Attack Zone by Jennifer Rebecca – Cover Reveal

Today we have the cover reveal for Attack Zone by Jennifer Rebecca! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today:
 
Title: Attack Zone
Author: Rebecca Jennifer
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Day: Jan 16th
Cover by Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Designs.
About Dead & Buried:

I had one goal.

Win an Olympic Medal.

Winning the Ladies Figure Skating Olympic Gold Medal should be my only focus, but my life has other plans for me. My father, the U. S. Senator, and my Stepmonster like to remind me that my role in our family comes with great expectations — and even greater responsibility.

Translation: Marry a man that will make them even more prestigious and powerful.

But that’s not my plan.

I have one last chance to prove myself.

And now, on top of everything else, I have to aid the sexy as sin Detective Kane F**king Green in finding the person who killed my friend.

My name is Sophia Eleonore Dubois, and holy mother of Dorothy Hamill, my life just got complicated. . .

 
Exclusive Excerpt:

“You have got to be kidding me,” I growl as I see that big blond bastard climb from his truck. Well, it’s really more of a sandy blond but I’m an alliteration kind of a gal.

            The parking lot is still dark, with the exception of the tall lights that pock the black asphalt. It’s four in the morning, so the sun won’t be up for a few more hours. I should be the only one here. Something Kane and I had already argued out last night. I even won best two out of three on rock-paper-scissors.

            “Better believe it, Princess,” he barks out as he pulls a gear bag from the bed of his truck.

            “No. No, no, no, no, no. Put that back. You’re not supposed to be here,” I plead as I grab my own skate bag and toss it over my shoulder. “I offered to rock-paper-scisor you for this spot and you said no. That makes it mine by default.”

            He sighs. “You know, you don’t always have to be such a selfish bitch.” I rear back as if he struck me. “You could share the ice.”

            “I’m here at four so I don’t have to,” I whisper.

            He shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear a bad thought, erasing something that didn’t turn out right on an Etch A Sketch.

            I look away. If ever there was anyone who could make me feel like a bug, like dog poop on my shoe, less than, it’s Kane Fucking Green, and trust me, others have tried. I feel the burn in my nostrils. I refuse to let him see me cry. Ever. And Lord knows I have cried my fair share of tears over Kane Fucking Green, and I’m not going to shed another one. I’m just not.

            I take a deep breath, turn on my heels, and walk away from him. I feel his gaze burn my skin. It’s not the only thing he’s burned in the last year. He’s burned almost every bridge I had. Literally, the only thing left in my life is figure skating. I feel him on my heels as I walk up the concrete steps at the front of my home rink, Del Mar Ice House.

            The big glass doors and windows that line the entire front of the rink are dark. That’s weird. Usually, Vadim turns the lights on when he comes in to unlock the doors for me. Maybe he’s having a late start this morning. Although, that’s not like him at all.

            Most people think that my early mornings are crazy. That my four-in-the-morning practices are insane. But I love it. I love the smell of fresh ice. I love the quiet time when I can pace through my routines free from distractions. It’s my time to think or to not think, to clear my head and just be free. And my life is anything but free. Being a sitting senator’s daughter pretty much guarantees that, so I love this time to myself. I love mornings like this.

            Vadim, the rink owner, loves these mornings too. He’s always here well before my early time slot. He unlocks the doors for me and turns on the lights. We once struck up a friendship over our love for Moscow. He was surprised to find out that I trained there for a whole summer under some of the best figure skating coaches in the world.

            From that moment on, we were bonded. He’s like a favorite uncle doting on his beloved niece. So Vadim took to surfacing the ice on the Zamboni before I come in, even though it was surfaced right before closing the night before. He sharpens my blades for me when I need it. And he’s the best. No one can get me a better hollow. So it’s surprising when the lights are still out upon my arrival.

            Although, he did double-book this time with Kane as well. I was so mad when I found out Kane Fucking Green had weaseled his way into my favorite ice time. I need this time to clear my head. From people like Kane Fucking Green. I haven’t been able to be in the same room as him since The Event.

            I don’t think anyone could blame me. Who did he hurt? He hurt me.

            I look at my sterling silver Rolex watch on my wrist. It’s ten after four in the morning. That’s so unlike Vadim. He should be here by now.

            “What’s wrong?” Kane asks, reading my mood.

            “He’s late,” I say softly.

