TM Frazier returns to her wicked ways in ‘Perversion’

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“T.M. Frazier sucked me in from the very first page and then slayed me with the end of Perversion. This trilogy is EPIC!

Meghan March, New York Times bestselling author

PERVERSION, book one in the Perversion Trilogy from USA Today bestselling author T.M. Frazier is available now!

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Love is supposed to be a fairy tale.

Ours is a death wish.

I’m the executioner for the Bedlam Brotherhood.

She’s a con artist working for my greatest enemy.

I use her.

She manipulates me.

We find ourselves on opposite sides of a bloody war.

My heart and head tell me I have to stay away.

My lust for her doesn’t give a sh*t.

Nothing’s fair in love and gang war.

PERVERSION IS BOOK ONE IN THE PERVERSION TRILOGY

BOOK TWO: POSSESSION

BOOK THREE: PERMISSION

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PERVERSION TRILOGY

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Review

And we are back to the classic TM Frazier dark and gritty stories that we all know and love. There is a gang war going on and Emma Jean and Grim are caught on opposite sides. Kind of a darker version of Romeo and Juliet. Grim and EJ grew up in the system and know that it doesn’t always work for them. And this book shows how good it can go and how bad it can go.

 

They meet by chance when they are younger and then again when they are older but the circumstances are completely different. Grim has a lot more at stake when they are older and he has to decide if EJ is worth risking the world that he has built.

 

I loved that we get back to the kind of stories that made me fall in love with Frazier as an author. They are dark, gritty, crazy, and a crazy plot that you have to pay attention to. If you read the King series, this is very much like that one. And the best part (at least in my opinion) is that while there is some dark themes, the romance outshines those themes. Even though there isn’t many of the active scenes, there is a big build up for the few scenes that do occur.

 

The story does have a cliffhanger so make sure you are mentally prepared. Frazier loves to leave you hanging and hope that she doesn’t leave us on the edge of our seats for too long. There is some graphic scenes that might be hard for some people to read. So beware of that.


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Excerpt:

Emma Jean

When I was younger, I fell in love with magic. I learned every card trick there was from library books and unmasking magic TV specials. I used to put on shows for Gabby that included escaping from complicated knots and trick handcuffs. But what’s magic besides a sleight of hand?

It’s a lie.

And lying is what I’m damn good at.

My ability to spin a tall tale or two lead to stealing wallets and conning people into taking stray pets for the thrill of it. Now, I’m using it to earn for Marco. The thrill is there, but it’s muted, hindered, lost under his pile of mounting threats.

The inside of the casino smells like stale cigarettes, spilled beer, and burnt coffee. We’re not supposed to be in here. It’s Bedlam territory. But that’s also why it’s perfect.

It isn’t like anyone would recognize us here.

We’ve made friends with a few of the cocktail waitresses by giving them a small cut, and they don’t ask questions or ring any alarms when they see us working. I’ve also been straightening my hair over the last few years since my crazy curls stand out like a reflector on a dark highway. I’ve dyed it a few shades darker than my normal honey blonde to help blend in.

Tonight is starting off well. Gabby and I are working a con we’ve run a few times before.

Gabby walks away, her long dark hair swooshing behind her. She gives me a nod as she passes me by on the slot machine I’m pretending to play. She’s just faked losing an expensive engagement ring at another slot machine. I watched out of the corner of my eye as she frantically looked around for it, then loudly announced a thousand-dollar reward would be waiting at the casino cage for whoever returned it.

She is flawless. She should be an actress. And in another life, she would be.

But we don’t live in another life.

We live in Lacking and belong to Los Muertos.

Our lives are not our own.

A few people casually look around the area, then return to their machines when they don’t find the ring Gabby was ranting about. They won’t either. Because it’s not there.

Yet.

It’s go time.

I strut over to the area Gabby just left and put a dollar in the machine. While the wheels spin, I pretend to pick up the dime store ring I already have in my hand. By the time the machine dings to tell me I’ve lost my dollar, I’m turning the ring over, inspecting it like I don’t have half a dozen more just like it in my drawer back at the apartment.

“Would you look at that?” I mutter to myself loud enough so others around me can hear.

A man in an Adidas jumpsuit with a potbelly taps me on the shoulder. “I’ll take that. I saw the woman who dropped it. I’ll go return it to her.”

Liar. You just want the reward.

“That’s so nice of you,” I say. I hold it out, about to drop it into his hand when I pull it back. “I bet there’s a reward for something this valuable.” I start to walk around the man. “I’ll take it up to management. Maybe, they know…”

“Here,” the man says, holding up a hundred-dollar bill. “Take this. I’ll take it to her. I just…you know, as I said, I want to make sure it gets back to the right person.”

You’re not even a good liar.

Sometimes, it’s just too freaking easy. And this scam wasn’t even an Emma Jean and Gabby original. We saw it a long time ago in a movie starring Jennifer Love Hewitt. Doesn’t anyone else watch movies?

I shrug and pass him the ring. Plucking the bill from his hand, I tuck it into my bra. “Thanks,” I say before quickly making my way toward the large glass front doors. It’s Thursday. Marco’s money is due in two days, and we’re short this week.

Really short.

I walk slowly and wave goodbye to the valets with a smile on my face. “Any luck, tonight?” One asks me.

“I think so,” I answer with a smile. Once I’m down the sidewalk and out of view, I scramble to the side of the casino where I kick off my heels and change from the sequined dress I’d stolen from a dry-cleaner into a pair of cut-off shorts and my yellow Keds.

Now, all I have to do is wait for Gabby.

I don’t have to wait long.

“Run!” Gabby yells, darting from the doors of the casino with two large men wearing tight black security t-shirts close behind. Running from security is terrifying enough, knowing that we’re running from members of the Bedlam Brotherhood kicks it up a notch.

