The Gravity of Us (Elements #4) by Brittainy C. Cherry
Release Date: April 13th, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Designer: Quirkybird Designs
Book Four in The Elements Series
By Brittainy C. Cherry
Graham Russell and I weren’t made for one another.
I was driven by emotion; he was apathetic. I dreamed while he lived in nightmares. I cried when he had no tears to shed.
Despite his frozen heart and my readiness to run, we sometimes shared seconds. Seconds when our eyes locked and we saw each other’s secrets. Seconds when his lips tasted my fears, and I breathed in his pains. Seconds when we both imagined what it would be like to love one another.
Those seconds left us floating, but when reality knocked us sideways, gravity forced us to descend.
Graham Russell wasn’t a man who knew how to love, and I wasn’t a woman who knew how to either. Yet if I had the chance to fall again, I’d fall with him forever.
Even if we were destined to crash against solid ground.
Hi! I'm Brittainy! Join me as we travel through my mind as a Romance Author. This includes such things as my random thoughts, tricks, tips, things I'm learning, things I'm re-learning, things I'm forgetting, and my weird ways of crafting stories.
Isabelle “Belle” March is a nobody. A nothing. A Peasant. No one even knew who
she was until one of the Royals, Adam “Beast” Castle, decided she was hot
enough to ignore the hierarchy at our school—a hierarchy I myself set in place.
I run this school, and the Upper East Side, too. Here at H.E.A., we stick to a
strict social status, something most of Manhattan does, too. So when Beast
starts dating Belle? All hell breaks loose.
Royals shouldn’t date Peasants, and you’re about to see why.
Oh, and please don’t buy this thinking you know how this story is going to end.
You know nothing. Nobody here at H.E.A. plays by the rules, or follows the
books. The only one who knows anything around here is me…
Adam was a force of nature when he was out there on the field.
There was something almost animalistic in the way he reared his arm back,
calculated the risks, and some how managed to fire off a perfect shot toward
the receiver—more often than not, Prescott—every single time. Every time his
passes were caught, I waited for him to show some sign of his usual cockiness
or even excitement, but he just nodded, slapped his hands together, and did it
again. He was so grave, so focused, and it was clear he took his duties as
quarterback very seriously.
Whereas Prescott danced. Literally. I’d laughed along with the rest of the
crowd as he’d done his thing, but Beast had been too busy talking to his coach
as the defensive lineup trailed onto the field to see it. That’s how the whole
game had gone.
Beast doing his thing, Prescott doing his, and Ella and the Royals all cheering
them along with flips, bounces, and pyramids.
They cheered now, something about the Royals being undefeatable, and the W.W.H.
team going home crying, and the crowd went wild when Ella was flipped in the
air and caught by Elsa, Anna, and Tianna. Prescott grinned from the bench and
blew a kiss at Ella, who beamed, her cheeks red.
Something had changed between them since last night, and they seemed… happy.
Prescott no longer seemed like he was in a prison sentence without parole, and
even Ella had been smiling and joking with her friends while the boys played.
I looked at Adam. He watched the girls, too. His gaze was narrow on them,
almost like he was annoyed at something, but then he shrugged and turned back
to me. When he saw me watching, he grinned, lifted a hand, and waved. Smiling,
I immediately waved back. He pressed his hand to his heart, then slammed his
helmet back over his head.
Snow sighed beside me. “God, can you believe he’s yours?”
“Not really,” I admitted, tugging my slouchy hat lower. “He’s
Anonymous Girls are two New York Times and USA Today bestselling
authors who you’ve probably already read and loved. One day, we were talking,
and we decided to write a series together, and the Tangled Royals series was
born. We live on planet Earth, somewhere in a country, in a
house, and we wrote a lot of books individually, but we’re not about to tell
you how many.
Come on, you didn’t think we’d make it that easy to figure us out, did you?
That’s a secret we’ll never tell.
Today we are celebrating the release of CRAZY OVER YOU by Daisy Prescott. This is the second book in the Love With Altitude standalone series. You can purchase the book during release week for just $2.99, and grab the first book in the series for just .99¢!
CRAZY OVER YOU by Daisy Prescott
(A Love With Altitude Novel, #2)
My savior isn’t prince charming. I’m not that lucky. He’s my worst nightmare. He’s my one night stand from two years ago. And he doesn’t remember me. What happens on vacation doesn't always stay on vacation. Especially in a place like Aspen. I moved to the mountains for my dream vet job. I never expected to run into the man of my dreams. Again. I never thought I'd see her again. My Cinderella didn't leave me a shoe to find her. Not that I'd need random footwear to recognize her. Her kiss is something I'll never forget. Work hard. Play hard. I'm paid to be a nice guy on the slopes, but what I do in my off time isn't always about making good choices. That's the fun of living in a ski town. I stay while the women come and go. Crazy Over You is a standalone romantic comedy and the second book in the Love with Altitude series.
