Monday, May 27, 2019

Written With Regret, the first in an all-new emotional duet from USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez, is available now!


Written With Regret, the first in an all-new emotional duet from USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez, is available now!


Every little girl dreams of the fairytale. The one where the white knight rushes in to save her from the clutches of evil. They fall in love, have babies, and live happily ever after.
By that definition, my life should have been a fairytale too.
When I was eight years old, Caven Hunt saved me from the worst kind of evil to walk the Earth. It didn’t matter that I was a kid. I fell in love with him all the same.
But that was where my fairytale ended.
Years later, a one-night stand during the darkest time imaginable gave us a little girl. It was nothing compared to the pitch black that consumed me when I was forced to leave her with Caven for good.
At the end of every fairytale, the happily-ever-after is the one thing that remains consistent. It wasn’t going to be mine, but there hadn’t been a night that passed where I hadn’t prayed that it would be hers.
I owed Caven my life.
However, I owed that innocent child more.
And that included ripping the heart from my chest and facing her father again.

WWR - AN
Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2IOYdg5

Excerpt:

Life had never been easy for me. Chaos had been following me like a dark cloud, looming and hovering, casting its shadow far and wide despite how bright the path in front of me should have appeared. After growing up the way I had, where happiness had been more of a privilege than a choice, I knew better than to believe that that moment would be anything other than fleeting.
And one second later, the universe proved me right.
I opened the door to see who had rung the bell—a cursory check revealed an empty hallway.
And that’s when I heard it: the sound that changed not only my entire life in the present, but my life for all future days to come.
At first, it was just a grunt, but as if that baby could feel my gaze, the minute my eyes made contact, it let out a sharp cry.
Confusion hit me like a lightning bolt, sending me back a step. I used the door frame for balance as I took in the yellow blanket with a hole only big enough to reveal a pale-pink face.
“What the fuck?” I breathed. Glancing around the hall, I waited for someone to jump out and start laughing. When no one spoke up to issue a punchline, I took a step closer and repeated, “What the fuck?”
I was utterly unable to process the absurdity in front of me.
Of course, I knew the facts.
It was a baby.
On my doorstep.
Alone.
But the why in that equation was glaringly absent.
“Uhhh,” Ian drawled, peering over my shoulder. “Why is there a kid at your door?”
“I have no idea,” I replied, staring down at the squirming and now-screaming bundle. “It was just there when I opened the door.”
Ian shoved me to the side so he could stand beside me. “You’re shitting me, right?”
“Does it look like I’m shitting you?”
He looked from me to the baby, then back again. “How did it get there?”
We were two incredibly smart men who had created a technology empire out of nothing. But, clearly, a baby was too big for either of us to wrap our minds around.
I swept an arm out and pointed to the kid. “I have no clue, but I’m assuming it didn’t catch a cab.”
A light of understanding hit his eyes. He moved first, stepping over the crying baby and hurrying down the hall, searching around the corner near the elevator before returning alone.
The party continued behind me, but even with the door open, the loud chatter was no match for the ear-piecing cries happening in that hallway.
Veronica suddenly appeared beside me, her body going solid as she stammered out. “Is that…a baby?”
“Back up,” I urged, throwing my arm out to block her path as though the infant were going to suddenly morph into a rabid animal. And let’s be honest, I knew nothing about babies. Anything was possible.
Ian dropped to his knees, scooping up the wailing child. Meanwhile, I stood there like a gawking idiot, paralyzed by a weight I didn’t yet understand.
“Call the pol—” He stopped abruptly and reached into the top of the child’s blanket. “Oh shit,” he whispered, his wide, panic-filled eyes flashing to mine.
“What?” I asked, stepping toward him to get a better look at the kid. Only it wasn’t that tiny baby cradled in his arms that made my heart stop and bile rise in my throat.
There, in my best friend’s hand, was a folded piece of notebook paper that had been tucked into the child’s blanket. From the looks of it, the paper was unremarkable in every sense of the word. Blue lines, white spaces, hanging remnants from where it had been haphazardly ripped from a spiral bound notebook. Even the crease was crooked. But it was my name scrawled on the outside in messy, black ink that made it the most remarkable paper in existence.
I snatched it from his hand and, with blood roaring in my ears, opened it.
Caven,
I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. This is our daughter Keira. I’ll love her forever. Take care of her the way I can’t.
Written with regret,
Hadley
The hall began to spin, my head feeling like every ounce of blood had been drained from my body. The thundering in my ears faded and the loud chatter of my guests, who were suddenly aware that something was happening at the door, roared to life.
And then the chaos finally found me all over again—the past playing out in my head like my life flashing before my eyes.
I sucked in a deep breath and looked at the baby in his arms. The blanket had fallen off its head just enough to reveal a patch of fine hairs, more orange than its mother’s red.
“Call the police,” I declared, turning on a toe and walking back into my apartment, leaving Ian standing in the hall with Hadley’s child.
Shoving through the crowd of concerned onlookers, I headed straight to the bottles of liquor lining the counter. I didn’t bother with ice or even a glass. I threw back that bottle of vodka, hoping like hell the burn of the alcohol could numb the panic coursing through my veins.
Through it all, that baby never stopped crying.