I grab my backpack and sling it across my shoulders. I move as fast as I can until I’m running right alongside her. We race through the gates, cross the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by two cars. We duck into a hole in a fence and run through one backyard after the other.

“One of those cunt waitresses must have tipped them off!” Gabby says, through shallow breaths. She’s barefoot in a black mini-dress hiked up to her ass to give her long legs room to run. Her long thick hair is wrapped around her face, sticking to her mouth.

We hit the sixth backyard. Without another word, we separate behind a clothesline. We’ve mapped out this escape plan a thousand times, but this is the first time we’ve ever had to use it.

When I make it into the central part of town, to the Los Muertos/Bedlam border, I can no longer hear the shouts of the security guards. I lost them.

Hopefully, Gabby did, too.

I use a tower of stacked-up wooden pallets on the sidewalk like a ladder to scale a concrete wall, then drop down into the alley.

I grow more panic-stricken the longer I wait for Gabby. I bite the inside of my lip, pacing back and forth along the high wall. The Bedlam Brotherhood runs the security at the casino. If they catch her and find out who she is? Or worse? Who her brother is? They’ll… I shake the thought from my mind. She’ll be fine.

She HAS to be fine.

Please be okay, Gabby. Please.

I’m trying to catch my breath and pull myself together when I hear a clink echo through the alley as if someone dropped some spare change, followed by the sound of something heavy dropping to the asphalt.

“Gabby?” I ask into the darkness. Thinking it’s her, relief washes over me like rain on a barren desert.

My only answer is the flickering of a fluorescent light mounted high on the roof’s edge of the adjoining building. And the hiss of what sounds like a cat behind a dumpster.

I walk over and peer around it. “Gabby? Are you hurt? Say something!” I whisper-shout.

Someone moves from within the shadow. “Get out here, Gabby. We’ve got to go before Mar…”

The light flickers again, for just a second. That second is all I need to see that the someone slowly stalking toward me is not Gabby.

It’s a man…twice my size.

“Who are you?” I ask, shuffling backward as the man cloaked in a black leather hood emerges from the shadows. The front of his jacket is open. Underneath, he’s shirtless, covered in a sheen of sweat, and more tattoos than visible skin all the way up the front of his throat. His muscled chest and abs flex with each step he takes. The hood shadows most of his face, but when the lights flicker again, yellow eyes glow from within.

And they’re locked on me.

My ‘save your ass’ mode kicks in.

The man is blocking the only exit. My only other chance of escape is to scale the same wall I used to drop into the alley.

I keep moving backward as he approaches until my back hits the wall. I look left and right for something to use to climb on.

There’s nothing but emptiness.

My stomach sinks, but surrender is not an option.

I swallow hard as the alarm bells scream in my head for me to run. Somewhere. Anywhere.

There’s nowhere to go!

My legs tremble. Fear crawls like a million spiders along the backs of my legs. I push myself further against the wall as if I can squish the feeling away, but it’s useless.

Fear consumes me. Swallows me whole.

He continues toward me. As he gets closer, I realize it’s not just sweat glistening on his skin. There’s something else splattered across the tattoos on his chest and on his stubbled jaw.

It almost looks like wet paint.

My breathing stops when he’s close enough that I can make out the tattoo on the front of his throat.

A bleeding black rose.

The symbol of the Bedlam Brotherhood.

I’ve heard stories about Grim. The man in the hood. The executioner for Bedlam. They were all terrifying, but not nearly as terrifying as the reality of coming face to face with the man himself.

“We didn’t do anything,” I blurt. “I mean, we did, but it wasn’t a big deal. I’ll…I’ll give the money back. Just tell your men not to hurt my friend. It was all my idea. Let her go, and you can take me.”

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks. His voice is so thick and deep I feel it more than hear it. Shivers erupt all over my body.

He raises his arm, revealing a long curved blade.

For the first time in my life, I can’t seem to be able to hide my fear with my wit or sarcasm. My throat tightens. I can’t swallow, never mind speak. I’ve lost my words completely, along with my nerve.

The man’s blade drips red onto the pavement from the serrated tip.

Every fear response I didn’t even know I had runs rampant. I’m holding my breath. My muscles tense as if running was still an option. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck prickle my skin as they stand on end. I raise up to my tip-toes and push back, trying to make myself disappear into the wall.

I glance from the knife back to his chest, then back again. The splatters across his skin?

It’s not fucking paint.

Before I can process what the hell is happening, he switches from slow-stalking mode into hyper-speed, pinning my wrists above my head. His hard, bloodied chest pushes against me, smearing blood across my white tank top, forcing the back of my head to connect roughly with the wall.

“I’ll only ask you this one more time. Who the fuck are you?” His low guttural growl rattles my bones.

His unblinking, angry, golden eyes lock onto mine. Without the fluorescent light, they’re more golden brown than a glowing yellow. As much as I want to, I can’t look away. He could be the last person I ever see.

The thought is just the spike of adrenaline I need.

“Let me go,” I say, finally finding my words. I try and jerk my wrists from his grip with no luck. I’m trapped. My fear and anger rise to the surface, but I shove it back down. Fear won’t get me out of this situation, so it will have to wait for its damned turn.

He digs his rough fingers into my skin. “Answer me. Who the fuck are you?”

The bite of pain only makes me angrier. I throw his question back at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

He glances down at my rapidly rising and falling chest before pinning me with his stare. The corner of his mouth tugs up in a half-smirk.

“So much confidence for someone who’s trembling,” he says with an amused glint shining in his demonic eyes.

I shrug. “Maybe, I’m just not a fan of enclosed spaces,” I say through gritted teeth.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says.