USA Today Bestselling Author Daisy Prescott writes romantic comedies with heart.
Her Modern Love Stories feature characters in their thirties and forties finding and rediscovering love in unexpected and humorous ways. Her Wingmen books star regular guys who often have beards, drive trucks, and love deeply once they fall. Look for her new Rom Com series, Love with Altitude, in 2017.
Born and raised in San Diego, Daisy currently lives in a real life Stars Hollow in the Boston suburbs with her husband, their rescue dog, and an indeterminate number of imaginary house goats. When not writing about herself in the third person, Daisy can be found traveling, gardening, baking, or lost in a good book.
To learn more about Daisy and her writing, sign up for her mailing list here (copy and paste this link): eepurl.com/xhXb5. Send her an email at: daisyauthor AT gmail DOT com Or chat with her on Twitter (@daisy_prescott) and Facebook: /daisyprescottauthorpage, and follow her on Instagram: /daisyprescott
Jaybird was just a nickname my dad gave me when I was born.
But after he died, the name took on a life of its own.
Everyone wants to know me.
But how can they know me when I don’t even know myself?
A year ago, Jayla King had the world at her fingertips.
A loving family.
Two amazing best friends.
A promising music career.
And the heart of the only boy she’s ever loved.
But then everything changed.
When the news hits the streets, that famous rock star and celebrity judge, Marcus King, has suddenly died, the spotlight shifts to his only daughter.
But is she ready to be in the spotlight?
Is that what she really wants?
What if the choice is no longer hers?
About M.A. Foster
M.A Foster was born and raised in Tampa, Florida and is currently suffering from empty nest syndrome in Land O’Lakes, Florida with her husband and her crazy dog, Rocky. When she’s not reading or writing, she’s searching for chocolate.
Stripped Bare is one of those stories that you
know is going to be great from the first page. It's funny, extremely sexy,
emotional and heartbreaking which all combine for a sensational second-chance
This is a modern day Pretty Woman but so much
better! Richard Gere has nothing on Finn McCormick!!
Oh wow. I have been in love with McLaughlin's
writing since the start but this one could very much be my favorite book now by
They don’t call it
the Strip for nothing. . . .
In this sinfully sexy Las Vegas
romance from bestselling author Heidi McLaughlin, a man who has it all reunites
with a woman who takes it all off.
Living in Sin City, Finn McCormick is
no stranger to one-night stands, but the last person he expects to find losing
big on the casino floor is a former high school fling. Even though Macey
Webster’s clearly down on her luck, she’s still a knockout, and she’s dressed
like a stripper—because she is one. Drunk off an unfamiliar cocktail
of lust, pity,
and compassion, Finn offers to pay
Macey’s debts if she cuddles up to him around town . . . and does whatever he
wants between the sheets.
Macey came to Vegas for one reason
only: money. She’s got a young daughter to support, and the tips
really are bigger in Vegas. But when she blows her earnings on
blackjack, her guardian angel is the rich boy who once stole her heart and
never called her back. Although Macey would love to turn the tables on Finn,
she can’t afford to refuse his proposition—and soon she’s enjoying herself much
more than she cares to admit. Macey’s used to baring her flesh, but baring her
soul will take far more courage.
The stench of
deep fry emanates from my clothes. I hate the smell and I know the other girls
can smell it, but I ignore the looks they’re giving me and hustle through the
dressing room to my locker. The older women and the ones that have been
stripping here longer always look down on the younger girls and the newbies.
I’m somewhere in the middle. I stripped here when I was younger, during my
first trimester with my daughter, and then again after she was born when I had
my figure back. Actually, stripping helped me tone as a result of all the pole
work that I had to do. I took some time off after that, but I always come back
because the money is fast and somewhat decent. Each time I leave, though, I say
that it’s for good and that was the last time and yet a few months later, I
always find myself back again, knocking on Lew’s door, and asking for my spot
in the rotation back. Girls come and go around here and in this business you
can’t expect to make a lasting connection with anyone.
I strip down and throw my dress, apron and nylons into my bag as
quickly as possible before the stench of grease becomes any more noticeable. I
change into a thong and bootie shorts, add tassels to my nipples and cover them
with a bra before slipping a tank top over my head and stepping into an old
pair of cowboy boots that I picked up
at the secondhand store. I have an array of costumes meant to hit
the mark on every fantasy a man can have. Cowboys, librarian, naughty
schoolgirl . . . you name it I’m doing it. I need the money. More so now than
ever. My kid is getting older and she’s seeing things she shouldn’t, like her
grandmother being so drunk that she can’t get up to answer the door, or strange
men in the house. She’s ten and shouldn’t have to babysit an adult. Nor should
have to live in the slums, but that’s on me.
