Sunday, December 3, 2023

New Release Spotlight Tour: Perfect Little Lives


Discover the new book by Amber and Danielle Brown, Perfect Little Lives, today.

Perfect Little Lives

Authors: Amber and Danielle Brown

ISBN: 9781525805059

Publication Date: December 5, 2023

Publisher: Graydon House/HarperCollins 


Book Summary:

LibraryReads December Bonus Pick!



Simone’s mother was murdered when she was thirteen. When her father was convicted, everything changed. Overnight, Simone went from living in a wealthy white neighborhood to scraping by.

Ten years later, Simone has given up on her dreams and lives a quiet life, writing book reviews and getting serious with her boyfriend. But with a true crime documentarian hounding her for a scoop and a surprise encounter with her childhood next-door neighbor, Hunter, the past seems set on haunting her. And after Hunter reveals that his father and her mother had a years-long affair, Simone is determined to find out who really killed her mother.

Simone is convinced that all evidence points to Hunter’s father, a renowned judge who had everything to lose if his affair—and his nascent love child—came to light. Playing the game from all sides, Simone enlists Hunter’s help in her investigation into his family—whether he realizes it or not. But is she so desperate for closure that she'll risk imploding her carefully rebuilt life?

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From PERFECT LITTLE LIVES by Amber and Danielle Brown. Copyright 2023 ©Amber and Danielle Brown. Published by Graydon House.



A fat, heavy tear trickles down my cheek when I yank the final hair from my left areola, and it’s not even twelve seconds after I exchange my tweezer for the disposable razor I grifted from Reggie’s top drawer that blood is gushing down the inside of my thigh. I pause at the shocking appearance of crimson and immediately wonder if this laceration is punishment for being impatient or an indictment of my anti-feminism. Part of me thinks hustling to shave the stray hairs that still stubbornly sprout along my bikini line, despite the six agonizing laser removal sessions I’ve suffered through, is a reflection of how deeply I’ve internalized the particular brand of misogyny that says any hair below the brows on a woman is gross and revolt­ing, and the fact that I’m doing this for a man, not myself, is in itself gross and revolting. I’ve also already chugged sixteen ounces of pineapple juice this morning, for obvious reasons. 

The other part of me thinks it’s complete bullshit, that being hyper hygienic and having a general disdain for visible body hair is simply considerate, because feminism and a preference for hairlessness shouldn’t be mutually exclusive. I don’t actually think Reggie has ever noticed the hairs on my tits, or even the splattering on my toes that I compulsively remove once a week,

so in a way maybe I am actually plucking the hair from my nipples for my own aesthetic appreciation, not because of the patriarchy, and my feminism is not actually in jeopardy at all.

My dad used to get on me all the time for fixating on tiny, inconsequential details, a habit I no doubt inherited from my mom. But I really am torn about whether I should be judging myself or just owning the part of my personality that is un­apologetically vain as I glance at my phone again to see if Reg­gie has gotten back to my three where r u and did u leave yet and you’re still coming, right? texts, which is what I was doing when I slashed myself in the first place.

There is no reply.

No ellipsis to show he’s typing.

I sigh because I can’t remember the last time my thigh has felt even a trickle. Granted, the deep red liquid heading to­ward the marble tile is vastly less pleasant than the warm ropes that Reggie sometimes sends down my adductor, or wherever I request, but it’s warm and sticky just like it, and in the most bizarre way, watching it drizzle down my skin turns me on a little. After checking my phone again to no avail, I bandage the nick on my leg and toss the razor, assuming Reggie is al­ready packed in a subway car like a sardine. He is not ghosting me. He is not cheating on me. He just doesn’t have reception and can’t write back yet.

Another thing my dad is constantly grumbling about, usu­ally while he scans the days’ headlines in the Star-Ledger I bring him every Sunday, is how highly intelligent people can con­vince themselves of really dumb shit. So there’s that.