“Why do you have blood all over you?” I answer him with yet another question. “You know, if you were committing some kind of crime back there, you should be more careful. I recommend a bleach bath and death by fire for your clothes the first chance you get. If it’s self-harm, I’m sure there’s a helpline you can call.”

He cocks his head to the side. His nostrils flare. His face is only inches away. I can feel the heat from his body against mine. His cool breath flutters against my neck.

I’ve never been this close to a man before. My trembling grows. My inner thighs shake sending a rippling wave of something very unfamiliar coursing through the center my body. I try and press my legs together to stop it from happening again, but when he uses his knee to wedge my legs apart, caging me in even further, it only grows, uncoiling from within like a slinky being pulled apart at the ends.

I swallow hard as the stubble of his jaw presses against my neck.

“Name,” he demands, his voice raspier than before.

I shut my eyes tight for a beat, trying to gain composure, control, something that will help me as I try and reason my way out of this. “Listen, I didn’t see anything,” I blurt. “That is if you did anything. I’m not going to call the police if that’s what you’re worried about. I wouldn’t anyway, even if I saw something, which I didn’t.”

His brows knit together in a harsh line. “Why?”

His question confuses me.

“Why what?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell the police?”

Because Marco owns them.

“Let’s just say that I haven’t exactly been a model citizen myself tonight. Let’s face it. If the police around here weren’t being paid not to do their jobs, half this town would be locked up.” I take a deep, shaky breath. “Especially people like us.”

He stills. There’s no more talking. Only heavy breathing and a battle of wills. He releases one of my hands. I think he’s reaching for his knife. My blood turns cold. I can feel my face pale as my heart starts beating as faster and faster as if it wants to get in as many as possible before the end.

I’m surprised when he doesn’t go for his knife. Instead, his hand travels slowly down my chest into my cleavage.

“No, don’t!” I say, but it’s too late, he’s already yanked on my locket.

“Please just give it back, and let me go,” I plead. Feeling like it’s my real heart he’s torn from my chest. “It’s the only thing in this world that means anything to me. Besides my best friend, it’s all I have.”

I hate the desperation in my voice, but it’s the truth.

He’s silent for a moment. He raises his arms. I flinch, raising my arms over my face defensively. But when nothing happens, I lower them, just in time to see him push back his hood, revealing his face.

“Why?” I ask, closing my eyes knowing full well that the only time a criminal reveals himself to a witness is right before they take them out.

“Look at me,” he demands, holding my face in his hand.

“No!” I say, shutting my eyes tighter.

“Look at me!” he bellows. He’s on me again. This time, he holds my head in his large rough hands. “Open your fucking eyes so you can see me.”

With no other choice than to get my head squished like a turtle under a car tire, I do as he demands. Opening my eyes, I blink through the haze, and when it clears, I’m met with tousled, medium-length, light brown hair, slicked back on the top, shorn close to head on the sides. His nose is slightly crooked like it’s been broken a few times before. The stubble on his square, defined jaw is a few days over needing a shave. A jagged scar runs through his chin like an angry white lightning bolt.

He’s the most fucking beautifully terrifying man I’ve ever seen.

He’s searching my eyes for something, but I don’t know what.

“Why?” I ask in a whisper.

His hands release mine, but he doesn’t step back. He leans in closer, speaking against my cheek in a rumble of a whisper. The strange feeling from earlier comes back as a zap of electricity bouncing around my insides looking for somewhere to ground.

I’m breathing heavy. Our lips are so close, almost touching. He slides one hand off my face, snaking it around my neck, pulling me closer. He starts to answer in a rumble of a whisper, causing goosebumps to rise on my already prickled skin. “Because I want you to see the face of the man who’s just—”

“Where the fuck are you?” calls Gabby from the other side of the wall. “I lost them!”

The moment, whatever it is, is now broken. The man releases me so suddenly I brace myself against the wall to keep from falling. I turn my head toward her voice.

“Gabby!” I shout back.

My heart is beating out of control. Out of habit, I raise my hand to my chest, seeking familiar comfort.

I look up. The man in the hood is gone.

And so is my locket.

About the Author

T.M. (Tracey Marie) Frazier never dreamed that a single person would ever read a word she wrote when she published her first book. Now, she is a five-time USA Today bestselling author and her books have been translated into numerous languages and published all around the world.

T.M. enjoys writing what she calls sexy‘wrongside of the tracks romance’ with morally corrupt anti-heroes and ballsy heroines.

Her books have been described as raw, dark and gritty. Basically, what that means, is while some authors are great at describing a flower as it blooms, T.M. is better at describing it in the final stages of decay.

She loves meeting her readers, but if you see her at an event please don’t pinch her because she’s not ready to wake up from this amazing dream.

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Connect with T.M. Frazier

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Stay up to date with T.M. by signing up for her mailing list: http://bit.ly/TMFrazier Website: http://www.tmfrazierbooks.com

For Text Alerts: TEXT “TMFRAZIER” TO 77948

*Standard text messaging rates apply*

 

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Andrew finds the one he is looking for when he least expects it in ‘Wicked Wedding’ by Sawyer Bennett

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Wicked Wedding, an all-new sexy standalone novel, from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Sawyer Bennett is available NOW!

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It all started with a wedding…

Well, three weddings, to be exact. The one that happened, the one that went up in flames, and the one nobody saw coming.

Andrew Collings has seen a lot of things living in Vegas. Hell, he’s done a lot of things. But one thing he’s never witnessed is a beautiful brunette, hitchhiking her way into the city, wearing a wedding dress. Until now, that is.

Brynne Adams is running away from a broken heart. She expected a lot of things from her wedding day but finding photos of her fiancé and maid of honor and best man in a compromising position wasn’t one of them. She most certainly never imagined that she’d end up marrying the handsome stranger that rescued her from the side of the road that day.

