Cover Reveal - Their Merry Little Christmas (Love Square #2.5) by Jessica Ingro ~ Excerpt and Giveaway
Title: Their Merry Little Christmas (Love Square #2.5)
Author: Jessica Ingro
Tentative Release Date: December 2013
Cover Designer: Cover It! Designs
With the past behind them and all their skeletons out of the closet, the couples have just begun to settle into their relationships when they find things shaken up yet again.
Will Sam and Aiden’s marriage be able to survive the demands of work, shopping, decorating, and of course… baby Tessa? Will Jacob make a good first impression with his future in-laws and secure Kara’s position by his side until death do them part?
Join your favorite Love Square couples as they deck the halls and have themselves a Merry Little Christmas!
**Disclaimer: This content is unedited and subject to change**
Copyright © Jessica Ingro
“Fine. Bring me the damn suit,” I grumble begrudgingly.
“You’re the best! You know that?” Kara kisses me chastely. Her father is still there after all.
Bill laughs once Kara bolts up the stairs.
“Laugh now. Next thing you know she’ll make you be my elf!” I threaten good naturedly.
“I’d love to see that,” he says in between chuckles.
“Ah crap!” I pull my hands through my hair, seriously wanting to throw a child-sized temper tantrum at this turn of events.
“Think of it this way, son. It will be good practice for when you have kids. And you’re making those girls’ night.”
“Yeah… alright. I guess I can try to look on the bright side of things,” I concede. The last thing I need is for my soon to be father-in-law to think I’m a big baby.
Kara returns twenty minutes later with a giant red bag. I drag it into the bathroom and take my time changing. Part of me hopes that if I take too long the girls will fall asleep or something. Stranger things have happened.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Jacob. The girls won’t want to fall asleep regardless, so don’t think you can get out of this,” Kara calls through door.
How the hell does she do that? It’s worse than the eyes in the back of her head.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I yell through the door.
After I velcro the giant pillow onto my belly, I turn to the side and stick my stomach out further, poking at my now enlarged gut. I roll my abdominal muscles making the pillow bounce and ripple. Chuckling at my nonsense, I step into the red, velvet pants. I pull the black suspenders over my shoulder and do a little jig watching as my stomach bounces around.
Apparently this suit sucks the seriousness out of you. Maybe it’s a magic suit…
I stop my musings and proceed to put the jacket on and button it up.
I look damn good in red. Even with a giant stomach.
Next comes the wig and beard, followed by the hat. Now I have absolutely no reason to walk out of this bathroom. Damn.
Opening the door, Kara is the first thing I see. Her face lights up and she graces me with a wide smile. She lifts her arm, and then she does the unthinkable when she snaps a picture with her cell phone.
“Lump of coal for you!” I shout and make like I’m going to attack her. When I lunge for her, she screeches and runs across the room.
Once I catch up with her, she reaches out and rubs red shit on my cheeks. “Really?” I ask not wanting to deal with this shit.
“You are so going to get lucky later,” she mumbles so only I can hear her.
“Damn straight. You owe me one creative session, Sunshine.”
“There is this new position I heard about that I’ve been curious to try.”
“It’s a good thing this suit is big, otherwise my sister would think Santa was a giant perv. What do you think you’re doing telling me that now?” I gripe, knowing my nieces can’t sit on my lap while I’m turned on.
“Sorry. I forget,” she says like that explains it all.
“You’re lucky I love you.” I kiss her forehead and start towards the stairs. “Let’s get this over with.”
About the Author
Jessica is the author of the Love Square series. She grew up in Central New York, where she spends her days as a Security Analyst at an IT consulting company. In her free time, she enjoys reading books and developing ideas for her own stories. Writing is her secret passion that she's been fostering since elementary school, when she wrote her first book about a puppy. It has always been a dream of hers to be able to share her stories with the world.
Jessica currently lives in New York with her husband and three dogs.
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Someone Like You (Someone to Love #2) by Addison Moore
Releasing January 28, 2014!
A sexy, romantic read from the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of Someone to Love. When coed Ally Monroe literally falls into the arms of a tattooed bad-boy one summer night, she can't seem to let go. Morgan Jordan is everything Ally doesn't want—he's a playboy from a blue collar background, and Ally's looking for upper-class stability. Though their relationship starts off as a one-night stand, once Ally learns Morgan is her best friend's brother, there's no escaping him . . . or the growing fire between them. As Ally and Morgan become closer, they confront bitter enemies, his sister's disapproval, and paths pulling them in different directions at summer's end. The second book in the bestselling Someone to Love series proves that in love and passion, sometimes two wrongs do make a right.
Addison Moore is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author who writes contemporary and paranormal romance. Previously she worked as a therapist on a locked psychiatric unit for nearly a decade. She resides on the West Coast with her husband, four wonderful children, and two dogs where she eats too much chocolate and stays up way too late. When she's not writing, she's reading.