I look myself over, naked except for the fresh bandage and the glint of gold around my neck, and wish I could see myself the way Reggie sees me. I notice the flaws first. The blemishes. The discoloration. The faded scars I still have from childhood. He notices everything he likes and never has time to consider that I could even potentially see a single flaw in my own body  because his hands and mouth are always busy pawing and suck­ing before he has the chance. Well, that’s how it used to be. Before Goldstein & Wagner claimed his soul. Now I think his perpetual delirium from the lack of sleep gives him a soft-focus gaze and that’s why he thinks I’m so hot.

Most of my dresses are of the silky, shapeless variety, but the one I pick for tonight is also obscenely short, more reminiscent of a chemise than a dinner garment, something I would never wear out alone. But whatever I wear has to pull its weight to­night. My period is two days away and Reggie squirms even at the idea of a speck of blood. I’m virtually celibate five days every month because even bloody hand jobs freak him out, but he does run to Duane Reade without complaint whenever I’m almost out of tampons and always grabs the right box de­pending on my flow, so it balances out. He’s put in at least ten hours at the firm today, but I’m totally down for doing all the work to get us both off, so yes, this is the dress, and I’m going to make sure he orders something light with plenty of green on his plate so he doesn’t get the itis on the ride back to my place.

Still, as much as I am craving tongue and hands and a long, indulgent dicking down to sustain me while my ovaries wreak havoc, I would happily handle it myself once he’s asleep and take a couple hours of slow, deep conversation instead. A little shit talking, but mostly watching him eat, and laughing the way we used to back when we first met, when he was finishing the last leg of law school and had a fraction of the responsibilities he does now. I try not to romanticize the days when we were fresh and new, because it was fresh and new and so of course it was fucking romantic, but I’m human and can only look back on the inception of our relationship through a halcyon lens.

My apartment is a microscopic studio in a freshly gentrified Bed-Stuy, all I can afford on my own with my salary, which, five hundred miles toward the center of the continent, could get me a mortgage on a cute starter home. It can feel claustrophobic with more than two people inside it at once, but when it’s just me here, it’s perfect. The galley kitchen is at the front and my bed is made semiprivate by the two white open-shelf bookcases I have packed with too many books, some vintage with gorgeous, battered spines, most pre-loved before I got my hands on them. Reggie thinks I have a problem since I’ve lost count of how many I have and because I have dozens more books littered around the four-hundred-square-foot place. He had the nerve to toss around the h word once. I deadfished him that night, and he never used it again. Though if I’m being ob­jective, there is barely a flat space that isn’t occupied by at least one paperback, but that’s only because I am an actual slut for an aesthetic floppy copy of almost anything. Reggie doesn’t get it. He thinks hardbacks are supreme, and I think it’s tied to the fragility of his masculinity somehow, especially since he’s barely a recreational reader, which makes his opinion hardly justified. Then again, I’m a fiend for his dick when it’s floppy too, so maybe I’m the one with a complex.

I run through my standard series of poses using my floor-length mirror to check how far I can lean over without flash­ing my nipples or my ass, and frown at my visible panty line. They’re seamless, allegedly, but I can see the faint indent where they grip my skin beneath the delicate fabric of my dress. I step out of them and shuffle through my top drawer for a much less conspicuous thong, but then shut it empty-handed and decide that it’s fine, Reggie has had a long week and it’s only Tuesday. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the surprise.

I’m ten pages away from knocking another contrived, pre­dictable thriller written by a man that swears the narrative is feminist but comes off glaringly misogynistic off my TBR by the time I hear the jingle of Reggie’s keys outside the door to my unit. I toss the book aside without dog-earing my current page, though I feel an instant pang of regret and swing my legs off the arm of my couch as I reach for my phone to see what time it is. It’s been two hours since I gashed my leg. I wait for the door to fly open and brace myself to be seen, for his jaw to drop when he sees me.

But nothing happens.

Reggie doesn’t push in. I don’t hear that jingle anymore.

