Thursday, June 22, 2017

Backseat with the Billionaire by Lilah May - Book Tour + Giveaway


Backseat with the Billionaire
by
Lilah May

 
Genre:
Adult Billionaire Romance

She just wants to use him for revenge. 

Him. 
A billionaire MMA fighter whose cocky smile and washboard abs make wet panties drop left and right. 
She thinks she wants him for one amazing night out and end it. 
Boy, did she think wrong. 

He's about to teach her how much more she really wants. 

LISA 
Finding out your husband's cheating is hard. 
Finding out it’s with a college girl is even harder. 
The easy part? Retribution: beating him blue with a baseball bat and kicking him to the curb. 
But it's still not enough. 

So when Bobby Carter, fresh out of college, blows back into town with all the intensity of a
hurricane, I decide I’m not done.
Bobby’s everything my ex-husband is not. Sexy, aggressive, and intense.
Like melt me into a puddle intense. 

Who cares if I used to babysit him?
He’s a grown man, now. And I mean, FULLY grown. 

All I wanted was a night out with him, but one taste and I’m addicted. 

BOBBY 
When Lisa Howard finally gets rid of her cheating husband, I want to take
her right then and there. 
I got rid of that abusive bastard and built a billion dollar empire all for her. 
Nothing could satisfy my ravenous hunger but taking a bite of that sweet
little thing. 

So when she offers herself up to me for one night, I'm not about to refuse. 
She's nothing like the sorority bimbos at Northfield U. 
She is a real woman. 
Sexy, mature, and an ass so fine I would give up my billions just for a taste. 

But I know a taste won’t be enough and one night too short for all the dirty things I want to do to her and that deliciously curvy body. 

She’ll be mine, but not just for tonight. Forever. 

This is a full-length, standalone, steamy 18+ romance. No cheating or
cliffhangers, and definitely a wonderful Happily Ever After guaranteed.




PROLOGUE
BOBBY
They say obsession isn’t love, that obsessions are just crazy.
But everything about love is obsessive.
Love is that one person out of 7 billion people,
that one person you’d rather die than live without, 
that one person whose pain,
whose happiness you feel just as strong.
Sounds crazy to me. It’s crazy to want the hurt and heartache. 
It’s crazy to want someone constantly on your mind every
second of every day.
Everything about love is crazy, but we still want it. We still need it. 
We still obsess over it.
Love is just an evanescent summer ’s day,
seemingly forever but ruined in an instant by
a passing storm. Love is just a butterfly
fluttering, floating above a field of flowers,
seemingly perfect but all of it gone with the
seasons.
Obsession is the strength to take that
butterfly, that flower and press it into a book
so its beauty stays forever.
Obsession keeps love alive, no matter
how much suffering, no matter how much
time. Obsession never fades.
Love fades, obsession keeps.

 