My Review
It's been a while since I've read one of Aly Martinez's duets, and for the life of me I cannot figure out WHY! This was so incredibly good that I couldn't put it down, and was intrigued with the entire story.

Hadley is a young girl who survives a tragedy, and the one connection to that event is a boy that saved her. Years later, she connects with him, and ends up having his child - only to leave said child on his doorstep. Now she's back and wants to be a part of her daughter's life, but Caven isn't sure if he wants to let her in.

This is the simple synopsis of this complex and twisted tale. There are surprises throughout, and the ending left me shocked and wanting more!

I cannot wait for the second part of this duet to be released! 


Pre-order the stunning conclusion, Written With You, today!
Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2DzFmBx

About Aly
Originally from Savannah, Georgia, USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez now lives in South Carolina with her husband and four young children.
Never one to take herself too seriously, she enjoys cheap wine, mystery leggings, and olives. It should be known, however, that she hates pizza and ice cream, almost as much as writing her bio in the third person.
She passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a super-sized tumbler of wine by her side.



Connect with Aly
Facebook Reader Group: http://bit.ly/2DEpPAh
Stay up to date with Aly by signing up for her mailing list today:

Monday, May 20, 2019

The Billionaire Boss Next Door by Max Monroe - Blog Tour and Review!

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The Billionaire Boss Next Door, an all-new hilarious romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!

Boss-next-door-(Cover).jpg
My new boss has it all. In spades.
Gorgeous green eyes? Check.
Hard-and-sexy body? Check.
Intelligence? Check.
Success? A big fat billionaire… Check.
Too bad I haven’t started out on the best foot.
My big mouth has already turned him against me, and tempting good looks and success aside, Trent Turner is no peach either. He’s stubborn and thick-headed, and son of a fruitcake, he thinks he knows everything there is to know about the hotel business.
With him running the development of the new Vanderturn New Orleans Hotel and me doing the design, our work relationship is far too intimate for two people who absolutely despise one another.
But that’s not all.
See, he isn’t just my billionaire boss from hell. He’s my new neighbor, too.
Same city.
Same building.
Same floor.
Trent Turner is my billionaire boss next door.
Holy moly, let’s hope my career—and hormones—can survive.
Disclaimer: If you generally love to suffer, hate fun of any kind, and are allergic to laughter, this book is not for you.
TBBND - AN.jpg
Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/TBBND
Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2uEva5S
TBBND - Teaser 3 AN.jpg

My Review: 

I always enjoy books by the wonder-duo of Max Monroe and this one was no different. Spinning off the Billionaire series, this one includes all the things I loved about those books: Hilarious characters, solid friendships, men who are slightly clueless, and of course, Thatch! 