Before I fully convince myself that I’m suffering from hallu­cinations courtesy of my surge of pre-menstruation hormones, I straighten out my dress and cross the space to glance through the peephole and be sure. Reggie is on the other side, head bent over, his thumbs beating away at his phone’s screen, whatever email he’s writing taking precedence over our date. Envy erupts like a geyser inside me.

It’s hard to stay pissed at him once I swing the door open and look him over without the distorting view of the peep­hole. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms that are corded with thick veins, the left one covered in a massive tribal tattoo I still don’t know the meaning of. So slutty of him. His tie is loosened around his neck, but not all the way undone, and I can still smell the remnants of whatever soap he showered with this morning.

“Hey.” He hasn’t looked up yet. “Sorry I didn’t hit you back. I was swamped.”

I don’t reply, will not dignify anything he says with a re­sponse until he properly acknowledges me and all the work I put in to look edible for him tonight. He finally hits send and lifts his chin, a guilty smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. I don’t know why, with all this pent-up anticipation, his double take at my dress still makes me blush, and I sort of resent that part of me. Though, at the same time, it feels good to be taken in like this.

“Thought you said seven thirty,” I say, fighting to not sound too accusatory, but it’s not much of a battle since the way he’s checking me out is softening me right up like a stick of butter in a microwave.

His eyes are moving quickly, like they are being pulled downward by some invisible force. “This new?”

He reaches for my amorphous dress, his touch rough enough for me to worry about the preservation of its barely-there straps.

“Figured you’d like it,” I say.

I would have much preferred an immediate and sincere apol­ogy for keeping me waiting, but I relinquish my simmering irritation and let him feel me up as I lean in to give him a kiss. He settles a hand on the small of my back, definitely wanting me closer, wanting more, but I pull away before he gets too dis­tracted by the dessert and no longer has an appetite for the meal.

“So.” I look for my purse. “Where you taking me?”

He smirks. “To the bed.”

Authors’ Bio:


Amber and Danielle Brown both graduated from Rider University where they studied Communications/Journalism and sat on the editorial staff for the On Fire!! literary journal. They then pursued a career in fashion and spent five years in NYC working their way up, eventually managing their own popular fashion and lifestyle blog. Amber is also a screenwriter, so they live in LA, which works out perfectly so Danielle can spoil her plant babies with copious amount of sunshine. Their debut Someone Had to Do It, was a Library Reads pick.


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Friday, December 1, 2023

Discover Legacy of Evil today and #Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will award a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

A banished detective. A body drained of blood. Mexico’s vampires are all too human.

After graduating from Harvard, Artemas Salcido is determined to transform Mexico’s justice system and joins the federal police. He begins solving crimes committed by the rich and powerful and is banished to the village of Bustamante.

On a college field trip to Bustamante’s nearby caverns, the daughter of a US senator is brutally murdered. The FBI, the international media, and a Mexican hit squad tasked with making the problem go away descend on the village. When Mexico’s attorney general tells Artemas his career depends on his cooperation, Artemas realizes his life is at stake.

As other grisly murders occur, Artemas’s investigation uncovers an ancient blood cult connected to a powerful financial cabal that stretches from mediaeval Europe to Mexico's most influential politicians and businessmen. When he disputes his violent colleagues’ bogus solution to the crime, Artemas is marked for death.

Can Artemas’s determination to bring fairness to Mexico’s justice system prevail against the overwhelming power of his government—or will it prove fatal …?

Read an Excerpt

Then it struck him. He, Artemas Salcido, illegitimate son of a former governor, Harvard graduate, and member of the federal police force, might have the only copy of the list containing both the group’s membership and its members’ individual holdings! If so, he possessed a weapon more powerful than he had thought. And he was in even more danger than he’d imagined. The trick would be to figure out how best to use the information and stay alive in the process.

About the Author:
Award-winning author James Peyton’s intriguing settings and memorable characters in his thrillers come from his years of international work and travel. The first two editions of his four-part thriller Artemas Salcido series are now available on Amazon; Legacy of Evil and Terror Crossing, to be followed by La Buchona and Not For Sale. Peyton’s stand-alone adventure thriller, The Royal Fifth, was released in 2022. James has had five acclaimed books published on Mexican cooking, history, and culture. Peyton's writing reflects a depth of understanding and a unique perspective that sets his work apart.