            I reach for the handle of the door, and it pulls free without effort. The door is unlocked. I pause for a second and then walk through the door. Vadim must be here after all. He must have forgotten to turn on the front lights.

            “Wait, maybe I should check it out,” he says as he places his palm on my shoulder. I immediately stiffen.

            I shrug off his hold. “You would just love that, wouldn’t you?” I growl. “Oh, sure, go right ahead and enjoy my ice time while I stand here like an idiot in the parking lot, Kane.” I roll my eyes.

            “Is that what you really think of me, Princess?” he asks, his voice low in warning.

            “At this juncture, I’m not sure what to believe,” I say honestly, meeting his blue gaze.

            “I suppose I deserve that,” he sighs.

            “I suppose you do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a National Championship to prepare for,” I say as I start walking down the hall toward the ice.

            The rubber mats squeak under my sneakers—the shoes my stepmonster hates with a passion, but which are so comfortable. Especially after a long workout on the ice. I head toward the team boxes. That’s where I’ll put on my skates and stash my music and my water by the boards.

            Kane is beside me as we turn the corner and stop in our tracks.

            Whereas the main building lights were off, the lights over the ice are on. The whir of the Zamboni is deafening as it circles the ice top over and over. I gasp when Kane’s hand closes tight over my bicep, bringing me to a halt, and I raise my head to see what he sees.

            Vadim is sprawled back over the seat of the Zamboni. His eyes point up at the championship banners of the local professional hockey team, all lined up in a neat row, but they don’t see them. They won’t see anything again. The bullet hole between his blank eyes saw to that.

            “Holy son of Scott Hamilton,” I speak without thought.

            “You got that right, babe. Whatever that means,” Kane says before he leads me back through the rink and out the glass front doors.

            I open my mouth to say something, anything, but instead find myself racing over to the bushes to toss my cookies. Kane is behind me, rubbing my back and making soothing noises. He hands me a water bottle from his gear bag before pulling his phone from his pocket.

            “Dispatch, this is Detective Kane Green, badge number 57635. I need to report a homicide,” he says into his phone before lowering the volume of his voice. “And I have Senator Dubois’s daughter with me.”

            Six months ago, I had hoped to put Kane Fucking Green and all of his bullshit behind me. I swore I wouldn’t focus on anything but myself and this next Olympic cycle. Not my dad—the US senator—or his bitch of a wife. And definitely not the feelings of hurt and betrayal that seeing Kane always seems to bring to the surface. Not to mention other feelings. My name is Sophia Eleanor Dubois, “Sophie” to my friends, and I have a funny feeling Kane Green just screwed me and my plans . . . again.

I finish up my program, and the smile on my face matches those of my girls and their moms. I nailed it. But I can’t slack off now. This is my last chance at the Games. I’m aging out, and it’s time for me to transition to coaching full-time. But I want to win one. Just one Games.

            “Go home and enjoy your weekend!” I call out.

            They laugh and start to file out of the rink. I take a second and then a third victory lap around the rink. I shake out my arms before I move back to center ice to run through my long program.

            It’s one of my favorite Celtic Woman songs. A slow, soul-wrenching melody in which I can show off the decades of classical ballet training. I slowly wrap my body around the music, letting it swirl around me as we float and fly down the ice.

This routine is all layback spins transitioning into perfectly choreographed jumps. I’m pushing my body around the short end of the rink and then diagonally down the length in an Ina Bauer when I lean so far back that my long, emerald skirt of my competition dress flows with me, as part of me, during my program.

            I’m halfway across the rink when a pair of anaconda arms wraps around my middle and plucks me off the ice.

            The scream that rents the air is torn from my lungs, and I have absolutely no shame in that. I’m still tipped over backward, and the strong arms that are wrapped around my waist pull my body flush with a decidedly . . . male one from the waist down. Blades clank against each other as our feet tangle, bulky, muscled legs against slender, sinewy ones, and then up and up and up until my pelvis is pressed against his. And he is unmistakably hard . . . everywhere.

            My breath catches in my throat as I realize that we look like the famous V-J Day couple. I see the famous statue every time I drive past the USS Midway downtown. His hot breath blows in heavy pants across my face, and he smells of mint and man, sweat and sin. I open my eyes and stare straight into baby blues so light in color and cold in depth that a shiver wracks up my spine. Suddenly, I’m cold to the core. No, this isn’t some romantic comedy where the guy gets the girl; this man is no Prince Charming. These eyes belong to the snake that lies in the grass. This man is Detective Kane Green, my worst fucking nightmare. 