Seventeen and pregnant isn’t how I saw my life. I had had enough
of living with barely any food, no new clothes and the strange looks, so I
swore that I was getting out. I was smart, got good grades in high school, but
none of that mattered once I found out I was knocked up and the baby daddy had
already left town. I tried to tell his mother, but she took one look at me and
shut the door. Back then I didn’t, but I do now. I’d take that money and run
right across the tracks, under the bridge and through the fucking blueberry
bushes if it meant my kid wasn’t going to be a victim of a drug deal gone wrong
or end up with a drinking problem by the time she’s a teen.
Morgan though, she’s a good kid who loves to read and is a whiz at
math. She’s all I have in this world and I’ll do anything I have to, to make
sure she has food and clothes.
So I strip at night and wait tables during the day. Depending on
the day or night, one pays better than the other, but they’re jobs that I need.
I have a goal. I want to move Morgan and I into a better neighborhood. One
where kids want to play and not sell drugs. I want her to live in a place where
she feels safe and doesn’t need to hide in the closet of our bedroom because my
mother invited one of her friends over.
My dreams for Morgan are unreachable, I know this, but I try every
day to make them happen. I want such a different life for her that sometimes
when I look out the window of the city bus I’m on and I see other kids her age
walking along the street without a care in the world, I imagine her being one
of those kids. If only . . .
Stripped Bare is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
Heidi is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author.
Originally from Portland, Oregon and raised in the Pacific Northwest, she now
lives in picturesque Vermont, with
her husband and two daughters. Also renting space in their home
is an over-hyper Beagle/Jack Russell, Buttercup and a Highland Westie/Mini Schnauzer,
JiLL and her brother, Racicot.
When she isn’t writing one of the many stories planned for release, you’ll find
her sitting courtside during either daughter’s basketball games.
Heidi’s first novel, Forever My Girl, is currently in production for a major
Today we’ve got the release day blitz for Art of Three by ! We are so excited to bring you this sexy contemporary romance. Check out the release festivities and grab your copy today!
Title: Art of Three
Authors: Erin McRae & Racheline Maltese
Genre: Contemporary Romance
About Art of Three:
Jamie Conway has a charmed life. At 24, he's relocated from Dublin to London to star in his first feature film. Unfortunately, he also has one very big problem: He has a huge crush on his happily married costar.
British heartthrob to middle-aged women everywhere, Callum Griffith-Davies should have more sense than to flirt with his new-to-the-business colleague, but good judgement isn't one of the qualities for which he's known.
Nerea Espinosa de Los Monteros Nessim has better things to do than fret about her husband's newest conquest. She’s busy planning her daughter's wedding at the family's farmhouse in rural Spain. Besides, she and Callum have been married and polyamorous for almost 30 years; she's content to let him make his own bad choices.
But when Nerea flies to London after her artwork is selected for a high-profile museum show, she falls for Jamie too. Soon Callum, Jamie, and Nerea have bigger problems, and surprises, than international logistics. From ex-lovers and nosy neighbors to adult children with dramas of their own, The Art of Three is a contemporary romance that celebrates families, and farce, in all shapes and sizes.
The cab ride to the flat was silent. Nerea sat in the middle. Jamie was acutely aware of her warmth, especially where their thighs were pressed together. At one point Callum shifted, Jamie assumed to put an arm around her shoulders, but Nerea leaned forward ever so slightly. Jamie felt Callum’s hand warm on his back. Fingers slipped up under his jacket. Jamie wondered if it were possible to spontaneously combust from anticipation.
When they got out of the car in front of Callum and Nerea’s building, Nerea frowned and stepped out of her high heels right in the middle of the sidewalk.
“You’re so tiny,” Jamie exclaimed. He hadn’t realized how high her shoes had been. Or how nice it was to be around a woman who was shorter than him. At five foot eight, most of the actresses and models he worked with definitely weren’t.
“I’m not climbing those stairs in these,” she said like Jamie hadn’t spoken, gesturing at Callum with the shoes.
“This is still an annoying flat.”
Callum laughed. “You love the flat.”
“So do you,” Nerea shot back. “Until you hit your head on the ceiling. Again,”
“The place seemed like a good idea when we got it.”
It was obviously an old and fond argument. Jamie felt privileged to witness it. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, nervous all over again. Callum and Nerea had decades of physical and emotional intimacy between them. Was he a fool to think there was room for him at all, even for a night?
Jamie put his doubts aside when Callum gestured for him to follow his wife up the stairs. Nerea swung her hips more than was probably necessary, and Jamie watched her magnificent curves as she climbed the flight ahead of him, her shoes dangling from her hand. Below, Jamie heard the now-familiar sounds of Callum locking the front door behind him.