Buy the book for only $0.99.


a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thursday, November 30, 2023

Book Spotlight/Giveaway: Once Upon a Bookstore


Once Upon a Charming Bookshop
by Heatherly Bell
(Charming, Texas, #6)
Published by: Harlequin Special Edition
Publication date: November 28th 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance

Time to rewrite their story?

He’d always simply been her best friend. But when Noah Cahill moved back to town, bookstore owner Twyla Thompson knew something was different. Was it holiday memories of the loss they’d both shared or Noah’s surprising decision to reignite a dangerous career? Their solid friendship had been through so much, yet now Twyla grew breathless every time Noah was near. Why wasn’t Noah—handsome, fun, but never one to cross the line—showing any signs of stopping?

From Harlequin Special Edition: Believe in love. Overcome obstacles. Find happiness.

Charming, Texas

Book 1: Winning Mr. Charming
Book 2: The Charming Checklist
Book 3: A Charming Christmas Arrangement
Book 4: A Charming Single Dad
Book 5: A Charming Doorstep Baby
Book 6: Once Upon a Charming Bookshop

Sneak Peek Excerpt:

Then with little warning other than the sudden shine in his eyes, he hauled her by the neck to him and kissed her, square on the lips. It was a deep and long kiss that didn’t seem to have a beginning. Nor did it have an end. He pulled her tight and they were hip to hip, belly to belly. Even through the shock of the totally unexpected, she kissed him back. She sunk her fingers into his hair and kissed him with everything she had in her. With every last inch of longing wrapped up in her, saved over the years and packed away where the raw intensity of the emotion couldn’t destroy her.

She fisted his shirt. She ran her hands up and down his back, feeling the muscles tense and bunch.

It was over just as quickly and then they were both panting, staring at each other.

“I’m sorry.” Noah took a step back, leaving a healthy distance between them. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have done that. That’s wrong.”


“It’s okay,” she stammered because she didn’t know what else to say in the moment.

Yes, it was wonderful, please kiss me again, because I think maybe I’ve always loved you?

“It’s just…that was wrong of me. I don’t feel that way about you.”

Oh, God. There went her heart, pierced and sliced into tiny bits.

I don’t feel that way about you.

No, he was right. This was wrong. And if he had regrets then damn it, so did she.

“Me, neither. I don’t feel that way about you.”

“I know.”

The certainty in his voice broke her heart a little. How could he be so sure she wasn’t straight out lying, trying to save her pride?

She chewed on her lower lip. “So, let’s just forget it. Pretend the kiss never happened.”

“But…we’re okay?”

Worry and regret filled those dark puppy dog eyes. Not long ago, she would have understood. But now she knew what it was like to be kissed by Noah and her heart shattered to think it would never happen again.

“We’re okay. You’re probably right, huh? Bad idea.”

“Yeah, I just don’t want to…you know…” He ran a hand through his hair, looking desperately vulnerable, like a man searching for a lifeline.

And what kind of friend would she be not to throw one to him?

“It was just, well, okay, maybe we’re both lonely. And it’s after midnight. I…got um, confused.” She had no idea what she was saying but it sounded good, and he seemed to be receptive.

“Yeah, so did I.”

“And I’ve got a date tomorrow night so that could be awkward.”

Now she’d lied to her best friend, but she’d also kissed him within an inch of his life, so either way she was in brand new territory here.

He quirked a brow. “You have a date? Who is he?”

“Some guy.”

“Some guy? Does ‘some guy’ have a name?”

“Of course he has a name, Noah. He’s some guy I just met.” She crossed her arms. “Weren’t you leaving?”

He scowled. “Yeah. I have an early day tomorrow.”

“Bye.” She closed the door before he could say another word.

Now she was going to have to find herself a date.