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Title: Beautiful Failure
Author: Mariah Cole
Genre: New Adult Romance
Expected Release Date: December 12, 2013
YouTube Video Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?
If you're looking for a heartwarming story about a girl who falls deeply in love with a troubled boy who changes her life— a sob story with pretty metaphors and a million ways that'll tell you how "broken" she is, STOP. Don't read another word of this. I'm not that type of girl. My name is Emerald Anderson and I'm not going to bullshit you: I flunked out of college after my sophomore year, I've been fired from every job I've ever taken, and I've never had a fully functioning relationship in my life. I wish I could say that I had a cheerleader in my corner, someone who says, "No, Emerald—You're great and you are good at something!" but I don't. My grandparents are completely oblivious to my life, and my mother's dying words to me were "You're going to end up just like me one day. A beautiful nothing." She was right. As I decide to start my life over and take two jobs that will forever change me--one from the inside, and one from the outside, I keep my mother's words close to my heart so I can keep the sexy and mysterious Carter Black away. He's the first man who's ever pursued me, the first man who seems bent on finding out why I am the way I am, but he's wasting his time. I'm not broken. I don't need to be fixed. I'm perfectly fine being a beautiful failure..
*subject to change before publication*My mother was a whore. Her name was Leah Isabelle Anderson—“Leah Belle” for short, and she was one of New Jersey’s most sought after escorts. With deep green eyes that could take any man’s breath away, and skin so porcelain and smooth that it looked too perfect to touch, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Often compared to a supermodel, her raven black hair fell past her shoulders, and her naturally long eyelashes were always coifed to perfection. Growing up, I had no idea what she did with the men who picked her up in their shiny and expensive cars—the men who wore thousand dollar suits and patted me on the head while saying, “Your mom is really something special.” In a way, these strangers became the closest thing I had to a family since I never knew my father: Her regulars, Christian and William, sent me gifts every Christmas. Arnie bought me my first bike, Steve taught me how to change a tire, and her most ruthless suitor—Vincent, took me shopping for designer clothes once a month. Leah Belle—she never ever let me call her “mom,” wasn’t exactly a mother to me; she was more like an older friend. An older ‘I’ll-be-there-when-it’s-convenient’ friend. She missed every elementary school play, every middle school writing competition, and never gave a damn about my grades. At first, the involuntary loneliness bothered me, but after I created an army of invisible friends and easily accessible fantasies, I came to terms with her neglect and happily accepted any attention she was willing to give me. When I became a teenager, she started to hang around me more often—promising that she would do better, promising that she would make sure that “from here on out, [we’d] be best friends.” Since she’d run away from her parents after having me at sixteen, she made a point to never lecture or discipline me. But, she did teach me three very important lessons: 1.) “Always put tons of effort into the way you look. You need to be beautiful on the outside, no matter how fucked up you are on the inside. If you ever feel sad or depressed, suck that shit up and add more mascara.” 2.) “Don’t make friends. Make sponsors. If you can’t get anything out of someone or use them for a specific purpose, kick that person out of your life ASAP.” 3.) “Beauty wins over brains every time. Your body will always be your most important asset. Remember that.” For my fourteenth birthday, she poured me my first shot and offered me a short line of coke, saying, “Welcome to life, Em!” I shook my head at the coke—I’d read about the effects, but I happily took the red shot glass from her hand. “To the best fuckin’ daughter in the world!” She lifted her glass in the air, waiting for me to do the same, and then she ordered me to toss it back. The initial burning sensation was painful—disgusting, but in the years to come, that bitterness tasted better and better, and I looked forward to the two of us drinking together. It was the only time that she gave me her undivided attention. In those moments, I would tell her about another writing competition I’d won or how I’d received more early college scholarships. When it was her turn, she would tell me about “turning tricks” like other parents told their kids about a day at the office. “I can’t tell you how weak Ben’s dick was today,” she’d say. “I mean, I feel like I should be charging him double for the weak ass fucks he puts me through.” “You don’t enjoy it with him? Ever?” I’d ask. “No. Never with him. But he’s a sponsor, I’m getting his money, and that’s all that matters. I just lie there, scratch his back, and say ‘Harder… Harder’ to make him think I’m into it until—” “Until he cums?” “Yep.” She’d pass me a cigarette before sighing. “With him and a few others, I usually have to take a few shots beforehand to numb my mind. With the really good ones, all I have to do is relax. Sex can be fucking incredible when it’s done right…” One particular Friday, after she let one of her regulars take me shopping for a Chanel bag, I unlocked the door to our home and saw droplets of blood all over the floor. “Leah?” I set my shopping bag down. “Did you get another nose bleed?” No answer. I headed into the kitchen, looking