LISA
I had no clue what I’d do.
It’s the kind of situation you never plan
for, never expect to have to plan for. And
even if you try, even if you think you know
what you’ll do or how you’ll act, you find
out that the truth is:
You really don’t know yourself at all.
I wait, sitting in that old ratty armchair of
his. The orange one that was now stained
brown. The one he refused to throw out no
matter how much it reeked of alcohol and
cigarettes.
The pictures are still on the coffee table. I
looked them over carefully, in some twisted
morbid curiosity. The girl couldn’t be a day
over 18 and she seemed to be enjoying
herself, but in some fake, exaggerated way
like she was in a porn video or she learned
how to act when getting fucked from a porn
video. And of course, it was missionary, the
boring bastard.
I’m not thinking about anything, not
planning, not scheming. I’m not even angry.
For the first time in a long while, my head is
completely clear. Like some weird
meditation, all I do is sit and wait.
He strolls through the front door,
whistling a tune. The balls on him. Relaxed
and casual, as if he didn’t just come back
from fucking his teenage whore.
He looks at me once but doesn’t look
twice. Even though, across my lap is a silver
aluminum baseball bat. The same bat that
we’ve kept by the front door for our
protection, for just in case.
Just in case of a robbery. Just in case of a
home invasion. Just in case my scumbag
husband decides to cheat on me.
All those years, it sat unused. Until today.
I don’t know what was the last straw. The
whistling, the nonchalant way he ignored me
or maybe it was that shit-eating grin he had
plastered on his smug face.
But one second I’m sitting in the living
room and the next, I’m tackling him like a
football linebacker. Head down, shoulders
square, straight into his unsuspecting back.
He pitches forward, quite comically,
crashing to the ground in a heap. All
accompanied by a satisfactory crunch.
And as I stood over him, something dark
and violent emerged, something that wasn’t
so clean and pure. Something that I kept
buried and hidden for years as the perfect
housewife, the perfect stay at home mom.
The funny thing is, he didn’t think I
would do it. The whole time, the asshole
looked up at me and just laughed, smirking
in my face. That is, until the first swing of the
bat came down on him.
And goddamn, if it didn’t feel amazing.
For me. Not for him.
I can still picture that deliciously
depraved moment when that cheesy smile of
his gave way to a look of pain and confusion.
Ohhh, god! This was it! That utterly
satisfying feeling.
Like the good fuck he was never able to
give me.
As I kept raining down blow after blow,
his disbelief quickly turned into one of
horror, crying for me to stop. But I didn’t. It
only added to my wonderful, cathartic
experience. And I savored every single
wince, every little whimper, feeding off his
pain.
Finally, he could feel what I felt. All the
abuse, all the suffocating agony from living
under his oppressive rule. Finally, I could
give it all back to him.
Let me give you a piece of advice: it’s
unhealthy to repress that much shit. So don’t.
Unless one day, you might end up beating
your douchebag husband half to death.
After a good solid minute of getting his
ass beat, he finally snatches an opportunity to
escape. As I take a breather, he scrambles
towards the front door, running out onto the
lawn.
But he doesn’t get far.
He’s not getting away. Not today.
Cause right now, there’s a fucking animal
inside me.
I chase him down and knocking him to
the grass, continuing my assault with the bat.
I can’t seem to stop myself. Not that I want to.
One part of me is filled with wrathful
vengeance and the other looks on a spectator,
as if I’m watching a horror movie.
I really like horror movies.
Suddenly, big fat hairy arms wrap around
my waist, pulling me away from Donald.
Donald my husband: The liar. The
cheater. The piece of shit.
God, I fucking hate him.
Wrapped up in those thick arms, I
struggle helplessly, flailing like a bug on it’s
back. The man who’s gathered me up in a
massive bearhug is Robert Carter, our nextdoor
neighbor, with his wife Patty kneeling
next to the crying Donald.
Crying. Literally. Big crocodile tears.
What a disgusting faker, trying to squeeze
sympathy out of our neighbors.
I didn’t hit him all that hard. I think.



Hi everyone! I'm Lilah May (well, you already know that).


I write steamy romance that will touch your heart (and your body <3 all="" in="" right="" span="" the="" ways.="">


Ok, maybe it sounds a little corny but it's true!
I make sure my books are full of hot and dirty scenes but still has
that oh so important warm sentimental love.

Anywho, I'm just a girl with too many dirty thoughts going through her head
and I thought I'd share them with all of you!

Though I have to warn you: be prepared!
These stunning alpha male heroes I write about are straight out of my
fantasies: impossibly sexy, crazy dominant, and 110% guaranteed to
make your knees weak.
So you better sit down, grab a towel and leave all your inhibitions at
the door (along with your panties) because my books will make you
melt and squirm with HEA love!

Side note: I like my cookies chewy and I've learned way too late in my
life that I can microwave them for ten seconds to make them chewy
again. I don't hate on crunchy, though. Cookies are cookies lol.

Oh, and also I'm a nurse so when I get my hands on a real good book,
things can get incredibly dangerous! (That's a joke for all you
stuffy wet blankets. I would never risk my patients. I love them!)





Follow
the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!