Blitz-wide giveaway (INT)
  • $25 Amazon gift card


Bestselling author Heatherly Bell was born in Tuscaloosa, Alabama but lost her accent by the time she was two. After leaving Alabama, Heatherly lived with her family in Puerto Rico and Maryland before being transplanted kicking and screaming to the California Bay Area. She now loves it here, she swears. Except the traffic. 

Over 200,000 copies of Heatherly's books have been sold, many of them translated into two languages. 

Heatherly also writes sweet and wholesome books under the pen name of Maria Michaels. She is represented by Elaine Spencer of The Knight Agency.

Luke’s unwavering loyalty to Lexi and her family gives this sweet romance unexpected integrity ...Readers looking for a tender romance that leans more toward the emotional than the physical will find this very satisfying." ~ Publishers Weekly/Booklife review on Country Gold.

"Heatherly Bell writes romance that will capture your heart." ~ Marina Adair, New York Times bestselling author. 

"What a thoroughly delightful story. I adored it." ~ Lori Wilde, New York Times bestselling author on Lucky Cowboy. 

Wednesday, November 29, 2023

New Release Spotlight/Giveaway: A Barista for Christmas by J. Hali Steele

Title:  A Barista for Christmas

Author: J Hali Steele

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: Dec 8, 2023

Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 64 pages

Genre: Romance, Christmas Romance, Gay, Second Chance, Age Gap

Add to Goodreads


With a lot of hard work, Aspen Ferris’ dream of owning his own coffee shop has finally come true. Unfortunately, renovations are almost complete on a nearby mall that will house a chain coffee establishment. Not only that, Christmas is a few weeks away! When the electricity goes out at the mall, the construction company’s owner visits Asp’s store. Insulting the pushy brute gets Aspen thoroughly told off and… kissed! A kiss he can’t forget.

Dandridge St. Clare speeds to his worksite to handle an electric outage and misses his morning coffee. Locating a place to grab his caffeine fix, he’s offended by the barista at Your Coffee Cup. Anxious and upset, Dan pulls the man over the counter and can’t resist kissing the handsome jackass. On top of that, he enjoys the best cup of coffee ever. More unsettling still, he can’t erase the taste or feel of the man’s mouth. Dandridge returns for more of both.

The holidays are approaching and neither man expects much. Both get more than they bargained for.


A Barista for Christmas
J. Hali Steele
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 J. Hali Steele

Three stores from the corner, a wall of plate glass gave Aspen Ferris a great view all the way to the end of the block. He removed his net cap as he watched a big silver pickup emblazoned with a Rayburn & St. Clare Construction logo tool around the corner, causing a car to slam on brakes in the intersection. Tires screeching turned pedestrians’ heads. “Did you see that?”

“Wow!” Eric Winters, Asp’s oldest friend and partner, gawked over the counter. “Close call.”

“Animals. They’re animals.” Asp finished restocking the sugar packets in the ceramic bowls on each table, checking napkin holders and filling glasses with wooden stirrers as he made his rounds.

“Asp, don’t stoop to the level of name calling.”

“It’s true.” His mood darkened under Eric’s scolding. “They’re stone-aged he-men.”

“For goodness sakes. Stop.”

Almost complete, the renovations to the stores in the nearby strip mall included competition Aspen resented. The Bean and Leaf had already opened, and they were hanging dreadfully festive Christmas decorations all over the damn store. Aspen hated Christmas. Morning rush at his shop, Your Coffee Cup, had dwindled to a crawl. Staring out the window brought him no comfort. “Can you believe The Bean and Leaf is already prepared for the holidays? Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away and I haven’t even purchased decorations.” Malls nearer the city were probably alight with holiday cheerfulness and teeming with shoppers Asp had no wish to join. It seemed a trip to Walmart was in his future as he’d volunteered to shop for decorations, thinking it might help him get a handle on his angst regarding Christmas.

“At least business was brisk this morning.” Air huffed from Eric’s mouth. “Get prepared, Asp. It is our first winter open and people will decorate all around us. I know it’s not your thing.”

