Thursday 31 May 2018

NEW RELEASE, REVIEW & GIVEAWAY: Cheat Codes by Emily Goodwin




Title: Cheat Codes
A Dawson Family Series Novel
Author: Emily Goodwin
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 31, 2018



Blurb

Archer has always wanted what he can’t have—Quinn Dawson. Since the moment he saw her, he’s been denying his feelings for her, ignoring the void in his heart he knows only she can fill.

Everything about them was wrong, the kind of wrong that felt so right. But none of it mattered. Not the terrible timing. And definitely not the mess it would create if Archer made a move on his best friend’s baby sister.

It was supposed to be one night, but one night is all it takes to make everything more complicated, and they only have nine short months to sort it all out.

No, none of it mattered. Until it did.



Danielle's Review
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐


I devoured this book! BUT.... a cliffy?! UGH!!! LOL

Archer and Quinn are seriously perfect for each other. But, of course, since she’s his best friend’s baby sister, she’s totally off limits, right?! Well, she was until she wasn’t. Until he just couldn’t resist one second longer. Then, before you know it, they cave completely to their desires and being together is the best they’ve ever felt. But then Archer effs up and does all the wrong things so Quinn pulls away. It’s not until they’re forced to acknowledge the facts that they realize it’s more, so much more than a one-time hookup. 

The electricity that sparks between them is palpable. The sexual tension made my heart race. 

This book has every component that makes the perfect book, except the cliffhanger. LOL. She’s a computer super-geek, he’s a hot doctor. She’s the forbidden fruit. And then BAM throw in a little surprise pregnancy. Hot damn! That’s the recipe for the world’s all-time greatest storyline! 

Now bring on the conclusion! I’m gonna die over here waiting!!! 








Purchase Links

99c for a limited time

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited






Playlist

Imagine Dragons - Whatever It Takes
Campsite Dream - Beautiful Mistake
Ariana Grande - No Tears Left to Cry
David Guetta/Sia - Flames
Selena Gomez - Back To You
Zedd/Maren Morris/Grey - The Middle
Bon Jovi - Livin’ On A Prayer





Excerpt

Those little bitty shorts ride up her tight ass as she walks. I want to put my hands on it. Press my cock up against it as I kiss her neck, gathering her hair into one hand and move it over her shoulder.
I swallow hard. I can’t think like that. Not here. Not now.
Not ever.
“Are you done?” Quinn puts one hand on her hip and for a split second I think she knows what I’m thinking.
“Yeah,” I say, picking up my last piece of bacon. I pop it in my mouth and stand, bringing my plate over to the sink. Quinn takes it from me and bends over to let the dogs lick the remnants of eggs. Her ass is in the air right in front of me, and I wonder if she’s doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me.
Because she is, and I have to change my stance thanks to my hardening cock.
“Quinn,” I start, not sure what to say, but I have to say something. “We should talk.”
“About what?” She straightens up and rounds on me, crossing her arms. Her eyes meet mine, drilling in with an intensity I’ve never seen from her. She has little flecks of blue in her brilliant green irises that I haven’t noticed before.
I move closer, stepping over Boots. If I say it now, there will be no more wondering. No more waiting. She’ll either take me or leave me, but at least I’ll know. I can kiss her now or move on. Somehow, someway.
It’s not hard. All I have to do is open my mouth and let the words come out, speaking with unwavering vehemence as I tell her how I feel.
Yet, I can’t.
Standing here looking at Quinn, with her messy hair, thick sweater hiding her perfect tits, and dogs circling around her feet in hopes of more food, I feel more nervous that I did the first time I stood in front of a patient on the operating table with a scalpel in my hand.
“Archer?”
“Your wrist. How’s your wrist?”
“My wrist?” she questions, nostrils flaring. She lets out a sigh and picks up the plate the dogs licked clean. “Same as yesterday. I ordered a posture brace on Amazon to help with my shoulder pain, not that you care.”
I’d offer to massage her shoulders, but the moment my hands land on her back, all bets are off.
Suddenly, Quinn advances. She’s inches away, arms crossed tightly over her chest and head tipped up to mine.
“That’s not what you wanted to talk about.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and cocks her head. “Is it?”
“Quinn.”
“Don’t Quinn me, Archer Jones. You know as well as I do you weren’t going to talk to my about my wrist.” She lets out a frustrated breath and lets her arms fall to the sides. Her fingers brush against me, and my skin feels electric just from that small touch.
Goddammit.
“But fine. I’ll play that game. Here.” She holds up her hand. “Examine me, doctor.”
Her words are meant to mock, but they do the opposite. I’ll examine every inch of her body. Twice. Three times. Just to be certain nothing was missed.
I take her wrist and tug her forward, knocking her off balance so she falls against me, both her hands flat on my chest. I slip my other hand around her waist, stopping at the small of her back. Quinn’s lips part and she gasps.
Instead of struggling to get away, she relaxes in my arms, and nothing has ever felt more right.
Even though this is wrong.
Quinn is in my arms, back arched and tits against my chest. My cock is hard, pulsing against the confines of my jeans. Thunder booms above and Quinn shivers.
“Do you still want to talk?” My voice is gruffer than I intend, but the harshness does something for Quinn. She slides her hands up my chest and around my shoulders.
“There are other things I’d rather do,” she says, voice breathy. Fuck. She’s killing me. She brushes her hips against mine, feeling my erection through my pants. “And I think you would too.”
I do. I so fucking do and she knows it.
“Archer,” she says softly and hearing her whisper my name is almost enough to make me come right then and there. I slowly bring my face down to hers. I’m going to kiss her. After all this time, it’s finally fucking happening.






