Kristen Proby’s EASY WITH YOU – Release Day Launch

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We are absolutely thrilled to be able to bring you the Release Day Launch for Kristen Proby’s EASY WITH YOU!! EASY WITH YOU is an Adult Erotic Romance novella filled with suspense in Kristen’s With Me in Seattle Series!! Kristen’s beloved characters, sexy situations, and suspense!? Run, don’t walk, to Amazon and one click this bad boy!

 

 Easy with You

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Excerpt:

“You didn’t ask for her number.” She scowls and pokes her finger into my chest. I look down at it, then glance up at her with a raised brow.

“You just assaulted an officer.”

“I did?” She swallows hard.

“Yes. I might have to arrest you.”

“With handcuffs?” She smiles gleefully, clearly excited at the thought.

“Would you like me to arrest you with handcuffs?”

“Hell to the yes!”

“Kate?” There’s suddenly a very tall, very irritated man standing behind the fiery redhead, staring daggers into me. I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m talking to the hot Asher,” she says, not turning to look at him. “I assaulted him, and he’s a cop, and he’s going to put me in handcuffs.”

“No, I don’t believe he will.”

I laugh again. “There’s nothing going on here, man.”

“Come see Lila!” Kate takes my hand, pulling me from my stool to the table behind us. Most of the women have cleared out, leaving just a few, including the sexy as fuck woman I met on the plane yesterday. “Where did everyone go?”

“Declan took them home,” Lila replies, and her hand stops midway between the table and her lips, holding her drink. Her violet eyes widen when she sees me. “Hi.”

“We meet again.” I sit next to her, my fingers itching to plunge in her dark hair and brush it over her shoulder. “How are you, Lila?”

“Fine.” She clears her throat and smiles at me. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“A happy coincidence,” I reply softly. “You look beautiful.”

And she does. Her eyes are a bit glassy from the alcohol, her cheeks just a little flushed. Her hair is straight and falls down her back and over her slim shoulders. Before I can ask her questions about her trip here, or anything about her, we are soon pulled into the conversation with the others at the table. But when Kate asks Lila if she’s ready to go, I’m shocked when Lila responds with, “I’m gonna have Asher take me home.”

 

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About EASY WITH YOU:

Nothing has ever come easy for Lila Bailey. She’s fought for every good thing in her life during every day of her thirty-one years. Aside from that one night with an impossible to deny stranger a year ago, Lila is the epitome of responsible.

Steadfast. Strong.

She’s pulled herself out of the train wreck of her childhood, proud to be a professor at Tulane University and laying down roots in a city she’s grown to love. But when some of her female students are viciously murdered, Lila’s shaken to the core and unsure of whom she can trust in New Orleans. When the police detective assigned to the murder case comes to investigate, she’s even more surprised to find herself staring into the eyes of the man that made her toes curl last year.

In an attempt to move on from the tragic loss of his wife, Asher Smith moved his daughter and himself to a new city, ready for a fresh start. A damn fine police lieutenant, but new to the New Orleans force, Asher has a lot to prove to his colleagues and himself.

With a murderer terrorizing the Tulane University campus, Asher finds himself toe-to-toe with the one woman that haunts his dreams. His hands, his lips, his body know her as intimately as he’s ever known anyone. As he learns her mind and heart as well, Asher wants nothing more than to keep her safe, in his bed, and in his and his daughter’s lives for the long haul.

But when Lila becomes the target, can Asher save her in time, or will he lose another woman he loves?

 

 Easy With You teaser 1

 

A Message from Kristen Proby:

Dear readers,

As you know, the With Me In Seattle series came to a close earlier this month with the eighth and final installment, FOREVER WITH ME. I’ve been steadfast in my decision that there would be no further stories from the series, no spin-offs, nothing more. In my mind, it was complete.

And I still feel that the Montgomery/Williams families are complete, and I maintain that I’m happy with their happy-ever-afters. 