Andrew and Brynne’s quick nuptials may have been the result of a drunken joke, but they soon realize that love can be found in the most unlikely of places if you just stop and take a chance.

* Wicked Wedding is the fourth STANDALONE NOVEL in the LEFT AT THE ALTAR series in a collaboration of six New York Times Bestselling Authors: J. S. Scott, Ruth Cardello, Raine Miller, Sawyer Bennett, Minx Malone, and Melody Anne.

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Review

Andrew never thought that he would ever settle down. Especially after seeing his best friends get married. He loved the single wife. But he meets Brynne and they have a quickie that changes all the plans that he had for himself.

This is not the usual surprise drunken wedding. They are fun together and Andrew sees the good that can happen when you open yourself up to it. Of course the intimate scenes are freaking crazy, especially the lifestyle that Andrew is coming from. For Brynne, this is good because there is nothing better to get over someone then to get with someone else.

The story is racy and fun. Sawyer Bennett writes another winner. There is a lot of love scenes so if you are looking for that kind of romance book, then this is the one for you.


Download your copy today for only $2.99!

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Excerpt:

“Let me prop the door open and I’ll carry you over the threshold,” I tell Brynne as I press the keycard against the magnetic reader.

She giggles, a sound I normally find grating on a grown woman, but on Brynne it’s charming. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are still sparkling with energy.“Well,you are very Thor-like, so a girl would be crazy to refuse to be carried over the threshold by her husband.”

That’s right. I’m her husband, but let’s rewind just a bit to detail how this all went down.

It took me exactly fifteen minutes and three phone calls to set things up, just as I promised her.

The first call was to the nicest, swankiest Vegas chapel that I could find with a Google search. I was advised we’d have to obtain a license at the Las Vegas Marriage Bureau for the low price of seventy-five dollars, and I wasn’t surprised in the least to learn it was open twenty-four hours a day on the weekends. I was able to arrange a limousine to pick us up, as well as an explosion of flowers within the chapel itself. When I gave my credit card number to the woman, I told her to go crazy on decor, but I specifically requested white calla lilies for the bride bouquet because Brynne told me those were her favorites.

The second call was to a jeweler where I was able to purchase two very simple wedding bands in gold. It’s a detail I probably could have ignored considering we both knew this was just for fun, but fuck it. I’m rich, which means I have the ability to make this as nice as I can for Brynne.

The third call was to my attorney, who explained annulment laws and assured me it was a fairly straightforward process. I’d have to institute the action—called a complaint—and if Brynne waives service, we can present our annulment request to the court to be approved after twenty days. It wasn’t immediate, but twenty days was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

By the time we took a limo to the marriage bureau, stood in line for about thirty minutes with other like minded folks, and then made our way to the chapel, we’d sobered up quite a bit.

“You sure you want to do this?” she asked me just before we went in.“I mean… it was a fun notion when we were a little more buzzed.”

“Hell yes,” I’d told her with a devilish grin.“Mostly so we can send a picture to the whore and the asshole.”

Her laugh was sparkling and beautiful and just a little evil, which made her infinitely more attractive to me.“It’s all in good fun with no risk,” I’d added on to assure her.

So we went in, both of us grinning like fools during the ceremony. It felt fake, because it was fake, but in some respects, it’s the most real thing I’ve ever done. Because what we were doing had real purpose. It was to give Brynne and her glorious wedding dress a moment to shine.

It became even more real when the minister—who was not dressed like Elvis, but was very dapper in a dark gray suit with an old-fashioned cravat tied at his neck—told us in a very cultured voice,“You may kiss the bride.”

Fuck.

I hadn’t thought about the kiss.

I mean, I’d thought of kissing her because she’s sexy and vibrant and smiling despite the fact she was shit on hard today. But I hadn’t thought about the“wedding kiss”. Because even though this is all fake, somehow a man giving us formal permission to put our mouths together to seal our marriage vows makes it very fucking real.

There was no hesitation. When my lips touched hers and she gave a tiny huff of pleasure, I realized I wanted to consummate this fake marriage very badly.

I did not, however, know if Brynne felt the same. Because today would probably go down as the worst and weirdest of her life, I wasn’t going to push. Instead, I took her out for a radically expensive late dinner and then we hit a popular jazz club where we listened to music.

And then it happened.

A slow song was played. A bluesy number people just sort of sway to, and I asked her to dance with me.

She accepted.

It was Brynne who kissed me. Slid her delicate fingers into my hair, went to her tiptoes in her gray tennis shoes with teal-blue accents, and pressed her mouth to mine. My mind reeled, and my cock started to twitch to attention as we swayed and kissed. The words were forming in my mind on how best to invite her into my bed without sounding like an opportunistic douche, but then it didn’t matter.

She pulled her mouth from mine, relaxing and tipping her head back to see me.“If we have sex tonight, does that ruin our chances of getting an annulment?”

I had no fucking clue what the answer was. It had never crossed my mind I might actually get the chance to fuck her, so I didn’t ask my attorney.

“Not that I know of,” I hedge. At least I didn’t flat-out lie to her.

“Good,” she said with a smile.“Let’s go to my hotel room.”

About Sawyer:

Since the release of her debut contemporary romance novel, Off Sides, in January 2013, Sawyer Bennett has released multiple books, many of which have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestseller lists.

A reformed trial lawyer from North Carolina, Sawyer uses real life experience to create relatable, sexy stories that appeal to a wide array of readers. From new adult to erotic contemporary romance, Sawyer writes something for just about everyone.

Sawyer likes her Bloody Marys strong, her martinis dirty, and her heroes a combination of the two. When not bringing fictional romance to life, Sawyer is a chauffeur, stylist, chef, maid, and personal assistant to a very active daughter, as well as full-time servant to her adorably naughty dogs. She believes in the good of others, and that a bad day can be cured with a great work-out, cake, or even better, both.