Author Bio

Emily Goodwin is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of over a dozen of romantic titles. Emily writes the kind of books she likes to read, and is a sucker for a swoon-worthy bad boys and happily ever afters.

She lives in the midwest with her husband and two daughters. When she's not writing, you can find her riding her horses, hiking, reading, or drinking wine with friends.

Emily is represented by Julie Gwinn of the Seymour Agency.



Author Links

RELEASE BOOST, EXCERPT & GIVEAWAY: Cross by Adriana Locke




Title: Cross
Series: The Gibson Boys #2.5
Author: Adriana Locke
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 25, 2018



Blurb

Cross Jacobs was a screw-up.

Everyone knew it, especially him, and the point was hammered home when Kallie Welch drove herself right out of his life.

But, she’s back.

Seeing Cross wasn’t on Kallie’s to-do list. She didn’t think she could avoid him forever but trying never hurt anyone. One minute she’s standing by herself and the next she’s accosted by a rich, velvety scent that could only belong to one man: Cross.

At face value, he’s divine. All rugged and confident with a smile that melts her right where she’s standing. It doesn’t take long to find him to be charming, witty, and the owner of a few legitimate businesses. Not at all like the mischievous boy she left.

He laughs and her heart flutters. With a touch of his hand, she’s dizzy. She’s fairly certain she’s going to die when he pulls her into an embrace and touches his lips to her forehead.

It feels right. It feels so right.

But is it?

Note: This novella was originally released in the Team Player Anthology last winter. It has been updated a bit with a few new chapters to round out the story.







Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited





Excerpt

Chapter One
Cross

“Where have you been in that thing?” Machlan shouts.
The roar of his muscle car’s engine winds down and he clicks the transmission into park. The purplish-black paint shines in the early afternoon sun.
Having just backed out of a parking spot onto Main Street, I check my rearview mirror. No one is coming. “Bluebird Hill,” I tell him. “After all that rain last night, I figured I’d test the new tires Walker put on my truck last week.”
“You’re a fuckin’ kid.” He laughs.
“Says the man driving that,” I tease, pointing at his ride.
“I’m not sure what your point is. This car is the baddest thing in town.” He punches the gas, the motor roaring like a banshee.
Glancing around at Doc Burns’ office with two cars in the parking lot and the Linton County History Museum across the street that only opens for the Water Festival once a year, I grin. “That’s not saying much.”
“Go to Hell.” His hand slips through his dark hair and over his chin. The amusement in his features evaporates as I watch … and cringe.
I know this look. I know all of his looks, actually, a by-product of being his best friend as long as I can remember. Many of them concern me and a lot of them worry me. But this one? It’s a flashing red sign with Vegas-inspired lights.
The thing is, I can’t just ignore it. When this look comes, so does the topic of my sister and, even though I love the both of them, I wouldn’t mind seeing them in a padded room until they fix whatever it is between them that is so broken.
With a sigh, I jam my truck into park too. “Yes,” I say, answering the question he’s yet to ask. “Hadley called and isn’t coming home this weekend. She said maybe next week.”
His jaw works back and forth as he stares down the street. “Why?”
That single word is spit with a lifetime of emotion. Machlan has loved my sister since the day she moved to Linton with our father and me when our mother died. She was fourteen and innocent and he was fifteen and infatuated. Through the years, they were off and on and together and not—at least officially. Everyone knew Machlan and Hadley were one and the same.
I’m not sure why she moved away from here. Being both her brother and his best friend precluded me from certain information, which is for the best. They both drive me nuts without having the details.
“Not sure,” I reply. “She left a voicemail last night saying she wouldn’t be home today. She didn’t pick up when I called her back.”
He flips his gaze to me. “You didn’t talk to her after that?”
“She’s a big girl, Mach,” I mock. “I’m sure she had shit to do.”
“Yeah.” His fingers regrip the steering wheel as his jaw goes back to work again.
“I’m gonna go wash this before I head back to the gym—”
“She’s all right, though. Right?” he interrupts. His face is stone-cold sober. “I mean …”
“She’s fine.”
He waits. Blinks. Re-grips the wheel again. “That’s it?”
Popping my truck into drive, I blow out a breath. “Yeah, that’s it. You want to know more? Call her. What a fucking amazing concept.”
“Yeah. I’ll get right on that,” he snips back.
“You should. Then you could quit this whole thing.”
“Got nothin’ to quit, man. Just being a decent guy.”
A decent guy. It’s my turn to turn my knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Machlan isn’t a decent guy. He’s a fucking great one … much better than the guy Hadley is seeing now. A guy I haven’t mentioned to Mach since I got home a couple of weeks ago from visiting her. I’m not mentioning him, either. I’ll save the boyfriend an ER bill and myself the bail money.
I can’t blame him. It has to be hard to see Hadley with another guy when, in Machlan’s mind, she’s his girl.
My stomach twists like it always does when my mind goes down this road. At least my girl didn’t bring other guys back with her. Hell, she didn’t even come back at all.
“Here comes Kip,” Machlan says, bringing me out of my reverie. Nodding toward the road in front of him, he laughs. “I’m not moving.”
I twist in my seat to see the sheriff coming toward us. He blares the siren twice as if to get us to move. We don’t.
Machlan pokes his head out of the window. “Need somethin’?” he shouts.
Laughing, I watch Kip’s car slide carefully between Machlan’s and the curb on the other side.
“You can’t park in the street!” Kip yells.
“What are ya gonna do about it?” I holler.
“Take ya both in.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Machlan asks. “Someone to protect and serve? Or service, if I know you?”
Kip shakes his head as Machlan flips him the bird. The sirens come on again before Kip hits the gas and speeds off down the street and vanishes over the hill.
When I look back at Machlan, his attention is on his phone.
“What?” I ask, curious about the smile on his face.
He looks at me and laughs. Sticking the phone in the cup holder, he shrugs. “Nothing. But can you do me a favor?”
“No.”
“I need help moving a couple of things at Crave. Come help me. Just for a few.”
“What’s in it for me?” I ask.
“A beer?”
Throwing the truck in neutral, I rev the engine. It barely sounds before his is screaming over top of mine and we jet off in opposite directions. I get to a stop sign at the end of the street and do a quick one-eighty to head to Crave.






Also Available


AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited





AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited

ALSO AVAILABLE IN AUDIO






Author Bio

USA Today Bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other authors, Adriana has created her own.

She resides in the Midwest with her husband, sons, and two dogs. She spends a large amount of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. You can find her outside if the weather's nice and there's always a piece of candy in her pocket.

For sneak peeks, giveaways, and more, please join Adriana's Facebook Group, Books by Adriana Locke, or her Goodreads group, All Locked Up.


Author Links





Giveaway



Wednesday 30 May 2018

COVER REVEAL: The Naked Truth by Vi Keeland


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A Standalone Second Chance Romance Novel
By: #1 NY Times Best Selling Author, Vi Keeland
RELEASE DATE: Monday, July 23, 2018 





Synopsis:

It was just a typical Monday. 
Until the big boss asked me to make the pitch for a prospective new client. 
After two years on shaky ground at work because of my screw up, an opportunity to impress the senior partners was just what I needed. 
Or so I thought… 
Until I walked into the conference room and collided with the man I was supposed to pitch. 
My coffee spilled, my files tumbled to the ground, and I almost lost my balance. 
And that was the good part of my day. 
Because the gorgeous man crouched down and looking at me like he wanted to eat me alive, was none other than my ex, Gray Westbrook. 
A man who I’d only just begun to move on from. 
A man who my heart despised—yet my body obviously still had other ideas about. 
A man who was as charismatic and confident as he was sexy. 
Somehow, I managed to make it through my presentation ignoring his intense stare. 
Although it was impossible to ignore all the dirty things he whispered into my ear right after I was done. 
But there was no way I was giving him another chance, especially now that he was a client…was there?



