done with this asshole, you give me a call okay, sugar?” The stranger asks me on a chuckle.

A growl rumbles out from behind me and a warm, calloused palm slides up to cover my breast. Another one moves south but I slap it away.

“But I don’t even know your name,” I mumble looking down distractedly at the large, tan hand on my boobie.

Another growl, this time more menacing rumbles up as the stranger laughs again. Apparently, my life is hilarious.

“Detective Kane Green at your service ma’am,” he leans forward and tips his imaginary hat.

“Like the hockey player?” I ask, but I hear a groan from behind.

“One and the same, but now I’m retired,” he winks. “The old shoulder couldn’t do it anymore so I decided to follow in my dad’s footsteps and joined the local PD.”

“I think that’s just amazing,” I breathe. “I’m a big fan,” I blush. And when I say blush, I mean I blush EVERYWHERE and EVERYONE knows it because I’m FREAKING NAKED!

“He was just leaving,” Trent barks from behind me. Detective Green laughs and heads for the door.

“It was lovely meeting you, Shelby,” he winks and heads off into the night. Kane Green and his shaggy, light brown hair and cold blue eyes are undoubtedly gorgeous, but absolutely nothing compared to the coal black hair and green Irish eyes of one Detective Trenton Foyle. I am so screwed.

About the Author:

Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay.

Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta.

10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.

 

Website: www.JenniferRebeccaAuthor.com
Email: JenniferRebeccaAuthor@gmail.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JenniferRebeccaAuthor
Twitter: @JenniRLreads
Instagram: @JenniRLreads

 

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