His footsteps were still somewhere down a flight when Jamie got to the top landing and was met by Nerea’s smile and a beckoning crook of her finger. His mouth went dry; Callum was all very well and drop-dead gorgeous, but Jamie had never kissed someone as stunning and completely out of his league as Nerea before.
“Do you not want to?” Nerea asked quietly when Jamie hesitated. She wasn’t being a tease. She, like Callum, genuinely wanted to know.
“No, no, I really, really want to,” Jamie said, nodding with embarrassing amounts of enthusiasm. “I just….”
How was he supposed to say that this was a very nice dream but he was afraid he would wake at any moment?
Before he could get the words out, Nerea went up on her toes, slid her slender arms around Jamie’s neck, and kissed him.
Jamie sighed into her mouth. He had forgotten how nice it was to hold onto someone smaller and softer than him.
About Erin McRae & Racheline Maltese:
Racheline Maltese can fly a plane, sail a boat, and ride a horse, but has no idea how to drive a car; she’s based in Brooklyn. Erin McRae has a graduate degree in international affairs for which she focused on the role of social media in the Arab Spring; she’s based in Washington DC. Together, they write romance about fame and public life. Like everyone in the 21 st century, they met on the Internet.
Author: Dawn L. Chiletz Title: Confessions of a Carpool Captive Release Date: March 24, 2017 Add to TBR
My name is Liz Foley. I love my accounting job because I’d rather deal with numbers than talk to people.
My best traits:
I have (RBF) Resting Bitch Face.
I give snarky come-backs.
I have no friends.
My worst traits:
I speak in run-on sentences when I get nervous.
I’m attracted to assholes.
Enter Finnigan Walsh – the new guy at work.
His best traits:
He’s kind of hot, I suppose.
He has a working car.
He sings to me and brings me coffee.
Nothing ever gets to him, even when I add more people to our carpool.
His worst traits:
I don’t like him. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
After all, it’s not about how fast you get there. It’s the journey. Right?
Damn this carpool.
You’d better buckle up.
The blinding beams of flashing lights make me quickly refocus my attention. I stretch my neck in an attempt to see five cars ahead. We’re moving at a snail’s pace as usual and I’m certain I’ll get an eye-full of whatever shenanigans are going on today once I get closer. I’m not afraid to admit that I take great pleasure in other people’s driving woes. It’s like watching bad porn; you can’t look away because your eyes are glued open in horror and you’re secretly afraid of missing something. Watching people get pulled over is my one pleasure on this long-ass drive every day. There’s usually at least one good scene a day.
As I inch closer, I can’t help but speculate what happened this time. Once, I swear I saw ten people climb out of a Ford Focus. The only thing that would have made watching them all fall out over each other even more hysterical would have been if they were dressed as clowns.
The officer walks around the side of the shiny, expensive-looking, black SUV just as I inch closer. He curls his finger and the driver steps out. I can only see the back of his head, but he’s wearing a tailored suit and he’s tall, slender, and sculpted. The officer motions to his passenger before rubbing his hand over his face. The driver leans back into the car, I suppose to say something to her. She’s wearing what seems to be a scarf over her head and is completely immobile. I wonder if it’s an old woman. Maybe she’s in shock. What did he do to get pulled over? My mind works overtime trying to decipher his faux pas.
I glance over at the blue notebook on my passenger seat. I love inventing stories. It’s my favorite pastime while I drive. Actually, in general. As I pass people on my commute, I try to decide who they are, where they are going, and what their story is. Maybe someday I’ll get the courage to write a book. But for now, I just keep a notebook of all my favorite highway adventures and journal anything interesting in my day.
The man seems to be tugging on the woman’s arm.
I gasp loudly. He literally pulls her out the driver’s side door as I arrive at his bumper. After my initial shock passes, I almost piss myself laughing. His passenger is a woman, but she’s full of hot air. Her dress blows open in the breeze and I see her perky plastic boobs. What kind of man has a blow-up doll? Maybe he takes her everywhere in case he needs to get off. I picture him curled up next to her at night, stroking her hair.
He positions her next to him as if she’s standing and places his arm around her. I’m laughing so hard, I feel tears in my eyes. This is going to be the beginning of a great story, I can feel it.
Dawn L. Chiletz is the author of The Contest, Waiting to Lose, Enough, Can’t You See, The Fabulist and Confessions of a Carpool Captive.
“Sarcasm and humor are my favorite tools. I write whatever I’m feeling. Sometimes that means a romance, a mystery, a thriller, or a tear-jerker. I like giving everything a little twist and I try to stay original. I hope people like not knowing what to expect from me. I never know what I’ll write next either.”
Dawn currently resides in Illinois with her husband, two boys, and three dogs. When she’s not binge writing or reading, you’ll most likely find her on Facebook or playing taxi driver to her kids.