Not anymore. Aspen ignored his partner’s hint. “Traffic is picking up. It looks like the whole town is heading to grab a fancy cup of coffee and factory-produced pastry.”

Eric wiped around the coffee pot he had filled before coming to stand at a table near Aspen. “Most travel past here to get on the highway into Philly. You know that.”

“They’re going to kill our business just when we hoped to hire permanent staff.” Open twelve hours a day, six days a week, Aspen and Eric took turns working Saturdays with help of part time high school students. Sundays they were closed. “If we only had a few more months to get established. Why did the section of the building housing The Bean and Leaf have to be finished with its renovations before other shops?”

“Asp, Rayburn & St. Clare Construction provides jobs for struggling families in town.”

“We can’t compete with chain shop prices.” Asp sat on the windowsill. Pulling his legs up, he tucked knees under his chin.

“Don’t put your dirty shoes up there!”

“Sorry.” He settled his feet back on the floor. “Our coffee is better. Richer.”

“More expensive. Lowering prices, we might scrape by until people discover Your Coffee Cup serves the best in town. For now, Asp, we could buy pastries in bulk and forego homemade from the bakery across town. Maybe we should consider staying open later.”

“Your Coffee Cup is not a restaurant, Eric. We agreed six in the morning to get the early traffic and close at two. Now we’re coming in at five to set up and staying after five cleaning up since we serve food until four.”

“Business is better.”

“I yielded to your suggestion of salads and sandwiches along with a soda fountain, but this is a coffee house and we’re green. Doesn’t the environment mean anything?”

“Adding food, I don’t know if we’re just a coffee shop anymore. Our bottom line has improved with regular customers stopping in for meals to take home.” Eric sighed. “Hell, I don’t know if the idea of serving only coffee was ever feasible.”

“Our salads have become popular and most folks seem to appreciate our meats are sliced fresh for each sandwich.” Shaking his head, Asp added, “They’ll want french fries and a pickle next.”

“You’re right. We better order potato chips.” Eric laughed so hard, the table he rested his hip on squeaked against tile.

“Smart ass.”

Eric sighed. “If we had a dime for every time someone asked for a carryout coffee cup…”

“Your coffee cup. Bring your favorite travel container or we provide mugs they can use should they remain on site. And we do have carryout cups.”

“Go-green paper cups which sometimes spring a leak before they get out the door. And I’m doubling them to alleviate complaints.”

“I hoped we could make a difference.”

“I hoped to entice more of the workers from the site to at least see what we have to offer,” Eric shot back.

“Last thing we need. A bunch of rowdy construction workers tracking in.”

“If I recall correctly, big with an air of rowdiness is just your type. Anyway, they’ll be gone soon enough.” Eric winked. “Your loss. You need to get laid, my friend.”


Changeling Press | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes | Smashwords

Meet the Author

Growl and roar -- it's okay to let the beast out. -- J. Hali Steele

J. Hali Steele wishes she could grow fur, wings, or fangs, so she can stay warm, fly, or just plain bite the crap out of... Well, she can't do those things but she wishes she could. A winning ex-quarter mile drag racer, J. Hali often angles to get her butt back in the driver’s seat!

Multi-published, best-selling author of romance in Paranormal, Fantasy, and Contemporary worlds which include ReligErotica and LGBTQ stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters, and angels collide—they collide a lot! When J. Hali's not writing or reading, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap, and a cup of her favorite beverage of the moment.

Website | Facebook | Goodreads


One lucky winner will receive a $10.00 Changeling Press Gift Code! 

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Tuesday, November 28, 2023

Discover Never Plan a Billionaire's Wedding by Julia Kent


OUT NOW—Never Plan a Billionaire’s Wedding (Whatever It Takes, Maine, Book 1) by Julia Kent (@jkentauthor) 

Release Date: November 28, 2023

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance

Cover Designer:  Staci Hart

Audiobook Narrators:  COMING SOON

Tropes/Themes:  Billionaire, Forbidden Romance/Breaking Contract, Mistaken Identity, Wedding, Engagement, Reunion Romance, Second Chance Romance, Romantic Comedy,

Rule #1: Don’t fall in love with the groom


Stalker exes. Momzillas. Drunk uncles. Hurricanes. Jealous siblings. Paparazzi.