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Photo/Cover Details

Photo Credits: Mondadori Portfolio/Paolo Stella ARTeProduction/Jonathan Segade 
  Model: Simone Bredariol - D’men - www.dmanagementgroup.com 
  Cover Designer: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative

**Watch out for a special excerpt sneak peak of The Naked Truth on July 18th!!**


PURCHASE LINKS

Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2H0XH9p
Add to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2kuv7V6

**No Amazon ebook preorder. Will go live on Amazon on release day. Sign up for Vi’s mailing list and/or text alerts now and be the first one notified when it goes live!
Text the word BOOKS to 77948


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About the Author: 

Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles have appeared in over ninety Bestseller lists and are currently translated in twenty languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.

Sign up for Vi’s mailing list: https://www.subscribepage.com/i6h3o5

Do you like texts better than email? Receive text notices of Vi’s new releases by texting the word BOOKS to 77948 You will ONLY receive a text when a new book goes live - no other messages at all! 

Find Vi here:


Twitter: @vikeeland - https://twitter.com/ViKeeland 
 Instagram: @Vi_Keeland - http://instagram.com/Vi_Keeland/ 



NEW RELEASE, REVIEW & GIVEAWAY: The Boyfriend Experience by JA Huss




Title: The Boyfriend Experience
Series: Jordan's Game #3
Author: JA Huss
Genre: Standalone Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 30, 2018



Blurb

From NYT Bestselling Author, JA Huss, comes a new sexy standalone in the Jordan's Game series.

I NEED A BOYFRIEND… and I need one now…

WANTED
One bad-ass man with boyfriend experience.
Must be willing to fight dirty and work weekends, nights, and overtime.
Bad attitude a must. Bonus points if you’re hot, athletic, and sporting tattoos.

When I asked Jordan Wells for a Boyfriend Experience game I didn’t expect to get stuck with billionaire real-estate agent, Lawton Ayers. He doesn’t exactly fit the job description.

WANTED
One professional woman with business experience.
Must be willing to build a future together.
Successful entrepreneur a must. Bonus points if you’re a crazy local legend.

When Jordan Wells offered up Oaklee Ryan a last-minute business partner to seal a deal I’ve been working on for years, I didn’t expect beautiful, sexy, and multi-orgasmic to be on her list of qualifications.

But that’s what I got. And she’s perfect just the way she is.

Too bad she doesn’t want me to be HER boyfriend. Because she bought me for someone else…


Caroline's Review
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐


Fab book! Incredibly sexy with a dash of mystery! 

Oaklee Ryan needs a boyfriend. 
Lawton Ayers needs a female partner. 
Jordan Wells needs the money. 
Let the games begin!

"You're chaos, Oaklee Ryan. This whole game we're playing is chaos. But that's what I like most about you. The challenge." 

Oaklee is rich and has a reputation for being wild. However, she's looking for "the perfect boyfriend", except her idea of the perfect boyfriend is different to what Jordan thinks she needs. Or, what Lawton thinks she wants.

Lawton Ayers is looking to change his life. He's at the peak of his career and is looking for something more. He needs a female partner for the next step and Oaklee might just be perfect for the role. However, what Oaklee needs from him might be more than he can handle.

"He knows me. Somehow, he does. He sees into me - through me."

This was a fun, incredibly hot, and slightly angsty read. I really liked Oaklee. Initially, she comes across as demanding, bossy, and something of a wildcard, as she trickles information to Lawton on a need-to-know basis. It really hooked me and, when the mystery surrounding the game she wants to play is slowly revealed, you start empathising with her, or you could just think she's somewhat delusional! 

"He took dirty sex to a whole new level. He. Is a freak. In bed. Freak."

Lawton is a gentleman through and through. I loved how he actually saw the real Oaklee and was really willing to help her. He's such a genuine guy. And, seriously? The sex! Dear Lord, deliver me a Lawton, please! LOL Underneath his buttoned-up, designer suits, he is ALL KINDS OF HOT! 