Seeds of Eden by A.P. Watson - Book Tour + Giveaway

Seeds of Eden
A.P. Watson
(The Concilium, #1)
Publication date: January 25th 2017
Genres: New Adult, Paranormal, Romance
Haunted by visions of the execution of an innocent man, Evey discovers that the secrets of her past and a mysterious stranger are irrevocably intertwined.
Visions of decapitated corpses, pools of blood, and a masked executioner have haunted Evey for as long as she can remember. Torn between a life in the waking world and dreams of the dead, she realizes her normal existence is nothing more than an illusion. As the veil between reality and her subconscious dissipates, she begins to question her own sanity. Each night as she closes her eyes, she wonders what wrongs she committed to warrant such a curse.
When a handsome stranger suddenly appears in Evey’s life, he is able to provide her with the answers she seeks. However, the only thing more mystifying than Conrad’s appearance in one of her nightmares is the undeniable attraction she feels for him. It is only when he confesses their fates and souls have been intertwined for centuries that an ancient secret is revealed. Now, the two of them must outrun a great darkness or it will claim their lives again.

Excerpt
 “I must have had that dream a thousand times, and until I met you, I thought I was losing my mind. I tried to rationalize the horrific things I saw every way possible and finally concluded I was just crazy.” I was tired of waiting; it was time for him to start talking. “And when you gave me this necklace, it fit into the dream too. I have it on when I watch you die.”
         “That’s rather depressing.”
         “See, there you go again with your jerk routine,” I replied in exasperation. “This necklace is the same one Isabella the First of Castile is wearing in a painting from our history book! How did you come to have a necklace that is nearly six hundred years old?”
         “The dreams you’ve been having aren’t really dreams.”
         “Oh really?” I replied, in my most sarcastic tone. “And what are they exactly?”
         “Memories.”
         His confession hit me like a ton of bricks. Instinctively, I tightened my grasp around the chains on the swing. “No, that’s impossible. How can I be having the memories of someone that was living almost six centuries ago?”
         “Because you aren’t seeing someone else’s memories, you're seeing your own memories.”
         I could feel the blood rushing in my ears. Somehow I knew my knees were giving out, but I was too stunned by his revelation to react. When I finally came back to reality, Conrad sat next to me, his hands caressing my face.
         “My memories?” I shook my head, not wanting to believe his confession.
         “Are you okay?” He scanned me from head to toe, searching for any indication of an injury.
         “I'm fine, but how can they be my memories?” I asked. “And how are you in them?”
         “They’re your memories, because you were there when everything happened, and I'm in them because I was too.”
         “I don’t understand,” I said, my eyes moistening. I wanted to push away from him, to release myself from his touch, but his gaze held me glued to the spot. At any moment the rational part of my brain would kick in and I'd make a run for it. But as the seconds ticked by, I realized there was nowhere else I wanted to be. He reached forward to brush a strand of hair off my face, letting his fingers trail along my skin.
         “Do you trust me?”
         “I don’t even know you.”
         “That doesn’t matter. Do you trust me?”
         “I don't know,” I answered reluctantly.
         “Evey, look at me; look in my eyes and tell me if you think I'm lying to you.”
         I stared into his eyes for what seemed like ages. “Okay,” I finally whispered. “I trust you.”
         “Well, then trust me when I say I want to tell you everything, and I will, but I can’t just yet.”
         “What do you mean you can’t?
         “I mean exactly that. It’s not time for me to explain everything to you, but it will be soon.”
         “But—”
         “Evey, trust me.” He leaned forward, softly pressing his lips to my forehead. Despite conventional thinking, I knew what he was telling me had some truth to it. My dreams had always seemed so real to me. Thinking they were memories made more sense than believing I was psychotic. I memorized every feature of Conrad’s face months before I ever knew he existed. How could I dream about a real person before I’d even met him?
 


Author Bio:
A.P. Watson grew up in the small, southern town of Estill Springs, Tennessee. Growing up in a rural town allowed her imagination to run wild, and Paige began making up stories in her head at a young age. This storytelling eventually transformed into a love of writing. She is currently penning her first trilogy, The Concilium Series, and is also planning to write four companion novellas to accompany it. She is an avid reader, enjoying a variety of genres and authors from Jane Austen to Charlaine Harris.
When she isn’t reading or writing, Paige spends the majority of her time dancing. She has been taking pole dancing lessons for the past three years and couldn’t be more in love with the sport. The blend of athleticism, grace, and flexibility required to dance continually challenges her and she strives to not only build strength but defy gravity, as well. Paige has a Bachelor’s of Science degree in Nursing from East Tennessee State University. She has been a critical care nurse at Bristol Regional Medical Center for the last five years. She currently resides in Johnson City, Tennessee with her adorable dog, Elle.

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