REVIEW & NEW RELEASE: Moonshot by Alessandra Torre

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Synopsis:


Baseball isn’t supposed to be a game of life and death…


The summer that Chase Stern entered my life, I was seventeen. The daughter of a legend, the Yankees were my family, their stadium my home, their dugout my workplace. My focus was on the game. Chase … he started out as a distraction. A distraction with sex appeal poured into every inch of his six foot frame. A distraction who played like a god and partied like a devil.

I tried to stay away. I couldn’t.
Then, the team started losing.
Women started dying.


And everything in my world broke apart.

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+Alessandra Torre  does it again!

I fell completely in Love with this story.

And of course the pinstripes & Twix will always remind me of this Chase & Ty!


I love baseball & of course the fact that this book was set in my hometown of the Bronx, New York where I lived totally had me in awe!

Chase & Ty had chemistry they minute they met and it instantly had us wanting to know whether or not they could fight it or not.

This story is full of angst, mystery, suspense, sex, love and murder that had me guessing till the reveal of who had done it.

And boy, I was shocked and never expected it! 

Yes I cried and ached for the love that Ty & Chase had for one another.  Their communication was lacking to each other throughout and there were times I wanted to slap both Chase & Ty upside the head from not just telling each other what they really wanted from one another.

I enjoyed how the author batted us up into the world of baseball and made me want to cheer for the pinstripes of Chase! (I am & always will be a NY METS fan but after this book, I might cheer for the pinstripe Yankees secretly dreaming of Chase)

Just this was a well constructed book that is a perfect read to get your Baseball & Mystery Sexy fix on!

Go 1 click!  It's a must read for 2016! 

**ARC kindly provided by author in exchange for an honest review***

5 Cherries Popped

    
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✿༻ GOODREADS GIVEAWAY ༺✿*

Open to US, CA & GB

Head over to Goodreads to enter for the chance to win a 1 of 2 signed copies of Moonshot by Alessandra Torre. Giveaways end on July 8th. Sign up for your chance to win today! 
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Author Photo

Alessandra Torre is an award-winning New York Times bestselling author of thirteen novels. Her books focus on romance and suspense, all with a strong undercurrent of sexuality. Torre has been featured in such publications as Elle and Elle UK, co-hosted Dirty Sexy Funny with Jenny McCarthy, as well as guest blogged for the Huffington Post and RT Book Reviews. She is also the Bedroom Blogger for Cosmopolitan.com.

You can learn more about Alessandra on her website at www.alessandratorre.com, or you can find her on Twitter (@ReadAlessandra) or Facebook.

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EXCERPT REVEAL: Ball Peen Hammer by Lauren Rowe