But, I’ve also heard you when you’ve said that Asher, Matt Montgomery’s partner in TIED WITH ME, deserves to have a happily ever after for himself and his daughter Casey. So, when the lovely ladies from 1001 Dark Nights asked me to participate in their wonderful project, I thought long and hard about whose story it should be about. Seattle is finished, and I’ve moved on to New Orleans for the new Boudreaux Series… And then it occurred to me: why not do both, and offer a companion novella to each of the series?

And so, because you, the reader, has been so insistent that you want to see Asher and Casey find their perfect person, I’m excited to introduce you to EASY WITH YOU. I think you’re going to love Asher and Lila’s love story this spring…

 

Happy Reading,

Kristen Proby

 

Author pic_MontanaABOUT KRISTEN PROBY:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Kristen Proby is the author of the popular With Me in Seattle series. She has a passion for a good love story and strong characters who love humor and have a strong sense of loyalty and family. Her men are the alpha type—fiercely protective and a bit bossy—and her ladies are fun, strong, and not afraid to stand up for themselves. Kristen spends her days with her muse in the Pacific Northwest. She enjoys coffee, chocolate, and sunshine. And naps. Visit her at KristenProby.com.

 

 

 

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Sarah M. Ross’s NEVER GONNA TELL – Release Day Launch

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We are thrilled to bring you the Release Day Launch for Sarah M. Ross’s NEVER GONNA TELL! NEVER GONNA TELL is a standalone young adult romantic suspense that will Knock. Your. Socks. Off!

NEVER GONNA TELL is on sale for only $.99 for a limited time so grab your copy today!!!

 

NEVER GONNA TELL

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Release Day Excerpt:

THE CHURCH BELLS from St. Agnes Church chime, letting me know I have a half hour before Dad calls the National Guard out for me. Hmm, maybe enough time to head to the Shake Shack and get a frozen salted caramel hot chocolate—my new favorite addiction.

Gravel crunches under my feet as I cross the parking lot toward my car. As I dig through my backpack searching for my car keys, a yelp rings out in the distance. Pausing, I stand still and listen for the sound again. Was an animal hurt somewhere, maybe? The noise was muffled and not close by, so I can’t make out the source. The last bell chimes, reminding me I should hurry home, but the reporter in me won’t let me leave without checking. I wait a few minutes to see if I hear it again, scanning the area for the source.

Across the street, dark shadows fill the doorways of the now-closed shops that line the main road, setting my nerves on edge. The voice in my head nags that this is how horror movies begin, but I shake off the ridiculous thought. Horror movies aren’t real. The idea of scooping a story before anyone else—that’s a real possibility. Nothing moves except for the leaves as the breeze picks up. Just as I’m ready to give up, I hear the noise again, this time followed by what sounds like shuffling feet—like something sliding through gravel.

“What in the world was that?” I mutter. The sounds together don’t make any sense. If it was an animal yelping, what was that other noise? Had someone maybe captured an animal in a trap? This is rural Tennessee, so it wouldn’t surprise me. Everyone around here is well-versed in hunting, starting in elementary school.

My naturally inquisitive mind begins imagining several scenarios, and I can’t walk away. Not until I know. Lord knows if I just get in my car and leave, I’ll be up all night thinking about how I might’ve missed out on a story. Bye bye, scholarship.

I sigh, shoving my overflowing backpack in the passenger seat before slamming the car door as I head toward the source of the noise. I make my way toward the river, cutting through an alleyway. The single streetlight flickers, barely illuminating the area and making it feel even more desolate out here. Ominous, almost. I can’t help thinking that with my luck, it’ll end up being a skunk that sprays me for trying to help.

The alley is more of a narrow path between buildings, not even wide enough for a car to fit through. Overflowing dumpsters from surrounding businesses line one side while the other is a dirty brick wall covered in graffiti. If this were Baltimore, I might have been more cautious, but while Hope Mills isn’t Pleasantville by any means, I don’t feel afraid, only curious.

“Get your hands off me, you son of a bitch. You’re never going to get away with this!” a man growls in the distance, the final word echoing off the water.