This one focused on Greer, an interior designer that really needs to pull off this job to keep her head afloat, and Trent, the son of a hotel mogul who needs to prove himself worthy of standing on his own so that he can inherit the family empire. 

The enemies - to - lovers trope is one that always makes me wonder if two people who REALLY didn't like each other can come together and find their happily ever after. If you trust in Max Monroe, you know that they can make this happen (and they do). 

I enjoyed this one, and while most books are told by the two main characters, this one had chapters from several which made it different from the norm. I look forward to more from this new group!

 

Excerpt:

It only takes five minutes inside the hotel gym to realize why my original plan was to eat a hamburger in bed.
      I do not got this.
      I’m not good at working out, I’ve never been good at working out, and I’ll never be good at working out.
      I don’t know what to do with the equipment, and it doesn’t know what to do with me.
      Clearly, it’s been designed for people with half a foot more height and fifty percent more muscle, and even on the lowest of settings, I fumble my way through biceps curls like an uncoordinated inchworm.
      I can barely reach the handles, so I have to kind of stoop to get in position, but the newly formed curve of my spine makes me have to arch and wiggle to complete the curl. If it weren’t for my kick-ass Metallica T-shirt, I might start to worry that I look foolish.
      The ten-pound weight clanks as I drop it the inch and a half I managed to lift it in the first place, and I stand up to find a different machine. Surely there’s something in here I can operate without having a special license.
      I find some kind of seated thing with weights on one end and a padded face rest on the other. I sit, lay my face down, and attempt to slide my legs underneath the weighted bar. But, it’s completely awkward and uncomfortable, and I start questioning what in the fuck this thing is even supposed to do.
      Just before I give up completely, a throat clears deeply beside me, and I look up to see a far too muscular man staring down at me in confusion. “Uh…wow…I didn’t realize you could use it that way…”
      Huh?
      I nearly ask him what he’s talking about, but his actions answer any and all questions I might have.
      He sits down on the machine beside mine—an identical machine to mine—and it’s then I realize the face rest is not a face rest.
      It’s a seat. For asses.
      A seat for sweaty, workout asses.
      Jesus Christ. I shudder and disentangle myself from the machine.
      “You okay?” Arnold Schwarzenegger’s long-lost brother asks, but I just nod off his question and put some much-needed distance between us.
      Also, I scrub my face with the hand towel I brought down from my room like it’s a fucking Brillo pad capable of removing the ball sweat that’s probably found itself a home in my pores.
      Note to self: take one thousand scalding-hot showers tonight.
      With a deep inhale, I try to regain some of the pride I lost back there by Mr. Muscles and peruse the room until I find a machine that’s labeled with instructional pictures to boot.
      Hip. Abduction.
      Do I need aliens to use this thing?
      Against my better judgment, I study the pictures and peptalk myself into sitting down on the seat and swing my legs over to the inside of the knee pads.
      No face-to-butt-sweat mistakes happening here, folks!
      The weight is set on one hundred and fifty pounds from the person before me, and it makes me wonder if Thor is staying at this hideous hotel too.
      I pull out the pin and put it on forty instead.
      After a quick test push with my legs, the setting seems doable, so I take out my phone and start scrolling through it to set up some music to accompany me.
      Yes. Yes. That’s exactly what I need. Some workout jams.
      Of course, once I’m on it, I get distracted by Instagram, and five minutes go by before I realize I’m sitting on a machine, not a couch, and the purpose here is to do something other than lounge.
      I glance up from my phone and scan the room, wondering slightly if anyone knows how long I’ve been sitting here. Mr. Muscles has moved on to a new machine, but a different guy across the room makes eye contact and smirks.