I adored how these two unlikely characters gelled and connected. This story appears to be about Oaklee but it was also very much a journey for Lawton. A really fab read with a lovely ticklish teaser for the next book.









Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
B&N / KOBO / iBOOKS





Excerpt

The moment I orgasm he thrusts his hips and fills me so deep I can’t breathe. The muscles in my legs are spasming. My eyelids flutter closed—not sure if they want to stay that way and drag the moment out behind a curtain of fireworks on black, or open wide to see the whole thing in perfect clarity.
They lose the battle and stay closed as pleasure courses through me in waves. My muscles contracting against his cock. The low growl comes from deep within him as he reaches his climax with me, and then the explosion as he comes inside me.
I laugh. I can’t help it. I just smile, and laugh, and let the happiness and satisfaction bubble out of me like some wild child who’s never been let out to play.
“Jesus,” he says, his body relaxing.
I lean my face up into his neck. Smelling the new leather of his jacket, the faint scent of antiseptic from the tattoo, and aftershave leftover from this morning.
He grabs my hair, pulls it—not too hard, but not too softly either—until my mouth is up against his again.
We don’t kiss. We don’t even move. We just go still.
I can feel him smile. I’m sure he can feel me smile too.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Whatever you want, Oaks,” he replies back, kissing my lips softly. Tenderly.
“I’m not talking about—”
“I know what you’re talking about,” he says, cutting me off. “And my answer is still, ‘Whatever you want, Oaks.’”
“But—”
“Shhh,” he says. “Stop thinking.”
I laugh. “No one can stop thinking.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“No?”
He continues to kiss me. His mouth more urgent. His lips more demanding. His will imposed.
“No. We’re going to take that pizza inside,” he says. “Then we’re going to fuck in a hot shower so we can get warm. And then we’re going eat dinner naked in front of your fireplace.”
I just smile.
“Any objections?”
“Can’t think of any.”
“Good, because that wasn’t really a question either.”






Author Bio

JA Huss is the New York Times Bestselling author of 321 and has been on the USA Today Bestseller's list 21 times in the past four years. She writes characters with heart, plots with twists, and perfect endings.

Her books have sold millions of copies all over the world, the audio version of her semi-autobiographical book, Eighteen, was nominated for a Voice Arts Award and an Audie Award in 2016 and 2017 respectively, her audiobook, Mr. Perfect, was nominated for a Voice Arts Award in 2017, and her audiobook, Taking Turns, was nominated for an Audie Award in 2018.

She lives on a ranch in Central Colorado with her family.


Author Links

CHAPTER REVEAL: A Wish For Us by Tillie Cole


















From the author who brought you A Thousand Boy Kisses comes the new emotional novel, A Wish For Us.
A story of music. A story of healing. A story of love conquering all.



Nineteen-year-old Cromwell Dean is the rising star of electronic dance music. Thousands of people adore him. But no one knows him. No one sees the color of his heart.

Until the girl in the purple dress. She sees through the walls he has built to the empty darkness within.

When Cromwell leaves behind the gray skies of England to study music in the South Carolina heat, the last thing he expects is to see her again. And he certainly doesn’t expect that she’ll stay in his head like a song on repeat.

Bonnie Farraday lives for music. She lets every note into her heart, and she doesn’t understand how someone as talented as Cromwell can avoid doing the same. He’s hiding from his past, and she knows it. She tries to stay away from him, but something keeps calling her back.

Bonnie is the burst of color in Cromwell’s darkness. He’s the beat that makes her heart skip.

But when a shadow falls over Bonnie, it’s up to Cromwell to be her light, in the only way he knows how. He must help her find the lost song in her fragile heart. He must keep her strong with a symphony only he can compose.

A symphony of hope.
A symphony of love.
A symphony of them.








Cromwell
Brighton, England
The club pulsed as the beat I was pouring into the crowd took over their bodies. Arms in the air, hips swaying, eyes wide and glazed as my music slammed into their ears, the rhythmic beats controlling their every move. The air was thick and sticky, clothes slick to people’s skins as they crammed into the full club to hear me.
I watched them light up with color. Watched them get lost to the sound. Watched them shed whoever they’d been that day—an office worker, a student, a copper, a call-center worker—what the hell ever. Right now, in this club, most probably high off their faces, they were slaves to my tunes. Right here, in this moment, my music was their life. It was all that mattered as their heads flew back and they chased the high, the near nirvana I gave them from my place on the podium.
I, however, felt nothing. Nothing but the numbness the booze beside me was gifting me.
Two arms slipped around my waist. Hot breath blew past my ear as full lips kissed my neck. Spinning my final beat, I grabbed the Jack Daniels beside me and took a shot straight from the bottle. I slammed the bottle down and moved back to my laptop to mix in the next tune. Hands with sharp fingernails ran through my hair, pulling on the black strands. I tapped on the keys, bringing the music down low, slowing the beat.
My breaths lengthened as the crowd waited, lungs frozen as I brought them to a slow sway, readying for the crescendo. The epic surge of beats and drums, the insanity of the mix that I would deliver. I looked up from my laptop and scanned the crowd, smirking at seeing them on the precipice, waiting . . . waiting . . . just waiting . . .
Now.
I slammed my hand down, holding my headphones to my left ear. A surge, a thundercloud of electronic dance music plowed into the crowd. Bursts of neon colors filled the air. Greens and blues and reds filled my eyes as they clung to each person like neon shields.
The hands around my waist tightened, but I ignored them, instead listening to the bottle of Jack as it called my name. I took another shot, my muscles starting to loosen. My hands danced over the laptop’s keys, over my mix boards.
I looked up, the crowd still in the palm of my hand.
They always were.
A girl in the center of the club drew my attention. Long brown hair pulled back off her face. Purple dress, high necked—she was dressed nothing like everyone else. The color surrounding her was different to the other clubbers—pale pink and lavender. Calmer. More serene. My eyebrows pulled down as I watched her. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t moving. She was still, and she looked to be completely alone as people crashed and pushed around her. Her head was tipped up, a look of concentration on her face.
I built up the pace, pushing the rhythm and the crowd as far as they could go. But the girl didn’t move. That wasn’t normal for me. I always had these clubbers wrapped around my finger. I controlled them, in every place I spun. In this arena, I was the puppet master. They were the dolls.
Another shot of Jack burned down my throat. And through another five songs, she stayed there, on the spot, just drinking in the beats like water. But her face never changed. No smile. No euphoric high. Just . . . eyes closed, that damn pinched look on her face.
And that pink and lavender still surrounding her like a shield.
“Cromwell,” the blonde who was all over me like a rash said into my ear. Her fingers lifted up my shirt and tucked into the waistband of my jeans. Her long nails dipped low. But I refused to tear my eyes away from the girl in the purple dress.
Her brown hair was starting to curl, sweat from being sandwiched by clubbers taking its effect. The blonde who was one step from wanking me off in full view of the club snapped my fly. I keyed in my next mix, then grabbed her hand and threw it away from me, snapping my fly closed. I groaned when her hands slid back into my hair. I looked at my mate who had spun before me. “Nick!” I pointed to my decks. “Watch this. And don’t mess it up.”
Nick frowned in confusion, then saw the girl behind me and smiled. He took my headphones from me and moved to make sure the playlist I’d set up played on cue. Steve, the club’s owner, always let a few girls backstage. I never asked for it, but I never turned them down either. Why would I refuse a hot bird who was up for anything?
I swiped my Jack off my podium as the blonde smashed her lips to mine, pulling me back by my sleeveless Creamfields shirt. I wrenched my mouth from hers, replacing it with the Jack bottle. The blonde dragged me into a dark spot backstage. She dropped to her knees and started again on my fly. I closed my eyes as she went to work.
I sucked on the Jack as my head hit the wall behind me. I forced myself to feel something. I glanced down, watching blond hair bounce below me. But the numbness I lived with every damn day made me feel virtually nothing inside. Pressure built at the base of my spine. My thighs tightened, and then it was over.
The blonde got up. I could see the stars in her eyes as she looked at me. “Your eyes.” She reached out a finger to trace around my eye. “The strangest color. Such dark blue.”
They were. Coupled with my black hair, they always drew attention. That and the fact that I was one of the hottest new DJs in Europe, of course. Okay, maybe it was less to do with my eyes and more to do with my name, Cromwell Dean, gracing the headline spot on most of the biggest music festivals and clubs this summer.
I zipped up my fly and turned to see Nick spinning my next mix. I cringed when he failed to transition the beats like I would have. Navy blue was the backdrop to the smoke on the dancefloor.
I never hit navy blue.
I brushed past the girl with a “Thanks, love,” ignoring her hiss of “Prick” in response. I took my headphones off Nick’s head and put them on my own. A few taps of the keyboard later, the crowd was back in the palm of my hand.
Without conscious thought, my eyes found their way to the spot where the girl in the purple dress had stood.
But she’d gone. So had the pale pink and lavender.
I threw back another shot of Jack. Mixed another tune. Then zoned the fuck out.
*****
The sand was cold under my feet. It may well have been the start of summer here in the UK, but that didn’t mean the night wind didn’t freeze your balls off the minute you stepped outside. Clutching my bottle of booze and my cigarettes, I dropped down to the sand. I lit up and stared at the dark sky. My phone buzzed in my pocket . . . again. It’d been going off all night.
Pissed off that I actually had to move my arm, I pulled out my mobile. I had three missed calls from Professor Lewis. Two from my mum, and finally, a couple of texts.
Mum: Professor Lewis has been trying to get hold of you again. What are you going to do? Please just call me. I know you’re upset, but this is your future. You have a gift, son. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start this year. Don’t waste it because you’re angry at me.
Red-hot fury shot through me. I wanted to throw my phone in the damn sea and watch it sink to the bottom along with all this messed-up shit in my head, but I saw Professor Lewis had texted too.
Lewis: The offer still stands but I need an answer by next week. I have all I need for the transfer except your answer. You have an exceptional talent, Cromwell. Don’t waste it. I can help.
This time I did drop my phone beside me and sank back into the sand. I let the rush of nicotine fill my lungs and closed my eyes. As my eyelids shut, I heard quiet music playing somewhere nearby. Classical. Mozart.
My drunken mind immediately drifted off to when I was a little kid . . .
“What do you hear, Cromwell?” my father asked.
I closed my eyes and listened to the piece of music. Colors danced before my eyes. “Piano. Violins. Cellos . . .” I took a deep breath. “I can hear reds and greens and pinks.”
I opened my eyes and looked up at my father as he sat on my bed. He was staring down at me. There was a funny expression on his face. “You hear colors?” he said. But he didn’t sound surprised. My face set on fire. I ducked my head under my duvet. My father pulled it down from my eyes. He stroked my hair. “That’s good,” he said, his voice kind of deep. “That’s very good . . .”
My eyes snapped open. My hand started to ache. I looked at the bottle in my hand; my fingers were white as they gripped the neck. I sat up, my head spinning from the mass of whiskey in my body. My temples throbbed. I realized it wasn’t from the Jack, but from the music coming from further down the beach. I pushed my hair back from my face then looked to my right.
Someone was only a few feet away. I squinted into the lightening night, summer’s early rising sun making it possible to make out the features of whoever the hell it was. It was a girl. A girl wrapped in a blanket. Her phone sat beside her, a Mozart piano concerto drifting quietly from the speaker.
She must have felt me looking at her, because she turned her head. I frowned, wondering why I knew her face, but then—
“You’re the DJ,” she said.
Recognition dawned. It was the girl in the purple dress.
She clutched her blanket closer around her as I replayed her accent in my head. American. Bible Belt was my guess, by her thick twang.
She sounded like my mum.
A smile tugged at her lips as I stayed mute. I wasn’t much of a talker. Especially when my gut was full of Jack and I had zero interest in making small talk with some girl I didn’t know at four in the morning on a cold beach in Brighton.
“I’d heard of you,” she said. I stared back out over the sea. Ships sailed in the distance, their lights like tiny fireflies, bobbing up and down. I huffed a humorless laugh. Great. Another girl who wanted to screw the DJ.
“Good for you,” I muttered and took a drink of my Jack, feeling the addictive burn slide down my throat. I hoped she’d piss off, or at least stop trying to talk to me. My head couldn’t take any more noise.
“Not really,” she shot back. I looked over at her, eyebrows pulled down in confusion. She was looking out over the sea, her chin resting on her folded arms that lay over her bent knees. The blanket had fallen off her shoulders, revealing the purple dress I’d noticed from the podium. She turned to face me, cheek now on her arms. Heat zipped through me. She was pretty. “I’ve heard of you, Cromwell Dean.” She shrugged. “Decided to get a ticket to see you before I left for home tomorrow.”
I lit up another cigarette. Her nose wrinkled. She clearly didn’t like the smell.
Tough luck. She could move. Last time I checked, England was a free country. She went quiet.