You name it, Kari Whitevelt has seen it all.


And that’s why brides and grooms hire her.


Because she makes it all go away.


Wedding Protectors, Inc., is here to make sure that special day stays special.


Whatever it takes.


No matter what.


But when her newest client turns out to be her own long-lost high school sweetheart, rising tech star billionaire Caleb Mikelmas, suddenly Kari’s not sure whether she’s protecting the wedding couple —


Or her own heart.


Tech billionaire Caleb never thought he had a chance, much less a second chance with his first love and high school sweetheart, Kari. When a case of mistaken identity turns their reunion into one big misunderstanding, unraveling his feelings about the one who got away while supporting his brother’s nuptials means facing old demons.


And kissing Kari.


He likes kissing Kari far more than that whole demon thing.


But if kisses were enough, Kari would already be his wife.


Maybe it’s time to revisit the past and right some wrongs.


One vow at a time.


Welcome to the Whatever It Takes series:


Every bride needs something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue -


But you know what brides don't need?




Welcome to Wedding Protectors, Inc. Have a spritzer or a latte or some lovely Zen tea and sink into a comfortable chair in our sunlit offices as we listen to your wedding problem – and form the perfect solution to every possible contingency.


We plan for everything.


Except our own love lives.


But that's not your problem. ;)


Buy Links:  

Amazon US: 

Amazon UK: 

Amazon AU: 

Amazon CA: 

Apple Books:



Google Play: 





Audible:  COMING SOON 

Amazon Audio:  COMING SOON 


 Sneak Peek Teaser:

Carolina was introducing him to his former fiancée.

Fine. Near fiancée. It had been a promise ring, not an engagement diamond, but still.

The run he'd just finished was apparently unnecessary from a cardio standpoint, since his heart was now racing, crashing into his ribs as if it were fleeing a crime scene. Not that he was the bad guy. But still.

Kari. No way.

It was his Kari. And okay, maybe she was never formally his fiancée, but until college and distance broke them up, they always planned on it. He’d given her a promise ring in high school, so that was close enough.

When Carolina had mentioned she was meeting two wedding professionals named Katie and Carrie, he'd heard it as the more familiar spelling. She'd never spelled it out, and she hadn't bothered to tell him Kari's last name.

“Caleb, have you swallowed your tongue along with your manners? Shake the poor woman's hand, for goodness sake!” Carolina crooned, giving him side-eye while managing a puzzled smile at Kari as the two stood awkwardly in front of each other, gaping.

Kari had changed in some ways, for sure, but it was her, alright. Her brown hair was a darker shade but still thick and shiny, framed in soft layers around her face, brushing the edges of straight, strong shoulders. He recognized those whiskey brown eyes, deceptively sleepy unless you knew her, knew that behind them, her brain was working constantly at warp speed.

She was taller now–or anyway, she didn’t wear four-inch heels back then–so instead of having to bend to kiss her lips, he could just dip his head.

If he wanted to kiss her.

If wanting to kiss her wasn’t the only thing he could think about.

Author Bio:


New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. Since 2013, she has sold more than 2 million books, with 4 New York Times bestsellers and more than 21 appearances on the USA Today bestseller list. Her books have been translated into French, German, and Italian, with more titles releasing in the future.


From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire she met in a romantic comedy).


She lives in New England with her husband and three children where she is the only person in the household with the gene required to change empty toilet paper rolls.


She loves to hear from her readers by email at, on Twitter @jkentauthor, on Facebook at @jkentauthor, and on Instagram @jkentauthor. Visit her at


Social Media Links:









Amazon Author Page:



Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

New Release Spotlight Tour: Perfect Little Lives

  Discover the new book  by  Amber and Danielle Brown, Perfect Little Lives, today. Perfect Little Lives Authors: Amber and Danielle Brown...