 
About the Author:
Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay.
Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta.
10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.

www.JenniferRebeccaAuthor.com

JenniferRebeccaAuthor@gmail.com

facebook.com/JenniferRebeccaAuthor

Twitter: @JenniRLreads

Instagram: @JenniRLreads

 

 

Dead & Buried by Jennifer Rebecca – Release Day & Blog Tour

Today we have the release day blitz for Dead & Buried by Jennifer Rebecca! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today:

Title: Dead & Buried

Author: Rebecca Jennifer

Genre: Contemporary Romance

About Dead & Buried:

You ever hear the phrase, about as successful as a soup sandwich? Well, that’s me, I’m the soup sandwich, but instead of a soggy mess, you have a twenty five year old with a Bachelor’s degree in nothing useful who just quit her job at the local home improvement store where there were definitely no tortured billionaires looking to tie anyone up–and that’s not a bad thing. I know, it’s looking pretty sad right about now, but at least I don’t still live with my parents…

 

So, here I am, embarking on a new journey covering the Funerals and Obituaries section of the local paper, the San Diego Metro News, for the editor–brace yourself--my uncle, Sal. Unfortunately, while my parents are on vacation, my Granny and her friends are determined to stir up some trouble–but this time, they may have bitten off more than they can chew–especially when some of the residents of the local retirement community are turning up unnaturally dead.

 

There is nothing that will keep me from protecting the people that I love, no matter how crazy they may be–not even the sexy, I mean stubborn, homicide detective, Trent Foyle, can stop me.

 

My name is Shelby Whitmore and I’m kind of the newest reporter for the San Diego Metro News, but hey, I’m a hit with the blue hairs.

 

Amazon | iBooks | NOOK | KOBO

Exclusive Excerpt:

Do you ever feel like you’re stuck in an R. Kelly song? Because I’m definitely feeling like I’m living one. You could almost say I’m trapped in one. But not the toot toot, beep beep fun of “Ignition” or the motivational “I Believe I Can Fly”– I’m talking “Trapped in the Closet.” All seventy-five parts. Because, you know, I am actually trapped in a closet. A utility closet to be specific.

I have no idea what happened. One minute, I’m walking up the stairs of the building my granny lives in, Peaceful Sunset Retirement Village, singing, ironically, “Ignition.” I had just gotten to the good part, you know, the “hot and fresh out the kitchen” part—it’s the part where I like to mime driving a car, the part after the toots when I pull down my arm like I’m honking the horn on a big rig. I’m right in the middle of my song and dance repertoire—when all of a sudden, I hear one of the doors to the stairwell open and close, which is normal since the nurses and caregivers use these halls to get around faster and not clog up the elevators that the seniors use. The next thing I know, something hits me over the head, and it’s lights out. I never even saw the guy. Or gal. Who am I to discriminate?

Anyhoo, fast forward, however long that might be, and I find myself awake, with a killer headache. A headache a lot like the one I got when I fell out of my friend’s parents’ camper in the second grade. My friend who was also named Shelby. Weird, right? Anyway, we were playing after school at her house, and her mom found nothing wrong with our playing in one of those VW vans that were small campers with the part that pops up out of the roof for you to sleep in.

So there we were, playing with our Super Spy Barbies in the pop-up part, when she jumped down to get a clothing change for her doll. Shelby B., as our teachers in school called her to distinguish between us, was a lot bigger than me. I was the runt of the litter back then. When she went to pull herself back up, dress included, she grabbed the board I was sitting on, and I wasn’t big enough to hold the board down, so Other Shelby pulled me and the board down on top of her. We landed in order: board, then me, then the dolls and their accoutrements. After that, I bounced off of her and out the open sliding door onto the sidewalk, face first.

Next thing I knew, I was coming to, and her mom was running down the driveway with the phone to her ear. A couple of minutes later, my mom and dad pulled up in my mom’s old Jeep Cherokee, followed by a fire truck and an ambulance.

As it turned out, I had one hell of a concussion, which we found out while my dad was hanging out with all of the firemen and paramedics that he knew because they all played basketball together at the gym. I spent the night in the emergency room and the next week with the mother of all headaches, which is how I feel right now as I struggle to open my eyes and make them focus.