for her usual remedies—hot tea and Q tips, but she wasn’t there. “You here?” I walked around our living room and checked all the rooms upstairs. Confused, I pulled out my cell phone and called her. No answer again. I shrugged and opened a bottle of vodka, tossing back a few shots. I figured she’d left with one of her sponsors for a quickie and would be back by the time our favorite show started. I decided to take a shower before it came on and headed into the downstairs bathroom. The second I hit the lights, my heart fell out of my chest. I wanted to believe that what I was seeing was simply a sick joke by my imagination—a twisted fantasy I’d snap out of in seconds. Pale and blue, Leah’s body lay lifeless in our tub. Her left arm was dangling over the edge, and the small velvet bag where she kept her cocaine was dangling from her fingertips. Scattered across the floor were hundreds of prescription pills and empty orange bottles that bore the names of strangers. On the vanity, there was an empty syringe and a folded note that read “For my Em…” Trembling, I rushed to her side and pressed my finger against her neck, hoping for a pulse. Nothing. I tilted her head back and tried to breathe life into her—pressing her chest with my hands every few seconds, but it was no use. She was gone. I sank down to the floor in tears—cursing her, hating her, for doing this to me. To us. I had no friends to call, no family either, so in my numb and dazed state I somehow managed to call 9-1-1. While the operator attempted to calm me down by asking me to take deep breaths, I walked over to the vanity and unfolded Leah’s last note:
I know you’re confused right now, but I want you to know that I love you. I love you so fucking much… You were the only thing that made my life worth living, and I wish I was strong enough to keep that in mind…
I’m tired of living a lie and I haven’t been happy in a very long time… I just can’t take it anymore…
I’ve fucked up a lot of things in my life, but the biggest regret I have is the way I raised you…I’m so sorry… This is going to be hard for you to believe—especially since I’m gone, but I need you to forget all that shit I taught you. Right now.
Fuck using your looks to get what you want. Go to college and do some good shit with your life, like write or something. You’re a good writer, you’re very smart, and you need to use your brain to get ahead. Can you promise to do that for me, Em?
Then again…It’s probably too late and I’m willing to bet that you’ll end up just like me: A beautiful nothing…
It won’t be your fault though. It’ll be--I stopped reading and flushed that note down the toilet. Her last words were clearly written out of sadness and they were only compounding my pain. As far as I was concerned, Leah had raised me the best she could and she was far from a “beautiful nothing” in my eyes. In fact, I cherished every single thing she’d taught me. Even though I was beyond hurt that she’d selfishly left me all alone, I was determined to remember her at her best and for everything she was to me: My mother. My best friend. My role model.
About the AuthorMariah Cole is a Starbucks addict (hazelnut shots please!), New Adult author, and an incessant daydreamer. Known for pushing the envelope, she’s an avid reader of indie books and is always looking to chat with readers and authors alike.
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Author Goodreads | Author Facebook | Beautiful Failure Goodreads
Available December 1
Meet twenty-eight year old Ellen James. A sarcastic, feisty, foul-mouthed ER Nurse. She is snarky, sassy, and sometimes crudely inappropriate. After a terrible breakup with her fiancé, Ellen has promised herself that she will never make the mistake of falling for another man again… and physicians, well she’s more than written them off.
Once she meets sexy Trauma Surgeon, Dr. Trent Hamilton, this promise is unbelievably hard to keep. This too-hot-for-Ellen’s-own-good man is undeniably sexy and down-right irresistible. He leaves her breathless, speechless, and irritatingly turned on. He makes her fantasize about him in all kinds of dirty, inappropriate ways.
With the help of her obnoxious, and often times hilarious best friend Amy, Ellen will find herself in several crazy, embarrassing situations.
This is a story of friendship, love and how one very sarcastic woman can find the strength to pick up the pieces after having her heart broken.
In her first novel, N.A. Alcorn provides interesting takes on the word vagina, while giving you a reason to re-think your next visit to the Emergency Room. This book is bound to make you laugh, smile, and provide you with enough sarcasm to choke your grandmother. No, N.A. doesn’t want anything bad to happen to your Grandma Ruth, but she does want you to strongly consider re-naming your vibrator after a guy who’s at the top of your spank bank rotation. Be prepared for dripping juice-boxes, awkward pelvic thrusting, and a little suspense to keep your snatch on edge.
Warning: This novel contains explicit sex, profanity and far too much vaginal humor. This novel is not meant for anti-fornicators, up-tight prudes, or virgins who refuse to go to Pound Town.
N.A. Alcorn is a wife, mother, labor and delivery nurse, writer, and blogger. She lives in Cincinnati with her husband and three-year-old son, Sid. In her spare time she enjoys reading, writing, running, and having inappropriate conversations with her blog besties. She also has a serious addiction to music and her all-time favorite band is Incubus. Her ability to eat an ungodly amount of Reese’s Cups in a fifteen minute time frame would quite literally blow your mind.
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