      Busted.
      Normal human decency dictates he should let me off the hook and go about his day, but this fit, Adonis-looking, sweat-covered, brown-haired, green-eyed—good God, he’s attractive—man apparently has no manners.
      Shit.
      His sleeveless white T-shirt clings to his tanned body as he strides my way, and his athletic shorts conform to a muscular set of thighs and ass.
      I look everywhere but at him, fiddling with the machine as though I’m doing something productive, but he still doesn’t get the hint.
      Raspy and firm, the clearing of his throat sounds right next to me.
      I look up as innocently as I can manage and pull out my earbuds as though I had music playing.
      “Um, hi,” I say with a cute little manufactured laugh. “I’ll be done in just a second.”
      He laughs too, but his seems genuine and undeniably directed at me. “If you keep up your current pace, I think it’s going to be a little longer.”
      “Excuse me?”
      “Come on,” he says good-naturedly—the prick. “You’re just pretending to work out.”
      Oh no, he did not just say that….
      “I’m not pretending to work out,” I deny. “I’m just getting warmed up.”
      He nods knowingly.
      “And setting up my music,” I continue.
      He hums.
      “I’m just about to catch my stride.”
      “Sure you are.” He calls bullshit with his smug, green as fuck eyes, and for the briefest of moments, they glance down at my chest and my legs before meeting my gaze again. “But there are people who would like to really use it, so if you’re done…”
      What. The. Fuck.
      Who does this guy think he is?
      “Are you always this rude?” I question, and his green eyes lighten a bit.
      “All right, you’re right. I’m really not trying to be a dick,” he says and runs a hand through his hair.
      Should it really take that much effort not to be a dick?
      “Let’s start over…” He pauses and pushes a small smile to his full, kissable lips. “How are you enjoying the hotel?”
      Start over? How about let’s never have started at all?
      Still annoyed, I don’t censor my answer. “It’s…swell.”
      He laughs at first, but when I raise an eyebrow in contention, he frowns. “You don’t like it?”
      “Maybe ugly décor and a whole buttload of pretention are good for some people, but not for me.”
      Ugly décor? Really?”
      How can he be shocked by this? Anyone with eyes could see the design flaws here.
      “Are you kidding? I feel like I’m in my ninety-year-old grandmother’s living room, except it’s a waking nightmare and I’m about to be eaten alive by the curtains.”
      “I don’t think it’s that bad. It’s timeless.”
      Normally, I’m not such a snob about design, nor do I make a point to make other people feel bad for their likes and dislikes, but for some reason, this handsome prick and his dickish attitude just bring it out in me.
      Before I know it, I’m channeling Regina George.
       “Well…” I pause and scrunch up my nose dramatically. “I’m sorry to break the news to you, but the design of this place looks like it was done by a blind rat. Gilded sailboat pictures and tapestries with oxen on them aren’t timeless. They’re old.”
      His eyebrows pinch together, highlighting the otherwise perfect features of his face. Goddamn this ugly hotel for housing such perfect-looking humans.
      “What did you say your name was again?”
      Shit. Emory will absolutely murder me if she finds out I got into some kind of confrontational tête-à-tête with a random Romeo in the hotel gym.
      Let’s also not forget this hotel gym is located inside a hotel that is owned by the company you’re about to interview with…
      Shit. Yeah. I’d better cut and run while I can.
      “I didn’t.” I jump up from the machine with the exact agility I’ve lacked during the rest of my workout and offer a saccharine smile. “But, hey, good news. Machine’s all yours.”
      “Aren’t you going to wipe it down?” he asks as I walk toward the door, and I can’t help but turn around for my parting shot.
      “Why?” I smirk at the pouty-lipped asshole. “After all, I was just pretending to work out.”
      Because you know what dicks can do?
      They can go fuck themselves and wipe down their own workout equipment, tight asses and chiseled jaws be damned.
      Suck on that, workout Romeo.