I look around and everything is blurry. I blink my eyes a couple of times to clear my vision. It helps a little. I take stock of what’s around me—there are mops and brooms, shelves of lightbulbs and other various paraphernalia, cleaning supplies—when it dawns on me where I am, which is how I find myself trapped in a utility closet, à la R. Kelly.

I’m sitting on the floor on my butt with my back against some more shelves. My legs are straight out in front of me, and my ankles are tied together with a zip tie. Yippee! I groan out loud when I realize my hands are bound the same way behind my back.

I could lie down and wait for a psycho to come back and finish me off, but that’s not how my daddy raised me. And if I did die because I was being a big baby, Granny would bring me back to life just to whoop my butt and kill me again. I wiggle around, trying to find anything I can break these zip ties on. I notice the door has hinges that look like little hooks, and I scoot over to try to hook the tie on my ankles to it. I wiggle and kick my legs and wiggle some more, all pretty thankful I keep my biweekly yoga date with my grandmother and her friends.

I hook the zip tie on the bottom door hinge and kick my feet by bending and straightening my knees. “Come on, come on,” I chant under my breath as I rub the plastic against the sharp side of the door hinge. “Yes!” I shout as the tie breaks. I swing to my knees and push up to my feet. My legs shake. Impressive considering there’s a polka band playing in my head and I kind of want to puke.

I lean my right shoulder against the shelves and squeeze my eyes tight, hoping to stop the room from spinning before I can find something to undo the tie at my wrists. My eyes pop open at the sudden quiet rattle of the door. I have to squint against the intrusion of the bright light that is immediately switched on. When I open them again, I am face-to-face with the vibrant jade eyes of one sexy Detective Trenton Foyle, San Diego PD.

“Jesus, Shelby, you scared the shit out of me!” he booms. I just roll my eyes, which I instantly regret, slamming them shut again.

“What?” I ask innocently.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asks.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I say coyly.

“You just have to stir up trouble, don’t you?” he asks, shaking his head.

I don’t care to answer, so I don’t. It’s not like I find myself trapped in a closet every day. Who am I kidding? I may not find trouble, but trouble always has a way of finding me. I’d like to say this is the last time, but why lie? My name is Shelby Whitmore, and I’m sort of a reporter for the San Diego Metro News and most definitely trapped in a closet.

About the Author:

Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay.

 

Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta.

 

10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.

 

www.JenniferRebeccaAuthor.com

JenniferRebeccaAuthor@gmail.com

facebook.com/JenniferRebeccaAuthor

Twitter: @JenniRLreads

Instagram: @JenniRLreads

Enter Jennifer’s Giveaway:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Dead & Buried by Jennifer Rebecca – Cover Reveal

Today we have the cover reveal for Dead & Buried by Jennifer Rebecca! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today:

Title: Dead & Buried

Author: Jennifer Rebecca

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Day: July 17th

 

Cover model: BT Urruela

Image by Kruse Images and Photography

Cover by Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Designs.

 

About Dead & Buried:

You ever hear the phrase, about as successful as a soup sandwich? Well, that’s me, I’m the soup sandwich, but instead of a soggy mess, you have a twenty five year old with a Bachelor’s degree in nothing useful who just quit her job at the local home improvement store where there were definitely no tortured billionaires looking to tie anyone up–and that’s not a bad thing. I know, it’s looking pretty sad right about now, but at least I don’t still live with my parents…

 

So, here I am, embarking on a new journey covering the Funerals and Obituaries section of the local paper, the San Diego Metro News, for the editor–brace yourself--my uncle, Sal. Unfortunately, while my parents are on vacation, my Granny and her friends are determined to stir up some trouble–but this time, they may have bitten off more than they can chew–especially when some of the residents of the local retirement community are turning up unnaturally dead.

 

There is nothing that will keep me from protecting the people that I love, no matter how crazy they may be–not even the sexy, I mean stubborn, homicide detective, Trent Foyle, can stop me.

 

My name is Shelby Whitmore and I’m kind of the newest reporter for the San Diego Metro News, but hey, I’m a hit with the blue hairs.

 

 

Amazon | iBooks | NOOK | KOBO

 

Exclusive Excerpt:

“Yes, I need an ambulance at 143 Sunnyvale Road, Unit B. Yes, I’ll stay on the line.”