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Excerpt

Keane looks around the small motel room while I sit in a rickety chair, watching him. He seems nervous, though I can’t imagine why. Isn’t this what he does for a living?
“There isn’t a lot of room to maneuver in here,” Keane says, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’m not gonna be able to do most of my usual moves.”
            “No judgment here,” I say. “Just jiggle a little bit and I’m sure I’ll be duly impressed.”
            Keane rolls his eyes. “I don’t jiggle, Maddy. I dance.”
“Okay, gyrate. Writhe. Shake your booty. Whatever. I’m just saying I’m easy to please.”
Keane twists his mouth, still surveying the small space. “I can’t do any of my acrobatics or flips in here. This is gonna be pretty lame, actually.” He sighs. “And I’ll definitely have to use the bed for some stuff. Okay? Otherwise, there’s no place to maneuver.”
            I bite my lip, trying not to smile. “Do whatever you think is best,” I say. “I won’t know the difference. It’s my first lap dance, remember?”
            Keane furrows his eyebrows adorably. “Okay. But just so you know I’m usually way more exciting than what you’re about to see.”
            I purse my lips and flare my nostrils, trying to keep a huge smile at bay. Why the heckity-heck does Keane seem so freaking nervous? “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll mention the cramped performing space when I write my Yelp review.”
“Hang on.” Without warning, he leans over me, giving me a whiff of his delicious, soapy scent, grabs ahold of either side of my chair, and rotates me a quarter turn so I’m facing the length of the narrow “alley” between the beds and the dresser. “Okay, that’s better,” Keane says. “Gives me a little more room to work with.” He grabs a shirt from his duffel bag and throws it over the lamp on the nightstand, further dimming the already low lighting in the room. “Can I use your laptop to play some music?”
“Sure.” I motion to my computer on the bed and tell him the password.
After calling up something on my computer, Keane places the laptop onto the dresser to my left. “Press play on the song when I cue you,” he says.
“Yes, sir.”
Keane positions himself a few feet in front of me, his head bowed, his hands clasped in front of his crotch, his legs spread into an athletic stance, but before he can do anything else, I burst into a manic giggle.
Keane looks up. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I just realized I’ve paid a male stripper for a private lap dance in a motel room.” I snicker. “Okay. I’m good now. Proceed.” I exhale and shake out my arms.
After a beat, Keane puts his head down again, but then immediately raises his face to look at me again. “Picture colorful lights swirling around the room, okay?”
“Ooooh. Aaaaaaah. Pretty.”
Keane levels me with the most hilariously annoyed expression he’s ever flashed at me (which is saying a lot). “Are you gonna be sardonic this entire time, or can you at least try to act like a normal pickle with a dollar bill?”
“Sorry. I will most definitely relax and act like a normal pickle with a dollar bill, starting now.”
“Thank you.” He takes a deep breath, shakes out his arms, clasps his hands in front of his crotch again, and lowers his head. “Cue music,” he says.
I dutifully reach over to my computer and press play on the song Keane’s got cued up on YouTube: “Pony” by Ginuwine, of course.
The song begins blaring in the small room. But Keane doesn’t move. To the contrary, through the first familiar chords of the iconic song, Keane remains stock-still, apparently letting anticipation build the same way Channing Tatum did when he danced to this song in Magic Mike. And I must say his tactic is working like a charm: I’m transfixed.
But, still, Keane doesn’t move, other than to subtly flex the muscles on his forearms.
Finally, after a few bars of the song, Keane begins moving his hips and slowly touching his chest over the fabric of his tight black T-shirt—an understated move that most definitely piques my interest—and when the song reaches Ginuwine’s vocals, Keane’s magnificent body finally springs to animated life, jerking and gyrating to the beat of the music.
            Whoa. Hotness. I had no idea Keane could move like this. He’s as fluid as mercury.
            “Woohoo!” I scream. “Yeah, baby! Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!”  
            Keane smirks at me, as if to say, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He thrusts his pelvis in rapid succession and then glides back a step, his body shuddering.
            “Channing’s got nothing on you, baby!” I shout.
            Keane’s body is bending and twisting now, undulating like an upright worm along with the song.
“Yeah, baby!” I shout.
In one easy motion, Keane leans completely back, touches the ground with his fingertips, and then pops back up to standing.
            “Wow!” I scream.
            Keane’s suddenly on his hands in the tight space and then back on his feet, and then he’s dry humping the floor with jaw-dropping thrusts, much to my shrieking delight. Then he’s back on his feet, peeling off his T-shirt while thrusting his pelvis into the air like he’s in the throes of extremely rough sex. Holy hell, Keane’s sweatpants are riding so low on his hips, it’s a wonder they’re not falling off when he’s moving like that.
            “Woohoo!” I shriek, laughing gleefully.
            Keane throws his T-shirt onto the bed and shoots me a smolder so intense, my breathing hitches.
            “Sexy,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, though I’d intended to scream the word.
            In a flash, Keane’s standing over me as I sit in my chair, his body heat wafting over me. Right in time with the music, he picks my chair up off the ground with me in it, making me shriek, and then quickly releases my seat to the ground while holding my body up by my ass.
            I open my mouth to say, “Hey, I remember that from the movie,” but before I can get the words out, Keane’s got my thighs on his shoulders and my crotch in his face.
“Oh my . . .” is all I can manage to eek out as Keane shakes his head into my crotch like a voracious dog with a bone. But before I can say anything more, Keane’s strong arms are cradling my back and lowering me confidently onto the bed.
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Wow.”
In a flash, Keane’s on top of me, his forearms resting on either side of my head, his pelvis dry-humping me to the beat of the song.
“Whoa. At least buy me a drink first, big guy,” I say.
Keane flips me onto my stomach and, an instant later, his pelvis is driving into my ass in cadence with the sexy music.
            “Okay, now I’m gonna need dinner and dessert,” I say.
            Keane exhales from behind me and stops moving. After a beat, he flips me over onto my back and straddles me with his strong thighs, his knees on either side of my hips, his sweatpants riding low. “Are you not feeling this at all?” he asks, his breathing labored.
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. I feel my cheeks blush a deep crimson. “Am I supposed to be reacting differently? I’m sorry.”
“No, I just mean . . .” He stares down at me for a long beat, his blue eyes blazing, his muscles tensing. “This isn’t turning you on at all?”
Oh. Um. Of course, it is. I mean, you’re gorgeous. Look at you. And your smoove mooves are amazing. I especially liked that back-door-action simulation.”
            There’s a long beat of silence as Keane stares at me, apparently rendered speechless.
Damn. I feel like I’m saying exactly the wrong thing here. “And, hey, you did that oral-sex simulation from the movie even better than Channing Tatum,” I add, filling the awkward silence.
Keane’s eyes are burning. Wordlessly, he grabs my hands and places them above my head on the bed, his eyes boring holes into my face like laser beams. But he doesn’t speak.
“Um,” I say. I swallow hard. Whoa, this is kinda hot all of a sudden. “And, um, when you ripped off your shirt,” I whisper, my heartbeat suddenly raging in my ears, “that part was really . . . ” I trail off, too flustered to finish my sentence. Wow, this is suddenly really, really hot.
Keane lets out a shaky breath but, still, he doesn’t speak. He slides his palms into mine and clasps my fingers. “That part was really what?” he finally asks softly, his eyes flickering with heat.
“Cool?”
Keane smirks. He releases my fingers and slides his palms out of mine, down past my wrists and forearms, over my armpits, all the way down to my ribcage, where he finally lets his hands come to a rest mere inches from my breasts.
I open my mouth to speak, thinking I should fill the silence between us, but I’m suddenly too overcome to form words. Every inch of the flesh Keane just touched is tingling like crazy. And I’m hyper-aware of the placement of his warm, strong hands on my body. If he moved them a mere inch, he’d be touching my breasts.
“Did I do anything at all to get your motor running?” Keane asks softly, his eyes locked with mine, his pelvis heavy on top of me.
I let out a long exhale to steady myself. I’m really not sure how to answer Keane’s question. Honestly, this thing he’s doing to me right now is getting my motor running ten times more than the actual “lap dance” he performed a few minutes ago.
When I don’t reply to his question, Keane slides his hands up from my ribcage—over my armpits, past the sensitive undersides of my arms, across my forearms and wrists—and into my palms again.
But he remains quiet.
Good God, what’s he doing to me? He’s wreaking havoc on my body with the simplest of touches.
Keane leans over me, his eyes burning like coals, his fingers intertwined in mine. “You weren’t feeling it at all?” he whispers.
 “Oh, no, I totally was,” I sputter. “It’s just that . . . um . . .” I begin. I take a deep breath, gathering myself. “When you did your whole stripper-thing, it felt like you were doing a Channing Tatum impression—like you were playing a character, rather than just being Keane.” I swallow hard. “And . . . um.” I shut my mouth. Keane’s begun gliding his hands from my palms down toward my torso again, and I’m too overcome with tingles to speak further.
“And . . ?” Keane coaxes as he runs his hands down and then back up my arms, his body hulking over mine.
My heart is pounding like a freakin’ jackhammer. And so is my crotch. What the heck is this shirtless boy doing to me, pinning me here on the bed and caressing my bare flesh like that? He’s turning me into a freakin’ pile of goo. “And . . .” I swallow hard again.
“Tell me,” Keane says.
Shoot. I really don’t think I should say the words on the tip of my tongue. Once I say them, I won’t be able to stuff them back in again, after all—and, as sexy as Keane is—and, damn, he’s most definitely sexy—I have no intention of nudging this friendship of ours outside the friend zone.
Or do I?
 “And . . ?” Keane prompts again, his face on fire.
I exhale a long, shaky breath. “And I think,” I begin, my tongue thick and clumsy in my mouth. “Um. It turns out . . . I think Keane Morgan is . . . much . . . sexier . . . than Ball Peen Hammer.” I take a deep breath. “Much, much sexier.”


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Ball Peen Hammer is a sexy romantic comedy about a stripper who will make you swoon!

Meet Keane in this STANDALONE Romance
Releasing on July 25th!
(No Prior reading required)

Add it to your TBR: http://bit.ly/1WOAJbg

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Blurb

Keane Morgan wouldn’t return any of my calls or texts, and I was pissed as hell about it. I didn’t want to drive from Seattle to L.A. with the guy any more than he wanted to drive with me, but I had no frickin’ choice in the matter--at least, not if I wanted to use his brother Dax’s coveted parking spot at UCLA.

Okay, so it turned out Keane was objectively gorgeous, and, fine, pretty funny, too. But did he have to be so damned in love with himself? I mean, jeez, the cocky way he flashed those dimples was just so orchestrated. And, honestly, what kind of guy uses the phrase “baby doll” with a straight face? Oh, that’s right: the kind of guy who’s a male stripper.

Yup, the cocky jerk turned out to be Seattle’s answer to Magic Mike, a stripper known as “Ball Peen Hammer”--which meant Keane Morgan was emphatically not the kind of guy I’d ever fall for.

Not. At. All.

No freakin’ way.

Well, until Keane convinced me to fall for him, that is.

Which I did.

Hard.
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About the Author
Lauren Rowe
USA Today and international bestselling author Lauren Rowe lives in San Diego, California, where, in addition to writing books, she performs with her dance/party band at events all over Southern California, writes songs, takes embarrassing photos of her Boston terrier, Buster, spends time with her family, and narrates audiobooks. Much to Lauren’s thrill, her books have been translated all over the world in multiple languages and hit multiple domestic and international bestseller lists. To find out about Lauren’s upcoming releases and giveaways, sign up for Lauren’s emails atwww.LaurenRoweBooks.com or say hi to her on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram (@laurenrowebooks).


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EXCERPT REVEAL: No Pants Required by Kim Karr

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No Pants Required by Kim Karr Release Date: July 11th Genre: Contemporary Romance Cover Design: Hang Le

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Synopsis:

I, Makayla Alexander, am on a mission to reinvent myself. So when a super hot guy boards the plane and flashes his rock hard abs, I pay attention. When he sits next to me and offers me his nuts, I can’t resist. But when I choke on them and he tells me I need to work on my gag reflex, I realize I might be in over my head. Before I know it we’re in the lavatory and attempting to join the Mile High Club. Let me just say this...anyone who tells you it’s easy to get it on at 37,000 feet isn’t telling you the truth. After the flight attendant busts us for getting frisky in the air, the only thing that can ease my total and complete mortification is the simple fact that I am never going to see him again. Hours later, I can’t help but wonder if fate will ever allow me to become a new version of myself. Because Fate, she’s a fickle bitch. Case in point...my seatmate is my new next-door neighbor. Even with the whole fate thing we have going on, we are so not meant to be together. He’s all cool and sexy in that make love not war kind of way. Guys like him are dangerous. With that bring-you-to-your-knees body, that handsome-as-hell face, and that dirty, dirty mouth, I guarantee one glance from him wets every girl's bikini bottoms. And then there’s me…the quirky girl looking to find herself in California. All I want to do is learn to let loose. Say words like peace and groovy. Bury my toes in the sand. Who knows, maybe even have sex on the beach. Unable to get him out of my head, I entertain the thought of being more than just friends. I know the idea is absurd. And yet, I go with it. You see Camden Waters gets me. Really gets me. Like no other guy has before. On this 7-mile stretch of paradise, I decide to keep things simple and just have fun...that is until fate decides to screw with me, again. Can two people hell-bent on finding themselves realize the search should have ended the day they met? Find out in No Pants Required—a sexy, funny, romantic stand-alone, that will have you hurrying to grab your bathing suit and rushing to the beach to check out every lifeguard on duty.

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Excerpt

“I hate flying because I’m scared of heights…or, more specifically, falling. I don’t like bungee jumps, being near ledges, or even looking down from a tall building. It sets my heart racing and gives me a little vertigo. And sometimes on bridges, I need to walk on the inside of the sidewalk and look down at the ground to get across.” Now he looks sympathetic. “My sister is afraid to fly. Her solution is to pop a Xanax as soon as she boards. It usually holds her over until landing.” “I thought about it,” I admit. His eyes are still hidden by the dark frames of his Wayfarers, and I really want to see them. “Can I get you something?” the blond flight attendant asks him. The way she looks at him, I’m surprised she doesn’t say, “Coffee, tea, or me?” He glances toward her. “Yeah, sure. I’ll have a Corona with a lime and a couple bags of peanuts.” She reaches in her pocket and hands him two bags of Planters. “Here you go. And I’ll be right back with that beer.” She’s off in a jiffy, eager beaver that she is. “Miss,” he calls. She turns. “Some chocolate, too, if you have any.” Her responding nod is almost seductive. “Thanks,” he tells her and shoves one of the bags in the pouch in front of him. The sexy stranger then rips open the other bag and pours some of the peanuts in his palm. “Here, have some of my nuts.” Nervous laughter spouts out of me and even though I’d never eat out of a stranger’s hand, I find myself considering trying his nuts. Yes, I thought that. The rakish tilt of his lips mesmerizes me as he continues to hold out his palm. “Come on, you know you want to try my nuts.” Aha! He is so trying to be dirty. Still, it makes me laugh enough that my wineglass starts shaking in my hand. “Oh, no, that’s where you’re wrong. My mother taught me never to take food from a guy I don’t know.” Emptying all the peanuts into his palm, he crumples the empty bag and shoves that into the pouch, too. I hate when people put their trash there, but it doesn’t seem to bother me right now because I’m a little preoccupied watching him. As if he has a secret, his lips tip up a little more. He has the best smile. Unexpectedly, he pinches one of the peanuts and lifts it. “It’s ‘don’t take candy from strangers.’” There’s a hush in the air. It takes me a moment to find my breath. “Right. That’s the saying.” His hand moves closer to my lips. “First of all, this isn’t candy, it’s protein, and I doubt your mother ever told you not to eat protein.” My breath hitches. “No, she didn’t.” “And secondly, we’re not strangers. We’re seatmates. I don’t know who you think I am, but I wouldn’t offer my nuts to just anyone.” Laughter roars out of me. Somehow he manages to stop himself from completely losing it. With his smirk in place, he’s determined to get me to eat this peanut and moves his fingers even closer. “Come on, try it. You know you want to.” As shocking as it seems, I find myself opening for him, and he drops the capsule of protein right on my tongue. For one brief second I imagine taking his hand and holding it to my mouth so I can lick the salt off his fingers. Oh, geez, what is wrong with me? Last night must have gotten me more worked up than I realized. “Good, right?” he breathes. Feeling flushed from head to toe, I give him a nod while chewing, then I swallow. When I do, I start to choke. The peanut is stuck. Oh, this can’t be happening. Coughing profusely, I try to unlodge it and force it up. Concern flashes in his eyes. “Are you okay?” I nod and manage to say, “I’m fine. Just went down the wrong pipe.” No longer concerned for my safety, he asks, “Trouble swallowing my nuts?” Still choking, I have no choice but to spit the peanut into my cocktail napkin. Real lady-like. His eyes are on me. I can feel them. When I look up, there’s a coyness about him. That grin turns devilish. “I’m sorry you choked on my nuts, but you might want to work on your gag reflex.” Dirty, dirty, boy. “What would I do without your wit?” He quirks a brow and sits back. “You know you prefer me sitting next to you than sitting alone.” “You think so, do you?” “I know so. I mean, come on, you’ve already eaten my nuts and we’re still on the ground. Who knows what will happen when we’re in the air. With me by your side, you won’t have any time to think about being nervous.” There is a dip in my belly, and we haven’t even taken off yet.  

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About the Author:

Reader * Writer * Coffeelover * Romantic Kim is a daydreamer. So much so that if daydreaming could be a hobby it would be her favorite. It's how her stories are born and how they take root. An imagination that runs wild is something to be thankful for, and she is very thankful. :) She grew up in New York and now lives in Florida with her husband and four kids. She's always had a love for reading books and writing. Being an English major in college, she wanted to teach at the college level but that was not to be. She went on to receive an MBA and became a project manager until quitting to raise her family. Kim currently works part-time with her husband and with the rest of her time embraces one of her biggest passions--writing. Kim wears a lot of hats! Writer, book-lover, wife, soccer-mom, taxi driver, and the all around go-to person of her family. However, she always finds time to read. She likes to believe in soul mates, kindred spirits, true friends, and Happily-Ever-Afters. She loves to drink champagne, listen to music, and hopes to always stay young at heart.

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