Sawyer also writes general and women’s fiction under the pen name S. Bennett and sweet romance under the name Juliette Poe.

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Connect with Sawyer:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/bennettbooks

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Follow Atticus on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/atticuscrazydog/

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https://sawyerbennett.com

TM Frazier’s latest book ‘Perversion’ is now available

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T.M. Frazier sucked me in from the very first page and then slayed me with the end of Perversion. This trilogy is EPIC!

Meghan March, New York Times bestselling author

PERVERSION, book one in the Perversion Trilogy from USA Today bestselling author T.M. Frazier is live!

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Love is supposed to be a fairy tale.

Ours is a death wish.

I’m the executioner for the Bedlam Brotherhood.

She’s a con artist working for my greatest enemy.

I use her.

She manipulates me.

We find ourselves on opposite sides of a bloody war.

My heart and head tell me I have to stay away.

My lust for her doesn’t give a sh*t.

Nothing’s fair in love and gang war.

PERVERSION IS BOOK ONE IN THE PERVERSION TRILOGY

BOOK TWO: POSSESSION

BOOK THREE: PERMISSION

Download your copy of PERVERSION

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2LAHwpP

iBooks: https://apple.co/2AzVzrm

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/PerversionTMF

Nook: https://goo.gl/6cHFKH

Kobo: https://bit.ly/2JwQaQX

Paperback: https://amzn.to/2LTMTR3

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/perversionGR

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Pre-order POSSESSION now

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Pre-order PERMISSION now

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About the Author

T.M. (Tracey Marie) Frazier never dreamed that a single person would ever read a word she wrote when she published her first book. Now, she is a five-time USA Today bestselling author and her books have been translated into numerous languages and published all around the world.

T.M. enjoys writing what she calls sexy‘wrongside of the tracks romance’ with morally corrupt anti-heroes and ballsy heroines.

Her books have been described as raw, dark and gritty. Basically, what that means, is while some authors are great at describing a flower as it blooms, T.M. is better at describing it in the final stages of decay.

She loves meeting her readers, but if you see her at an event please don’t pinch her because she’s not ready to wake up from this amazing dream.
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Connect with T.M. Frazier

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For Text Alerts: TEXT “TMFRAZIER” TO 77948

*Standard text messaging rates apply*

 

Sawyer Bennett latest book ‘Wicked Wedding’ is now available

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Wicked Wedding, an all-new sexy standalone novel, from New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Sawyer Bennett is LIVE!

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It all started with a wedding…

Well, three weddings, to be exact. The one that happened, the one that went up in flames, and the one nobody saw coming.

Andrew Collings has seen a lot of things living in Vegas. Hell, he’s done a lot of things. But one thing he’s never witnessed is a beautiful brunette, hitchhiking her way into the city, wearing a wedding dress. Until now, that is.

Brynne Adams is running away from a broken heart. She expected a lot of things from her wedding day but finding photos of her fiancé and maid of honor and best man in a compromising position wasn’t one of them. She most certainly never imagined that she’d end up marrying the handsome stranger that rescued her from the side of the road that day.

Andrew and Brynne’s quick nuptials may have been the result of a drunken joke, but they soon realize that love can be found in the most unlikely of places if you just stop and take a chance.

* Wicked Wedding is the fourth STANDALONE NOVEL in the LEFT AT THE ALTAR series in a collaboration of six New York Times Bestselling Authors: J. S. Scott, Ruth Cardello, Raine Miller, Sawyer Bennett, Minx Malone, and Melody Anne.

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Download your copy today!

*Special Release Price $2.99!*

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About Sawyer:

Since the release of her debut contemporary romance novel, Off Sides, in January 2013, Sawyer Bennett has released multiple books, many of which have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestseller lists.

A reformed trial lawyer from North Carolina, Sawyer uses real life experience to create relatable, sexy stories that appeal to a wide array of readers. From new adult to erotic contemporary romance, Sawyer writes something for just about everyone.

Sawyer likes her Bloody Marys strong, her martinis dirty, and her heroes a combination of the two. When not bringing fictional romance to life, Sawyer is a chauffeur, stylist, chef, maid, and personal assistant to a very active daughter, as well as full-time servant to her adorably naughty dogs. She believes in the good of others, and that a bad day can be cured with a great work-out, cake, or even better, both.

Sawyer also writes general and women’s fiction under the pen name S. Bennett and sweet romance under the name Juliette Poe.

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https://sawyerbennett.com

Helena Hunting announces her new book ‘Meet Cute’ coming out April 9th!

Meet Cute, an all-new sexy standalone from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting is coming April 9th, 2019 and we have the adorable new cover!

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Synopsis

The New York Times bestselling author of Pucked and The Good Luck Charm delivers a Hollywood happily-ever-after where a famous heartthrob falls for his ultimate fangirl in this sexy standalone romantic comedy.

Talk about an embarrassing introduction. On her first day of law school, Kailyn ran – quite literally – into the actor she crushed on as a teenager, ending with him sprawled on top of her. Mortified to discover the Daxton Hughes was also a student in her class, her embarrassment over their meet-cute quickly turned into a friendship she never expected. Of course, she never saw his betrayal coming either…

Now, eight years later, Dax is in her office asking for legal advice. Despite her anger, Kailyn can’t help feeling sorry for the devastated man who just became sole guardian to his thirteen-year-old sister. But when her boss gets wind of Kailyn’s new celebrity client, there’s even more at stake than Dax’s custody issues: if she gets Dax to work at their firm, she’ll be promoted to partner.