 
About Max Monroe:
A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads. Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
Connect with Max Monroe:
Stay up to date with Max Monroe by joining their mailing list today: https://www.authormaxmonroe.com/newsletter

Thursday, May 16, 2019

The Billionaire Boss Next Door, an all-new hilarious romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!

TBBND - RB banner

The Billionaire Boss Next Door, an all-new hilarious romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!

Boss-next-door-(Cover)
My new boss has it all. In spades.
Gorgeous green eyes? Check.
Hard-and-sexy body? Check.
Intelligence? Check.
Success? A big fat billionaire… Check.
Too bad I haven’t started out on the best foot.
My big mouth has already turned him against me, and tempting good looks and success aside, Trent Turner is no peach either. He’s stubborn and thick-headed, and son of a fruitcake, he thinks he knows everything there is to know about the hotel business.
With him running the development of the new Vanderturn New Orleans Hotel and me doing the design, our work relationship is far too intimate for two people who absolutely despise one another.
But that’s not all.
See, he isn’t just my billionaire boss from hell. He’s my new neighbor, too.
Same city.
Same building.
Same floor.
Trent Turner is my billionaire boss next door.
Holy moly, let’s hope my career—and hormones—can survive.
Disclaimer: If you generally love to suffer, hate fun of any kind, and are allergic to laughter, this book is not for you.
TBBND - AN

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/TBBND
Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2uEva5S
TBBND - Teaser 1 AN

About Max Monroe:

A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads. Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.

Connect with Max Monroe:

Stay up to date with Max Monroe by joining their mailing list today: https://www.authormaxmonroe.com/newsletter

Wednesday, May 8, 2019

The Regret Duet, an all-new emotional duet from USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez, is coming May 23rd and we have the gorgeous covers!!





The Regret Duet, an all-new emotional duet from USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez, is coming May 23rd and we have the gorgeous covers!


Written With Regret
Releasing May 23rd

Every little girl dreams of the fairytale. The one where the white knight rushes in to save her from the clutches of evil. They fall in love, have babies, and live happily ever after.

By that definition, my life should have been a fairytale too.

When I was eight years old, Caven Hunt saved me from the worst kind of evil to walk the Earth. It didn’t matter that I was a kid. I fell in love with him all the same.

But that was where my fairytale ended.

Years later, a one-night stand during the darkest time imaginable gave us a little girl. It was nothing compared to the pitch black that consumed me when I was forced to leave her with Caven for good.

At the end of every fairytale, the happily-ever-after is the one thing that remains consistent. It wasn’t going to be mine, but there hadn’t been a night that passed where I hadn’t prayed that it would be hers.

I owed Caven my life.
However, I owed that innocent child more.
And that included ripping the heart from my chest and facing her father again.

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2IOYdg5


Written With You
Releasing June 13th


When I was fifteen, a single bullet changed my life. I spent the next decade trying to outrun the devastation of my past, building an empire that would shield me from whatever life could throw at me.

But all the money in the world couldn’t help me when I found a screaming newborn abandoned on my doorstep.

I’d never wanted to be a father. Passing the sludge that ran through my veins down to an innocent child seemed like a tragedy. But there she was—pink cheeks, red hair, and mine.

Somehow, against all logic, that little girl became the best thing that ever happened to me. It was impossible to stay lost in the past when I was the only one who could protect her future.

Which is exactly why, when her mother came back four years later, I was ready for battle.

If only I could stop myself from falling in love with her during the war.



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

Covers Designed by Hang Le
Photography by Wander Aguiar


About Aly

Originally from Savannah, Georgia, USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez now lives in South Carolina with her husband and four young children.
Never one to take herself too seriously, she enjoys cheap wine, mystery leggings, and olives. It should be known, however, that she hates pizza and ice cream, almost as much as writing her bio in the third person.
She passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a super-sized tumbler of wine by her side.



Connect with Aly
Facebook Reader Group: http://bit.ly/2DEpPAh

Stay up to date with Aly by signing up for her newsletter today: