sexta-feira, 8 de maio de 2015

♡ Release Blitz + #Giveaway ♡ Last Kiss (Hitman #3) by Jessica Clare & Jen Frederick @RSofRomance




Meet Naomi & Vasily in the newest addition to the Hitman Series

NOW AVAILABLE!
Published by Berkley, a division of Penguin

**The first book in the series, Last Hit,
has been optioned for a movie
by Flame Ventures.**


Last Kiss
Hitman #3
by
Jessica Clare & Jen Frederick





✾ Synopsis ✾


Naomi: When I was kidnapped I thought only of survival. I don't thrive well in chaos. That's why I gave my captors exactly what they wanted: my skill with computers. Making millions for a crime lord who kept me imprisoned in his basement compound kept my family safe. When he was taken out, I thought my ticket to freedom had arrived. Wrong. I traded one keeper for another. This time I'm in the hands of a scarred, dark, demanding Russian who happens to be the head of the Bratva, a Russian crime organization. He wants my brain and my body. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued, but I can't be a prisoner forever... no matter how good he makes me feel.

Vasily: At a young age, I was taught that a man without power is a puppet for all. I've clawed — and killed — my way to the top so that it is my heel on their necks. But to unify the fractured organization into an undefeatable machine, I need a technological genius to help me steal one particular artifact. That she is breathtaking, determined, and vulnerable is making her more dangerous than all of my enemies combined. But only I can keep her safe from the world that she now inhabits. Soon, I must choose between Naomi and Bratva law. But with every day that passes, this becomes a more impossible choice.










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✿ Excerpts ✿


✤ Excerpt 1 ✤


"I told you I don't like to be touched. Do you have a hearing deficit?" She frowns. "Because at first I was concerned that perhaps it is your English, but you seem to speak it quite well. Maybe it is your hearing then? You are young to have hearing problems. Is it hereditary? The most common birth defect is diminished hearing. Genetics are responsible for at least sixty percent of hearing deficits in infants so it's most likely your hearing loss is due to your parents. Were one or more of your parents hearing challenged?"

I look at her blankly.

"Deaf. That's what I mean by hearing challenged. Challenged is the word you're supposed to use instead of other things. Like instead of mute, voice challenged. Or instead of handicapped, it's physically challenged. I learned that in college. I'm socially challenged, but maybe it doesn't translate into Russian. You're Russian, right?"

"Yes. What does it matter?"

"It doesn't. There was a Russian student in my art history course. Your accent was similar. I remember him telling me he was from a certain region — southern maybe? I didn't much like the course. My advisor forced me to take it, saying that I needed some liberal arts to make my education well rounded, but learning about painting and politics did not assist me in creating better code. I like to write code. Code makes sense. Art does not."





✤ Excerpt 2 ✤


"Do you wish for me to touch you?"

I nod, sucking in a breath when his thumb skates across my lower lip. I should be thinking GERMS BACTERIA CONJUNCTIVITIS HERPES SKIN CONTACT PATHOGENS but all I can focus on is how skittery and excited his touch makes me. My pulse jumps, and I realize that I'm as aroused now with him talking to me and touching me with his fingers as I was in the bathroom when I masturbated.

He pulls his hand away again, and I realize his other is gripping my shoulder, his arm wrapped around my back. I'm pulled against his chest, and I feel oddly secure here against him. Then, Vasily moves his fingers in the air again, as if to get my attention. I watch as his free hand now moves to my knee and firmly presses it back, nudging my legs apart.

And I'm helpless to protest. I want this. I want to know what's going to happen when he touches me. I'm throbbing and aching with need, and my breath is coming as small, gasping little pants that are registering even in my distracted mind.

"Are you still unsettled?" he asks in a low voice.

"No," I whisper, my tone matching his. "I'm aching."

He groans softly, and then his hand glides up the inside of my thigh, the backs of his fingers skimming along my leg. Then, Vasily's hand moves and he is cupping my pussy. He feels scorching hot against me, and just the sensation of his skin touching mine is making me anxious.

"You are very wet," he rasps, and I notice curiously that his breathing is as rapid as my own. One of his fingers presses forward, parting the lips of my pussy and pushing in. "Very wet."

"I can't help it. It's a natural reaction to stimuli, but I understand if it disturbs you—"

"I like it." His voice is a guttural growl against my ear, and I shiver. I didn't realize how close he's pressed to me but I can feel his breath on my neck, and his head is canted toward mine, as if he is telling me secrets. "I like that your wetness is for me."

"I don't know if—" I begin to protest, but his finger taps against my clit, and I gasp, completely and utterly distracted by that quick touch. It feels... different to have a man do it for me. Very different. Intense. Raw. I grab his hand at the wrist and press my flesh against his fingers, asking for more.

"Tell me what you want, Naomi."

"More." I press his hand again, breathless, and my hips twitch. "Start with an even rhythm and circle the hood of my clit. Over time, speed up and increase the frequency of touches. You can change the pattern as you go but don't let up until I come."

He laughs again, and I stiffen, but then his finger begins to move against my clit, stroking it in tiny circles like I told him. "I like that you tell me exactly what you want, Naomi. There are no games with you."

I'm confused at that. Isn't that what he wants me to do? But then a second finger follows the first, and he's rubbing wide circles around my clit, and adding an extra little stroke every now and then, and it feels like he's taking my flesh between his fingers and just rubbing rubbing rubbing... And I love it.

"Just like that," I tell him, closing my eyes and falling against his shoulder. I hold my knees open wider so he won't stop touching me, and my hips begin to move, involuntarily following his fingers as he touches me.

"Do you like this?" His voice is rough, biting, and so close to my face.

I nod without opening my eyes, letting the sensations take over. "It feels much better when you do it," I tell him, and cry out when one of his fingers dips lower and touches me... deeper. "What are you doing?"

"I am seeing if you like more touches." His nose nuzzles against my face, and I press against him, seeming to need his caresses as much as I need his touch on my clitoris. "Are you frightened?"

"No, but I like the other touch better," I tell him as his finger circles lower. "That one just makes me ache."

"It makes your cunt ache to be filled," he tells me. "Someday, you will let me fill it for you."

I don't reply; I don't need to, because he circles a finger at the entrance to my core a moment longer, and then shifts his hand. My fingers graze over his, exploring — I feel too good to open my eyes and leave the sea of sensations — and I realize he's now working my clit with his thumb. His finger presses deeper again, and I gasp when he sinks it into me.

I'm riding his hand.

He murmurs something in Russian and I feel his mouth press against my brow.

Then, as if he's a car that's changed gears, he begins to press his thumb against my clit rapidly. His speed is so fast that he practically feels as if he's vibrating... and these motions carry down to the thick finger that's buried deep inside me.

I've never experienced this double sensation before, and it's overwhelming.

I bite my lip, and when that won't hold my feelings inside, I burst into noisy gasps and my hands start clawing at him, at his shirt. I don't know what I need, but this feels like too much. It's overwhelming and twice as powerful as anything I've ever done to myself. "Stop, stop," I breathe, even as I press my legs further apart and lift my hips against his hand.

"Vasily, stop. Vasily!"

"Keep saying my name like that, Naomi."

"Vasily, please." I pull at his shirt, practically butting my head against him as I writhe against his hand. "I need... something... more... not as fast. Too much!"

But he keeps twitching that intense thumb against my clit, stroking his finger inside me. He's not stopping. If anything, he's going faster.

And all of a sudden, my body can't handle it anymore. I burst and a hard, choked noise rushes out of my throat, and my body clenches and I'm coming, coming, coming, endlessly coming.

I feel as if I'm being torn apart by pleasure so intense it's making my toes curl even as the breath leaves my lungs. And all the while, I gasp like a dying fish and cling to his shirt.

Hypothesis? Destroyed.





✿ Teasers ✿













✿ The Series ✿


Last Hit
Hitman #1





❀ Buy Links ❀

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Last Breath
Hitman #2





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Last Hit: Reloaded
Between Breaths #2.5





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Last Kiss
Hitman #3








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Last Hope
Hitman #4








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✧ Pre-Order ✧

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✿ The Authors ✿


✤ Jen Frederick ✤


Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog. She's been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at jensfrederick@gmail.com



✽ Author Links ✽

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✤ Jessica Claire ✤


This is a pen name for Jill Myles.
Jill Myles has been an incurable romantic since childhood. She reads all the 'naughty parts' of books first, looks for a dirty joke in just about everything, and thinks to this day that the Little House on the Prairie books should have been steamier.

After devouring hundreds of paperback romances, mythology books, and archaeological tomes, she decided to write a few books of her own - stories with a wild adventure, sharp banter, and lots of super-sexy situations. She prefers her heroes alpha and half-dressed, her heroines witty, and she loves nothing more than watching them overcome adversity to fall into bed together.



✽ Author Links ✽







✿ Giveaway ✿






♡ Release Week Blitz + #Giveaway ♡ Fury (The Seven Deadly #3) by Fisher Amelie @FisherAmelie @InkSlingerPR





We have been dying to bring you this Release Week Blitz for Fisher Amelie's FURY!

FURY is a New Adult Contemporary Romance and the third book in Fisher Amelie's The Seven Deadly Series!!

Grab your copy today and if you haven't had a chance to read the entire series yet, get on it IMMEDIATELY!



Fury
The Seven Deadly #3
by
Fisher Amelie

Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romance

Release Date: May 4th 2015





✾ Synopsis ✾


Revenge is an euphoric thing. Trust me on this. Nothing compares to the release you get when you ruin someone's life. When they've stolen important things. Things that didn't belong to them. Things I revel in making them pay for.

What? Have I offended you? I'm not here to appeal to your delicate senses. I have no intention of placating your wishes or living within your personal belief system nor do I care if you hate me. And you will hate me. Because I'm a brutal, savage, cold-blooded murderer and I'm here for my revenge.

I'm Ethan Moonsong... And this is the story about how I went from the world's most sacrificing man to the most feared and why I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.












❀ Buy Links ❀

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✿ Excerpt ✿


I took a deep breath as my fingers found their purchase and pulled out my keys. The key I needed somehow hit home and the lid sprang open, the knives staring at me, daring me. I watched them, waited for them to tell me what to do, but nothing came. They laid still, gleaming in the moonlight waiting for me too, it seemed. I sat in the passenger side seat, one boot still on the gravel, and made the first move. Raising a trembling hand toward the temptation, my fingers felt the cool length of each blade.

The rage still burned in my veins and I felt myself sobering, hesitating. No, I kept hearing. Pick them up, a voice said, so I did. Their weight felt good in my hands, comfortable. I breathed three breaths before gripping their handles and twirling them quickly in my palms. Even drunk, I could slaughter anything that moved. I was made to hunt. And hunt you shall, the voice urged.

I nodded and stood, shutting the passenger side door, tucking the blades into the back of my jeans, and camouflaging them with my shirt. My boots echoed with each step back toward the bar, heavy and dark like the night that surrounded me, like the thoughts in my head.

The adrenaline seared through my body, heightening every nerve, intensifying every sense. My heart pounded like a bass drum in my chest, pressing painfully against my ribs. My skin burned with anticipation.

I reached for the door handle.

"Where do you think you're going?" a voice whispered, startling me.

I stopped, one hand on the handle. "Finley, go home," I ordered her.

She stood from her leaning position against the outside wall of the bar, out of the shadows, and walked toward me. Her eyes seared through me. She came to me, stood closely, the heat from her body enveloping me.

"No, I don't think I will," she told me, looking up into my eyes. "At least not alone."

She stood tenaciously, fearlessly. I noted how much taller she was than Cricket and it was a little bit intimidating to me, like what she said was going to happen whether or not I liked it. I respected her and I didn't know why. I stared at her hard, but she didn't budge. No, instead, she strengthened her own resolve, her jaw tightening with the decision and glared back even harder. She said and did things with such righteous authority, I felt powerless to her. I'd never felt that way before about a woman. It wasn't pushy or irrational, it was simply as it was going to be.

My eyes and face relaxed the moment I acquiesced. "Fine."

Her body followed suit and she nodded once, grabbing my arm and leading me toward my truck. Her hand reached into my jeans pocket, sending an inexplicable electrical charge through me, which I promptly chose to ignore, and yanked out my keys.

"Get in," she ordered and I obeyed.

She threw herself into the driver's side and slammed the door shut, sticking the keys in the ignition and turning only once. The engine started, daring not to further goad her. The stereo kicked on, belting something indicative of the moment we were leaving behind us, full of bass and a sharpness so edgy it echoed through my chest and head.

She shoved the truck in reverse, throwing her arm over the back of the bench, and her stare found mine. It was a solid look, packed full with a storm of unspoken words. Without breaking her gaze, she shifted into drive. She held there for a moment, driving her disappointment in me deep down into my soul before finally looking ahead to the end of the parking lot. I know I'm toxic, Finley, I thought, but that didn't stop my mouth from retching awful thoughts.

"You have no reason to be pissed at me," I told her, practically begging her to speak.

She didn't say a word as she pulled out onto the road with more punch than the Finley I knew normally would have, turning toward the interstate. I had no clue where she was taking us, but I wasn't about to ask.

Just make her turn around, I thought. Tell her you won't do anything.

I opened my mouth to speak but caught a glimpse of her hair whipping about her determined face from the open windows and forgot what I was going to say. I turned my gaze toward the windshield. The light from the headlights exposing just enough of the road to make me nervous at the speed we were traveling. One hand found the dash to steady myself.

"What's wrong, Ethan?" she asked.

"Huh?" I asked, whipping my head her direction.

"Too fast for you?"

"No."

"Liar," she said, calling me out.

I wiped my palms down the thighs of my jeans. "Slow down," I said, swallowing.

"Oh, now you want to play it safe?" Her eyes narrowed. "You're so selfish, you know that?" she asked. I was taken aback. She'd never talked to me like that.

She leisurely drove across lanes as if traveling more than a hundred miles per hour was completely normal.

"What?" I demanded, feeling alert. The adrenaline had sobered me quickly.

"You're selfish. And stupid. Let's not forget stupid."

My blood boiled. "Whatever, Finley."

"Whatever, Finley," she mocked. "Don't you know I'm suffering? That I'm the only person in the world who suffers? Can't you see that I'm determined to be foolish, Finley?"

"What do you know of suffering?" I asked, incensed.

Wide eyes met mine and her jaw clenched as she pulled over, slamming us to a stop. Her hair flew forward from the force before settling onto her chest and shoulders.

"I know more about suffering than you could ever possibly imagine. You don't know shit! So you got your heart broken. So what! There are worse things, you know. There are things out there that would curl your toes to know about, Ethan."








✿ Book Trailer ✿







✿ The Series ✿


Vain
The Seven Deadly #1








❀ Buy Links ❀

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Greed
The Seven Deadly #2








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✿ The Author ✿


Fisher Amelie resides in the South with her kick ace husband slash soul mate. She earned her first 'mama' patch in 2009. She also lives with her Weim, Jonah, and her Beta, Whale. All these living creatures keep the belly of her life full, sometimes to the point of gluttony, but she doesn't mind all that much because life isn't worth living if it isn't entertaining, right?

Fisher is the author of The Seven Deadly Series, The Sleepless Series, and The Leaving Series, and was a semi-finalist in Amazon's Breakthrough Novel Award.



✽ Author Links ✽

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✿ Giveaway ✿







♡ Sales Blitz ♡ Escaping Reality (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1) by Lisa Renee Jones @@lisareneejones @RSofRomance




ESCAPING REALITY is
book one in The Secret Life of Amy Bensen series
and it is now ON SALE for just $1.99 (reg. $7.99)


Escaping Reality
The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1
by
Lisa Renee Jones





✾ Synopsis ✾


At the young age of eighteen, tragedy and a dark secret force Lara to flee all she has known and loved to start a new life. Now years later, with a new identity as Amy, she's finally dared to believe she is forgotten — even if she cannot forget. But just when she lets her guard down, the ghosts of her past are quick to punish her, forcing her back on the run.

On a plane, struggling to face the devastation of losing everything again and starting over, Amy meets Liam Stone, a darkly entrancing recluse billionaire, who is also a brilliant, and famous, prodigy architect. A man who knows what he wants and goes after it. And what he wants is Amy. Refusing to take "no" as an answer, he sweeps her into a passionate affair, pushing her to her erotic limits. He wants to possess her. He makes her want to be possessed. Liam demands everything from her, accepting nothing less. But what if she is too devastated by tragedy to know when he wants more than she should give?












❀ Buy Links ❀

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✿ Excerpt ✿


Chapter One


Amy

My name is all that is written on the plain white envelope taped to the mirror.

I step out of the stall inside the bathroom of Manhattan's Metropolitan Museum, and the laughter and joy of the evening's charity event I've been enjoying fades away. Fear and dread slam into me, shooting adrenaline through my body. No. No. No. This cannot be happening and yet it is. It is, and I know what it means. Suddenly, the room begins to shift and everything goes gray. I fight the flashback I haven't had in years, but I am already right there in it, in the middle of a nightmare. The scent of smoke burns my nose. The sound of blistering screams shreds my nerves. There is pain and heartache, and the loss of all I once had and will never know again. Fighting a certain meltdown, I swallow hard and shove away the gut-wrenching memories. I can't let this happen. Not here, not in a public place. Not when I'm quite certain danger is knocking on my door.

On wobbly knees and four-inch black strappy heels that had made me feel sexy only minutes before and clumsy now, I step forward and press my palms to the counter. I can't seem to make myself reach for the envelope and my gaze goes to my image in the mirror, to my long white-blond hair I've worn draped around my shoulders tonight rather than tied at my nape, and done so as a proud reflection of the heritage of my Swedish mother I'm tired of denying. Gone too are the dark-rimmed glasses I've often used to hide the pale blue eyes both of my parents had shared, making it too easy for me to see the empty shell of a person I've become. If this is what I am at twenty-four years old, what I will be like at thirty-four?

Voices sound outside the doorway and I yank the envelope from the mirror and rush into the stall, sealing myself inside. Still chatting, two females enter the bathroom, and I tune out their gossip about some man they'd admired at the party. I suddenly need to confirm my fate. Leaning against the wall, I open the sealed envelope to remove a plain white note card and a key drops to the floor that looks like it goes to a locker. Cursing my shaking hand, I bend down and scoop it up. For a moment, I can't seem to stand up. I want to be strong. I have to be strong. I shove to my feet and blink away the burning sensation in my eyes to read the few short sentences typed on the card.

I've found you and so can they. Go to JFK Airport directly. Do not go home. Do not linger. Locker 111 will have everything you need.

My heart thunders in my chest as I take in the signature that is nothing more than a triangle with some writing inside of it. It's the tattoo that had been worn on the arm of the stranger who I'd met only once before. He'd saved my life and helped me restart my life, and he’d made sure I knew that symbol meant that I am in danger and I have to run.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting a wave of emotions. Once again, my life is about to be turned upside down. Once again I will lose everything, and while everything is so much less than before, it's all I have. I crumble the note in my hand, desperate to make it, and this hell that is my reality, go away. After six years of hiding, I'd dared to believe I could find "normal", but that was a mistake. Deep down, I've known that since two months ago when I'd left my job at the central library as a research assistant, to work at the museum. Being here is treading water too close to the bridge.

I straighten and listen as the women's voices fade before the room goes silent. Anger erupts inside me at the idea that my life is about to be stolen from me again and I tear the note in tiny pieces, flush them down the toilet and shove the envelope into the trash. I want to throw away the key too, but some part of me won't let that happen. Probably the smart, unemotional part of me that I hate right now.

Unzipping the small black purse I have strapped across my chest and over my pale blue blazer, that despite my tight budget, I'd splurged on for this new job, I drop the key inside, sealing it away. I'm going to finish my party. Maybe I'm going to finish my life right here in New York City. The note didn't say I'd been found. It only warned I could be found. I don't want to run again. I don't. I need time to think, to process, and that is going to have to wait until after the party.

Decision made, I exit the stall, cutting my eyes away from the mirror and heading for the door. I do not want anyone to see me right now when I have no idea who me is or will be tomorrow. In a zone, that numb place I've used as a survival tool almost as many times as I've tried to find the meaning of that symbol on the note, I follow the soft hum of orchestra music from well-placed speakers, entering a room with a high oval ceiling decorated with magnificent artwork. I tell myself to get lost in the crush of patrons in business attire, while waiters toting trays offer champagne and finger foods, but I don't. I simply stand there, mourning the new life I've just begun, and I know is now gone. My "zone" has failed me.

"Where have you been?"

The question comes as Chloe Monroe, the only person I've let myself consider a friend in years, steps in front of me, a frown on her heart-shaped face. From her dark brown curls bouncing around her shoulders to her outgoing personality and fun, flirty attitude, she is my polar opposite and I love that about her. She is everything I am not and hoped I would become. Now I will lose her. Now I will lose me again.

"Well," she prods when I don't reply quickly enough, shoving her hands onto her hips, "where have you been?"

"Bathroom," I say. "There was a line." I sound awkward. I feel awkward. I hate how easily the lie comes to me, how it defines me. A lie is all that I am.

Chloe's brow puckers. "Hmmm. There wasn't one when I was there. I guess I got lucky." She waves off the thought. "Sabrina is freaking out over some donation paperwork she can't find and says she needs you. I thought you were doing research When did you start handling donor paperwork?"

"Last week, when she got overwhelmed," I say, and perk up at the idea that my new boss needs me. I don't need to leave. I need to be needed even if it's just for tonight. "Where is she?"

"By the front desk." She laces her arm through mine. "And I'm tagging along with you. I have a sixty-year-old admirer who's bordering on stalker. I need to hide before he hunts me down."

She tugs me forward, and I let her, too distracted by her words to stop her. She's worried about being hunted but I am the one being hunted. I thought I wasn't anymore. I thought I was safe, but I am never safe, and neither is anyone around me. I've lived that first hand. I felt that heartache of loss, and while being alone sucks, losing someone you care about is far worse.

My selfishness overwhelms me and I stop dead in my tracks to pull Chloe around to face me. "Tell Sabrina I'm grabbing the forms and will be right there."

"Oh. Yes okay." Chloe lets go of my arm, and for a moment I fight the urge to hug her, but that would make her seem important to me, and someone could be watching. I turn away from her and rush for a door, and I feel sick to my stomach knowing that I will never see her again.

I finally exit the side of the building into the muggy August evening, and head for a line of cabs, but I do not rush or look around me. I've learned ways to avoid attention, and going to work for a place that has a direct link to the world I'd left behind hadn't been one of them. It had simply been a luxury I'm now paying for.

"JFK Airport," I pant as I slide into the back of a cab, and rub the back of my neck at a familiar prickling sensation. A feeling I'd had often my first year on my own, when I'd been certain danger waited for me around every corner. Hunted. I'm being hunted. All the denial I own won't change my reality.


* * * * *

The ride to the airport is thirty minutes and it takes me another fifteen to find locker 111 once I'm inside the building. I pull it open and there is a carry-on-sized roller suitcase and a smaller brown leather shoulder bag with a large yellow envelope sticking up from inside the open zipper. I have no desire to be watched while I explore what's been left for me. I remove the locker's contents, and follow the sign that indicates a bathroom.

Once again in a stall, I pull down the baby changer and check the contents of the envelope on top. There is file folder, a bank card, a cell phone, a passport, a notecard, and another small sealed envelope. I reach for the note first.

There is cash in the bank account and the code is 1850. I'll add more as you need it and until you get fully settled. You'll find a new social security card, driver's license, and passport as well. You have a complete history to memorize and a résumé and job history that will check out if looked into. Throw out your cell phone. The new one is registered under your new name and address. There's a plane ticket and the keys to an apartment along with a location. Toss all identification and don't use your bank account or credit cards. Be smart. Don't link yourself to your past. Stay away from museums this time.

A new name. That's what stands out to me. I'm getting another new name. No. No. No. My heart races at the idea. I don't want another new name. Even more than I don't want to be back on the run, I don't want another new name. I feel like a girl having her hair chopped off. I'm losing part of myself. After living a lie for years, I'm losing the only part of my fake identity I'd ever really accepted as me.

I grab the passport and flip it open and my hand trembles at the sight of a photo that is a present-day me. How did this stranger I met only one time in my life get a picture of me this recent? It doesn't matter I'd once considered him my Guardian Angel. I'm freaked out by this. Has he been watching me all this time? I shiver at the idea, and my only comfort is my new name. I'm now Amy Bensen rather than Amy Reynolds. I'm still Amy. It is the one piece of good news in all of this and I cling to it, using it to stave off the meltdown I feel coming. I just have to hold it together until I get on the plane. Then I can sink into my seat and think myself into my "zone" that I can't seem to fully find.

Flipping open the folder, I find an airline ticket. I'm going to Denver and I leave in an hour. I've never been anywhere but Texas and New York. All I know about Denver is it's big, cold, and the next place I will pretend is home when I have no home. The thought makes my chest pinch, but fear of what might await me if I don't run pushes me past it.

I turn off my cell phone so it won't ping and stuff it, with everything but my new ID and plane ticket, back into the envelope. I have my own money in the bank and I'm not about to get rid of my identification and access to that resource. Besides, the idea of using a bank card that allows me to be tracked bothers me. I'll be visiting the bank tomorrow and removing any cash I can get my hands on. When I'd been eighteen, naive and alone, I'd blindly trusted a stranger I'd called my Guardian Angel. I might have to trust him now too, but it won't be blindly.

Making my way to check in, I fumble through using the ticket machine and my new identification and then track a path to security. A few minutes later, I'm on the other side of the metal detectors and I stop at a store to buy random things I might need. All is going well until I arrive at the ticket counter.

"I'm so sorry, Ms. Bensen," the forty-something woman begins. "We had an administrative error and seats were double-booked. We—"

"I have to be on this flight," I say in a hissed whispered with my heart in my throat. "I have to be on this flight."

"I can get you a voucher and the first flight tomorrow."

"No. No. Tonight. Give someone a bigger voucher to get me a seat."

"I—"

"Talk to a supervisor," I insist, because while avoiding attention means I am not a pushy person, and despite my initial denial of my circumstances that might suggest otherwise, I have no death wish. I am alive and plan to stay that way.

She purses her lips and looks like she might argue, but finally she turns away and makes a path toward a man in uniform. Their heads dip low and he glances at me before the woman returns. "We have you on standby and we'll try to get you on."

"How likely is it you'll get me on?"

"We're going to try."

"Try how hard?"

Her lips purse again. "Very."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. And I'm sorry. I have a... crisis of sorts. I really have to get to my destination." There is a thread of desperation to my voice I do not contain well.

Her expression softens and I know she heard it. "I understand and I am sorry this happened," she assures me. "We are trying to make this right and so you don't panic please know that we have to get everyone boarded before we make any passenger changes. You'll likely be the last on the plane."

"Thanks," I say, feeling awkward. "I'll just go sit." Definitely flustered, I turn away from the counter. Ignoring the few vacant seats, I head to the window and settle my bags on the floor beside me. Leaning against the steel handrail on the glass, I position myself to see everyone around me to be sure I'm prepared for any problem before it's on me. And that's when the room falls away, when my gaze collides with his.

He is sitting in a seat that faces me, one row between us, his features handsomely carved, his dark hair a thick, rumpled finger temptation. He's dressed in faded jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, but he could just as easily be wearing a finely fitted suit and tie. He is older than me, maybe thirty, but there is a worldliness, a sense of control and confidence, about him that reaches beyond years. He is money, power, and sex, and while I cannot make out the color of his eyes, I don't need to. All that matters is that he is one hundred percent focused on me, and me on him. A moment ago I was alone in a crowd and suddenly, I'm with him. As if the space between us is nothing. I tell myself to look away, that everyone is a potential threat, but I just... can't.

His eyes narrow the tiniest bit, and then his lips curve ever so slightly and I am certain I see satisfaction slide over his face. He knows I cannot look away. I've become his newest conquest, of which I am certain he has many, and I've embarrassingly done so without one single moan of pleasure in the process.

"Inviting our first-class guests to board now," a female voice says over the intercom.

I blink and my new, hmmm, whatever he is, pushes to his feet and slides a duffle onto his shoulder. His eyes hold mine, a hint of something in them I can't quite make out. Challenge, I think. Challenge? What kind of challenge? I don't have time to figure it out. He turns away, and just like that I'm alone again.








✿ The Series ✿








Escaping Reality
The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1






❀ Buy Links ❀

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Amazon Paperback





Infinite Possibilities
The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #2






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Forsaken
The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #3

Release Date: August 18th 2015






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✧ Pre-Order ✧

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Amazon Paperback (7/7/2015)





Unbroken
The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #4

Release Date: September 7th 2015






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✧ Pre-Order ✧

Amazon USB&NiBooks





✿ The Author ✿


New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series, and is now in development by Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland) for cable TV. In addition, her Tall, Dark and Deadly series and The Secret Life of Amy Bensen series, both spent several months on a combination of the NY Times and USA Today lists.

Watch the video on casting for the INSIDE TV Show HERE

Since beginning her publishing career in 2007, Lisa has published more than 40 books translated around the world. Booklist says that "Jones suspense truly sizzles with an energy similar to FBI tales with a paranormal twist by Julie Garwood or Suzanne Brockmann".

Prior to publishing, Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by Dallas Women Magazine. In 1998 LRJ was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.

Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at on her website and she is active on twitter and facebook daily.



✽ Author Links ✽

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