The more time Kailyn spends with Dax and his sister, the more she starts to feel like a family, and the more she realizes the chemistry they had all those years ago is as fresh as ever. But will they be able to forgive the mistakes of the past, or will one betrayal lead to another?

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Pre-Order your copy today!

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About the Author:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She’s writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

 

Connect with Helena:
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Emma Jean tries to pull off a scam in this first look of TM Frazier’s latest book ‘Perversion’

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𝙐𝙎𝘼 𝙏𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙎𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨, 𝙏.𝙈. 𝙁𝙧𝙖𝙯𝙞𝙚𝙧, 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖 𝙗𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙨𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙨 𝙪𝙥 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙫𝙚.

PERVERSION, book one in the all-new Perversion Trilogy is coming September 25th and we have the first sneak peek for you!

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Synopsis

Love is supposed to be magical.

Ours is suicidal.

The first time I met Emma Jean Parish,

she conned me into taking her p*ssy.

Her 𝑐𝑎𝑡

When she was sixteen,

she manipulated me into giving her

her very first kiss.

At eighteen she gave me 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.

She’s a con artist.

I’m a criminal.

I use her.

She manipulates me.

The attraction between us is explosive.

When it detonates

we could both wind up dead.

PERVERSION IS BOOK ONE IN THE PERVERSION TRILOGY

BOOK TWO: POSSESSION

BOOK THREE: PERMISSION

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Pre-order your copy of PERVERSION today!

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Excerpt:

Emma Jean

When I was younger, I fell in love with magic. I learned every card trick there was from library books and unmasking magic TV specials. I used to put on shows for Gabby that included escaping from complicated knots and trick handcuffs. But what’s magic besides a sleight of hand?

It’s a lie.

And lying is what I’m damn good at.

My ability to spin a tall tale or two lead to stealing wallets and conning people into taking stray pets for the thrill of it. Now, I’m using it to earn for Marco. The thrill is there, but it’s muted, hindered, lost under his pile of mounting threats.

The inside of the casino smells like stale cigarettes, spilled beer, and burnt coffee. We’re not supposed to be in here. It’s Bedlam territory. But that’s also why it’s perfect.

It isn’t like anyone would recognize us here.

We’ve made friends with a few of the cocktail waitresses by giving them a small cut, and they don’t ask questions or ring any alarms when they see us working. I’ve also been straightening my hair over the last few years since my crazy curls stand out like a reflector on a dark highway. I’ve dyed it a few shades darker than my normal honey blonde to help blend in.

Tonight is starting off well. Gabby and I are working a con we’ve run a few times before.

Gabby walks away, her long dark hair swooshing behind her. She gives me a nod as she passes me by on the slot machine I’m pretending to play. She’s just faked losing an expensive engagement ring at another slot machine. I watched out of the corner of my eye as she frantically looked around for it, then loudly announced a thousand-dollar reward would be waiting at the casino cage for whoever returned it.

She is flawless. She should be an actress. And in another life, she would be.

But we don’t live in another life.

We live in Lacking and belong to Los Muertos.

Our lives are not our own.

A few people casually look around the area, then return to their machines when they don’t find the ring Gabby was ranting about. They won’t either. Because it’s not there.

Yet.

It’s go time.

I strut over to the area Gabby just left and put a dollar in the machine. While the wheels spin, I pretend to pick up the dime store ring I already have in my hand. By the time the machine dings to tell me I’ve lost my dollar, I’m turning the ring over, inspecting it like I don’t have half a dozen more just like it in my drawer back at the apartment.

“Would you look at that?” I mutter to myself loud enough so others around me can hear.

A man in an Adidas jumpsuit with a potbelly taps me on the shoulder. “I’ll take that. I saw the woman who dropped it. I’ll go return it to her.”

Liar. You just want the reward.

“That’s so nice of you,” I say. I hold it out, about to drop it into his hand when I pull it back. “I bet there’s a reward for something this valuable.” I start to walk around the man. “I’ll take it up to management. Maybe, they know…”

“Here,” the man says, holding up a hundred-dollar bill. “Take this. I’ll take it to her. I just…you know, as I said, I want to make sure it gets back to the right person.”

You’re not even a good liar.

Sometimes, it’s just too freaking easy. And this scam wasn’t even an Emma Jean and Gabby original. We saw it a long time ago in a movie starring Jennifer Love Hewitt. Doesn’t anyone else watch movies?

I shrug and pass him the ring. Plucking the bill from his hand, I tuck it into my bra. “Thanks,” I say before quickly making my way toward the large glass front doors. It’s Thursday. Marco’s money is due in two days, and we’re short this week.

Really short.

I walk slowly and wave goodbye to the valets with a smile on my face. “Any luck, tonight?” One asks me.

“I think so,” I answer with a smile. Once I’m down the sidewalk and out of view, I scramble to the side of the casino where I kick off my heels and change from the sequined dress I’d stolen from a dry-cleaner into a pair of cut-off shorts and my yellow Keds.

Now, all I have to do is wait for Gabby.

I don’t have to wait long.

“Run!” Gabby yells, darting from the doors of the casino with two large men wearing tight black security t-shirts close behind. Running from security is terrifying enough, knowing that we’re running from members of the Bedlam Brotherhood kicks it up a notch.

I grab my backpack and sling it across my shoulders. I move as fast as I can until I’m running right alongside her. We race through the gates, cross the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by two cars. We duck into a hole in a fence and run through one backyard after the other.

“One of those cunt waitresses must have tipped them off!” Gabby says, through shallow breaths. She’s barefoot in a black mini-dress hiked up to her ass to give her long legs room to run. Her long thick hair is wrapped around her face, sticking to her mouth.

We hit the sixth backyard. Without another word, we separate behind a clothesline. We’ve mapped out this escape plan a thousand times, but this is the first time we’ve ever had to use it.