Hey, that’s my address. I hope now one’s hurt. I open my eye and realize two things. 1) I’m lying flat on my back on the kitchen floor and 2) there is a strange man standing over me staring down with a scowl on his scary, yet handsome face. Upon, closer inspection, I realize I am naked and there is a strange man standing over me. What the ever fuck is happening here?!

“She’s come to,” the stranger says.

“Ma’am, you had an accident, I’m…” But he doesn’t get to finish because I jump up screaming.

“A phone pervert! A phone pervert is in my house!!!! AAAHHHHHHHHHHH……” I scream and resume my naked alien running. I run to my adorable cooking utensil cup and grab the first thing I can get my hands on, which just so happens to be a metal pair of tongs. I lunge at the Phone Pervert in my very best impression of a master swordsman, En garde! Clapping away like a deranged lobster. “You! Out of my house, Phone Pervert.” Clap clap.

Clap clap clap. “I told you I already have a pervert,” Clap clap. I attack again. Clap clap. “And I told you I would call the police!” Strong arms firmly wrap around me from behind and I jump but they only lock tight around me.

“Lady, I am the police. Now put your claws away and grab a robe before I have to take you in.” I let out an Eeep! when I realize that I am naked. My Phone Pervert turned police officer looks over my shoulder and says to the anaconda arms holding me, “Really, Trent, this looney tune is your girl?”

“Hey, I’m not a looney tune,” I pout. “I’m just having a really bad day,” I mumble. The thought of going to jail naked has brought back all the stress of my shit day.

“What can I say, she’s never boring and Nana loves her,” I feel Trent shrug behind me.

“Can you imagine your kids being anything but terrors with her and Marla’s genes combined?” He laughs. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Hey,” I mumble halfheartedly.

“But they’ll be entertaining. And beautiful,” Trent adds.

“Beautiful for sure, crazy as fuck for certain,” he laughs, “Although standing here now, I definitely see her appeal. You ever decide you’re done with this asshole, you give me a call okay, sugar?” The stranger asks me on a chuckle.

A growl rumbles out from behind me and a warm, calloused palm slides up to cover my breast. Another one moves south but I slap it away.

“But I don’t even know your name,” I mumble looking down distractedly at the large, tan hand on my boobie.

Another growl, this time more menacing rumbles up as the stranger laughs again. Apparently, my life is hilarious.

“Detective Kane Green at your service ma’am,” he leans forward and tips his imaginary hat.

“Like the hockey player?” I ask, but I hear a groan from behind.

“One and the same, but now I’m retired,” he winks. “The old shoulder couldn’t do it anymore so I decided to follow in my dad’s footsteps and joined the local PD.”

“I think that’s just amazing,” I breathe. “I’m a big fan,” I blush. And when I say blush, I mean I blush EVERYWHERE and EVERYONE knows it because I’m FREAKING NAKED!

“He was just leaving,” Trent barks from behind me. Detective Green laughs and heads for the door.

“It was lovely meeting you, Shelby,” he winks and heads off into the night. Kane Green and his shaggy, light brown hair and cold blue eyes are undoubtedly gorgeous, but absolutely nothing compared to the coal black hair and green Irish eyes of one Detective Trenton Foyle. I am so screwed.

 

About the Author:

 

Jennifer is a thirty something lover of words, all words: the written, the spoken, the sung (even poorly), the sweet, the funny, and even the four letter variety. She is a native of San Diego, California where she grew up reading the Brownings and Rebecca with her mother and Clifford and the Dog who Glowed in the Dark with her dad, much to her mother’s dismay.

 

Jennifer is a graduate of California State University San Marcos where she studied Criminology and Justice Studies. She is also an Alpha Xi Delta.

 

10 years ago, she was swept off her feet by her very own sailor. Today, they are happily married and the parents of a 8 year old and 6 year old twins. She can often be found in East Texas on the soccer fields, drawing with her children, or reading. Jennifer is convinced that if she puts her fitbit on one of the dogs, she might finally make her step goals. She loves a great romance, an alpha hero, and lots and lots of laughter.

 

www.JenniferRebeccaAuthor.com

JenniferRebeccaAuthor@gmail.com

facebook.com/JenniferRebeccaAuthor

Twitter: @JenniRLreads

Instagram: @JenniRLreads

 

Enter Jennifer’s Giveaway:
a Rafflecopter giveaway