I caught her looking at me. Her brown eyes were narrowed, like she was scrutinizing me. Reading something in me that I didn’t want anyone to see.
No one ever looked at me closely. I never gave them the chance. I thrived on the podium at clubs because it kept everyone far away, down on the dancefloor where no one ever saw the real me. The way she was looking at me now made nervous shivers break out over my skin.
I didn’t need this kind of crap.
“Already had my dick sucked tonight, love. Not looking for a second round.”
She blinked, and even in the rising sun, I could see her cheeks redden.
“Your music has no soul,” she blurted. My cigarette paused halfway to my mouth. Something managed to stab through my stomach at her words. I shoved it back down until I felt my usual sensation of numbness.
I sucked on my cigarette. “Yeah? Well, them’s the breaks.”
“I’d heard you were some messiah or something on that podium. But all your music comprised was synthetic beats and forced repetitive bursts of unoriginal tempo.”
I laughed and shook my head. The girl met my eyes head-on. “It’s called electronic dance music. Not a fifty-piece orchestra.” I held out my arms. “You’ve heard of me. Said so yourself. You know what tunes I spin. What were you expecting? Mozart?” I glared at her phone, which was still playing that damn concerto.
I sat back, surprised at myself. I hadn’t talked that much to anyone in . . . I didn’t know how long. I took in a drag, breathing out the smoke that was trapped in my chest. “And turn that thing off, will you? Who the hell goes to hear a dance DJ spin, then comes to a beach to listen to classical music?”
The girl frowned but turned off the music. I lay back on the cold sand, closing my eyes. I heard the soft waves lapping the shore. My head filled with pale green. I heard the girl moving. I prayed she was leaving. But I felt her drop beside me. My world darkened as the whiskey and the usual lack of sleep started to pull me under.
“What do you feel when you mix your music?” she asked. How the hell she thought her little interview was a good idea right now was beyond me.
Yet, surprisingly, I found myself answering her question. “I don’t feel.” I cracked one eye open when she didn’t say anything. She was looking down at me. She had the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen. Dark hair pulled off her face in a ponytail. Full lips and smooth skin.
“Then that’s the problem.” She smiled, but the smile looked nothing but sad. Pitying. “The best music must be felt. By the creator. By the listener. Every part of it from creation to ear must be wrapped in nothing but feelings.” Some weird expression crossed over her face, but hell if I knew what it meant.
Her words were a blade to my chest. I hadn’t expected her harsh comment. And I hadn’t expected the blunt trauma that she seemed to deliver right to my heart. Like she’d taken a butcher’s knife and sliced her way through my soul.
My body itched to get up and run. To pluck out her assessment of my music from my memory. But instead I forced a laugh, and spat, “Go back home, little Dorothy. Back to where music means something. Where it’s felt.”
“Dorothy was from Kansas.” She glanced away. “I’m not.”
“Then go back to wherever the hell you’re from,” I snapped. Crossing my arms over my chest, I hunkered down into the sand and shut my eyes, trying to block out the cold wind that was picking up and slapping my skin, and her words that were still stabbing at my heart.
I never let anything get to me like this. Not anymore. I just needed some sleep. I didn’t want to go back to my mum’s house here in Brighton, and my flat in London was too far away. So hopefully the cops wouldn’t find me here and kick me off the beach.
With my eyes closed, I said, “Thanks for the midnight critique, but as the fastest-rising DJ in Europe, with the best clubs in the world begging for me to spin at their decks—all at nineteen—I think I’ll ignore your extensive notes and just keep on living my sweet as fuck life.”
The girl sighed, but she didn’t say anything else.
The next thing I knew, the sun was burning its light into my eyes. I flinched when I opened them. The screech of swarming seagulls slammed into my head. I sat up, seeing an empty beach and the sun high in the sky. I ran my hands down my face and groaned at the hangover that was kicking in. My stomach growled, desperate for a full English breakfast with copious cups of black tea.
As I stood, something fell from my lap. A blanket lay on the sand at my feet. The blanket I’d seen beside the American girl in the purple dress.
The one she’d been wrapped in last night.
I picked it up, a light fragrance drifted into my nose. Sweet. Addictive. I glanced around me. The girl was gone.
She’d left her blanket. No. She’d covered me with it. “Your music has no soul.” A hard clenching feeling pulled in my stomach at the memory of her words. So I chased it away like I did anything that made me feel. Caging it deep inside.
Then I took my arse home.




Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.

After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.

Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.

Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.

When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.


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