When I make it into the central part of town, to the Los Muertos/Bedlam border, I can no longer hear the shouts of the security guards. I lost them.

Hopefully, Gabby did, too.

I use a tower of stacked-up wooden pallets on the sidewalk like a ladder to scale a concrete wall, then drop down into the alley.

I grow more panic-stricken the longer I wait for Gabby. I bite the inside of my lip, pacing back and forth along the high wall. The Bedlam Brotherhood runs the security at the casino. If they catch her and find out who she is? Or worse? Who her brother is? They’ll… I shake the thought from my mind. She’ll be fine.

She HAS to be fine.

Please be okay, Gabby. Please.

I’m trying to catch my breath and pull myself together when I hear a clink echo through the alley as if someone dropped some spare change, followed by the sound of something heavy dropping to the asphalt.

“Gabby?” I ask into the darkness. Thinking it’s her, relief washes over me like rain on a barren desert.

My only answer is the flickering of a fluorescent light mounted high on the roof’s edge of the adjoining building. And the hiss of what sounds like a cat behind a dumpster.

I walk over and peer around it. “Gabby? Are you hurt? Say something!” I whisper-shout.

Someone moves from within the shadow. “Get out here, Gabby. We’ve got to go before Mar…”

The light flickers again, for just a second. That second is all I need to see that the someone slowly stalking toward me is not Gabby.

It’s a man…twice my size.

“Who are you?” I ask, shuffling backward as the man cloaked in a black leather hood emerges from the shadows. The front of his jacket is open. Underneath, he’s shirtless, covered in a sheen of sweat, and more tattoos than visible skin all the way up the front of his throat. His muscled chest and abs flex with each step he takes. The hood shadows most of his face, but when the lights flicker again, yellow eyes glow from within.

And they’re locked on me.

My ‘save your ass’ mode kicks in.

The man is blocking the only exit. My only other chance of escape is to scale the same wall I used to drop into the alley.

I keep moving backward as he approaches until my back hits the wall. I look left and right for something to use to climb on.

There’s nothing but emptiness.

My stomach sinks, but surrender is not an option.

I swallow hard as the alarm bells scream in my head for me to run. Somewhere. Anywhere.

There’s nowhere to go!

My legs tremble. Fear crawls like a million spiders along the backs of my legs. I push myself further against the wall as if I can squish the feeling away, but it’s useless.

Fear consumes me. Swallows me whole.

He continues toward me. As he gets closer, I realize it’s not just sweat glistening on his skin. There’s something else splattered across the tattoos on his chest and on his stubbled jaw.

It almost looks like wet paint.

My breathing stops when he’s close enough that I can make out the tattoo on the front of his throat.

A bleeding black rose.

The symbol of the Bedlam Brotherhood.

I’ve heard stories about Grim. The man in the hood. The executioner for Bedlam. They were all terrifying, but not nearly as terrifying as the reality of coming face to face with the man himself.

“We didn’t do anything,” I blurt. “I mean, we did, but it wasn’t a big deal. I’ll…I’ll give the money back. Just tell your men not to hurt my friend. It was all my idea. Let her go, and you can take me.”

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks. His voice is so thick and deep I feel it more than hear it. Shivers erupt all over my body.

He raises his arm, revealing a long curved blade.

For the first time in my life, I can’t seem to be able to hide my fear with my wit or sarcasm. My throat tightens. I can’t swallow, never mind speak. I’ve lost my words completely, along with my nerve.

The man’s blade drips red onto the pavement from the serrated tip.

Every fear response I didn’t even know I had runs rampant. I’m holding my breath. My muscles tense as if running was still an option. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck prickle my skin as they stand on end. I raise up to my tip-toes and push back, trying to make myself disappear into the wall.

I glance from the knife back to his chest, then back again. The splatters across his skin?

It’s not fucking paint.

Before I can process what the hell is happening, he switches from slow-stalking mode into hyper-speed, pinning my wrists above my head. His hard, bloodied chest pushes against me, smearing blood across my white tank top, forcing the back of my head to connect roughly with the wall.

“I’ll only ask you this one more time. Who the fuck are you?” His low guttural growl rattles my bones.

His unblinking, angry, golden eyes lock onto mine. Without the fluorescent light, they’re more golden brown than a glowing yellow. As much as I want to, I can’t look away. He could be the last person I ever see.

The thought is just the spike of adrenaline I need.

“Let me go,” I say, finally finding my words. I try and jerk my wrists from his grip with no luck. I’m trapped. My fear and anger rise to the surface, but I shove it back down. Fear won’t get me out of this situation, so it will have to wait for its damned turn.

He digs his rough fingers into my skin. “Answer me. Who the fuck are you?”

The bite of pain only makes me angrier. I throw his question back at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

He glances down at my rapidly rising and falling chest before pinning me with his stare. The corner of his mouth tugs up in a half-smirk.

“So much confidence for someone who’s trembling,” he says with an amused glint shining in his demonic eyes.

I shrug. “Maybe, I’m just not a fan of enclosed spaces,” I say through gritted teeth.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says.

“Why do you have blood all over you?” I answer him with yet another question. “You know, if you were committing some kind of crime back there, you should be more careful. I recommend a bleach bath and death by fire for your clothes the first chance you get. If it’s self-harm, I’m sure there’s a helpline you can call.”

He cocks his head to the side. His nostrils flare. His face is only inches away. I can feel the heat from his body against mine. His cool breath flutters against my neck.

I’ve never been this close to a man before. My trembling grows. My inner thighs shake sending a rippling wave of something very unfamiliar coursing through the center my body. I try and press my legs together to stop it from happening again, but when he uses his knee to wedge my legs apart, caging me in even further, it only grows, uncoiling from within like a slinky being pulled apart at the ends.

I swallow hard as the stubble of his jaw presses against my neck.

“Name,” he demands, his voice raspier than before.

I shut my eyes tight for a beat, trying to gain composure, control, something that will help me as I try and reason my way out of this. “Listen, I didn’t see anything,” I blurt. “That is if you did anything. I’m not going to call the police if that’s what you’re worried about. I wouldn’t anyway, even if I saw something, which I didn’t.”

His brows knit together in a harsh line. “Why?”

His question confuses me.

“Why what?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell the police?”

Because Marco owns them.

“Let’s just say that I haven’t exactly been a model citizen myself tonight. Let’s face it. If the police around here weren’t being paid not to do their jobs, half this town would be locked up.” I take a deep, shaky breath. “Especially people like us.”

He stills. There’s no more talking. Only heavy breathing and a battle of wills. He releases one of my hands. I think he’s reaching for his knife. My blood turns cold. I can feel my face pale as my heart starts beating as faster and faster as if it wants to get in as many as possible before the end.

I’m surprised when he doesn’t go for his knife. Instead, his hand travels slowly down my chest into my cleavage.

“No, don’t!” I say, but it’s too late, he’s already yanked on my locket.

“Please just give it back, and let me go,” I plead. Feeling like it’s my real heart he’s torn from my chest. “It’s the only thing in this world that means anything to me. Besides my best friend, it’s all I have.”

I hate the desperation in my voice, but it’s the truth.

He’s silent for a moment. He raises his arms. I flinch, raising my arms over my face defensively. But when nothing happens, I lower them, just in time to see him push back his hood, revealing his face.

“Why?” I ask, closing my eyes knowing full well that the only time a criminal reveals himself to a witness is right before they take them out.

“Look at me,” he demands, holding my face in his hand.

“No!” I say, shutting my eyes tighter.

“Look at me!” he bellows. He’s on me again. This time, he holds my head in his large rough hands. “Open your fucking eyes so you can see me.”

With no other choice than to get my head squished like a turtle under a car tire, I do as he demands. Opening my eyes, I blink through the haze, and when it clears, I’m met with tousled, medium-length, light brown hair, slicked back on the top, shorn close to head on the sides. His nose is slightly crooked like it’s been broken a few times before. The stubble on his square, defined jaw is a few days over needing a shave. A jagged scar runs through his chin like an angry white lightning bolt.

He’s the most fucking beautifully terrifying man I’ve ever seen.

He’s searching my eyes for something, but I don’t know what.

“Why?” I ask in a whisper.

His hands release mine, but he doesn’t step back. He leans in closer, speaking against my cheek in a rumble of a whisper. The strange feeling from earlier comes back as a zap of electricity bouncing around my insides looking for somewhere to ground.

I’m breathing heavy. Our lips are so close, almost touching. He slides one hand off my face, snaking it around my neck, pulling me closer. He starts to answer in a rumble of a whisper, causing goosebumps to rise on my already prickled skin. “Because I want you to see the face of the man who’s just—”

“Where the fuck are you?” calls Gabby from the other side of the wall. “I lost them!”

The moment, whatever it is, is now broken. The man releases me so suddenly I brace myself against the wall to keep from falling. I turn my head toward her voice.

“Gabby!” I shout back.

My heart is beating out of control. Out of habit, I raise my hand to my chest, seeking familiar comfort.

I look up. The man in the hood is gone.

And so is my locket.

About the Author

T.M. (Tracey Marie) Frazier never dreamed that a single person would ever read a word she wrote when she published her first book. Now, she is a five-time USA Today bestselling author and her books have been translated into numerous languages and published all around the world.

T.M. enjoys writing what she calls sexy‘wrongside of the tracks romance’ with morally corrupt anti-heroes and ballsy heroines.

Her books have been described as raw, dark and gritty. Basically, what that means, is while some authors are great at describing a flower as it blooms, T.M. is better at describing it in the final stages of decay.

She loves meeting her readers, but if you see her at an event please don’t pinch her because she’s not ready to wake up from this amazing dream.

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Connect with T.M. Frazier

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For Text Alerts: TEXT “TMFRAZIER” TO 77948

*Standard text messaging rates apply*

MN Forgy’s latest story ‘Love Me Crazy’ is now available

Love Me Crazy, an all-new Modern Day Bonnie and Clyde Romantic Suspense by M.N. Forgy is NOW AVAILABLE!

Synopsis

Legend has it that there’s an intangible red string that binds two souls destined to be together.

No matter the time, place, or circumstance, nothing can break the invisible thread between those two people who are meant to be together.

That’s what it was like between Warner and I—an instant connection, like we’d always been together.
He and I, both from traumatized families, found comfort in one another. The boy with the letterman jacket and charismatic smile. And me, his bohemian princess.

The invisible string pulling us to one another despite the danger our love created.
The town whispered about us.
Our parents threatened us to stay away from one another.
They tried to cut the string and keep us apart.
We simply tied it in chaotic knots, with no hope for ever separating them.
Together, we escaped and became the modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. Our getaway filled with crime and passion.

But will our unbreakable bond uphold the chaos fate brought us, or will our love bleed into a pool of crimson?

Buy links

Amazon US – https://amzn.to/2paA9Zr

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About M.N. Forgy

M.N. Forgy was raised in Missouri where she still lives with her family. She’s a soccer mom by day and a saucy writer by night. M.N. Forgy started writing at a young age but never took it seriously until years later, as a stay-at-home mom, she opened her laptop and started writing again. As a role model for her children, she felt she couldn’t live with the “what if” anymore and finally took a chance on her character’s story. So, with her glass of wine in hand and a stray Barbie sharing her seat, she continues to create and please her fans.

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