I whip my head around, barely missing smacking it on an underhang promoting JT’s Soul Food Buffet. Okay, that definitely wasn’t an animal.

 

Three green school lockers with combination wheels; fairly close-up.

 

NEVER GONNA TELL Synopsis:

My name is Reagan Wilcox: high school senior by day, kick-ass investigative journalist by night. I’ve always loved observing people—especially when they think no one is paying attention.

I thought I was ready to cover any story. Work any angle.

Nothing could have prepared me for what happened that night. I wasn’t ready for what I saw. And I certainly wasn’t ready for him.

I always knew I’d write the headlines. Now, I just might become one.

 

Killer with gun close up over dark background with copyspace.

 

 

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About Sarah M. Ross:

Sarah started her obsession with reading at an early age, often sneaking BabySitter Club and Nancy Drew books into math class. She would read any book she could get her hands on. Her love of reading quickly evolved into a love of writing and stories began to pour out of her.

She grew up in Pittsburgh, graduated from The University of Pittsburgh with a degree in English, and taught 8th graders to love reading as much as she does for several years. Sarah will always be a proud member of the Steelers’ Nation, but couldn’t take the cold and moved her frozen tush to Florida where she now lives with her family and two cats. You will find her now with her trusty Kindle in hand and toes in the sand!

Sarah’s debut novel, AWAKEN, released in January, 2012. Other novels include AVENGE, ATONE, ECHO OF AN EARTH ANGEL, and INHALE EXHALE.

 

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M.J. Rose’s THE WITCH OF PAINTED SORROWS – Release Day Launch

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We are absolutely captivated by THE WITCH OF PAINTED SORROWS and so excited to bring you the Release Day Launch for M.J. Rose’s amazing new novel. THE WITCH OF PAINTED SORROWS is a historical gothic romantic suspense published by Atria, an imprint of Simon & Schuster. Check out the excerpt below, buy a copy for yourself (and a friend!), then  check out the giveaway M.J. Rose is holding to celebrate the release!!

 

The Witch of Painted Sorrows - cover

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Excerpt:

Four months ago I snuck into Paris on a wet, chilly January night like a criminal, hiding my face in my shawl, taking extra care to be sure I wasn’t followed.

I stood on the stoop of my grandmother’s house and lifted the hand-shaped bronze door knocker and let it drop. The sound of the metal echoed inside. Her home was on a lane blocked off from rue des Saints-Pères by wide wooden double doors. Maison de la Lune, as it was called, was one of a half dozen four-story mid-eighteenth- century stone houses that shared a courtyard that backed up onto rue du Dragon.

I let the door knocker fall again. Light from a street lamp glinted off the golden metal. It was a strange object. Usually on these things the bronze hand’s palm faced the door. But this one was palm out, almost warning the visitor to reconsider requesting entrance.

The knocker had obsessed me ten years before when I’d visited as a fifteen-year-old. The engravings on the finely modeled female palm included etched stars, phases of the moon, planets, and other archaic symbols. When I’d asked about it once, my grandmother had said it was older than the house, but she didn’t know how old exactly or what the ciphers meant. Where was the maid? Grand-mère, one of Paris’s celebrated courtesans, hosted lavish salons on Tuesday, Thursday, and many Saturday evenings, and at this time of day was usually upstairs, preparing her toilette: dusting poudre de riz on her face and décolletage, screwing in her opale de feu earrings, and wrapping her signature rope of the same blazing orange stones around her neck. The strand of opal beads was famous. It had belonged to a Russian empress and was known as Les Incendies. The stones were the same color as my grandmother’s hair and the high- lights in her topaz eyes. She was known by that name—L’Incendie, they called her, The Fire.

We had the same color eyes, but mine almost never flashed like hers. When I was growing up, I kept checking in the mirror, hoping the opal sparks that I only saw occasionally would intensify. I wanted to be just like her, but my father said it was just as well my eyes weren’t on fire because it wasn’t only her coloring that had inspired her name but also her temper, and that wasn’t a thing to covet.

It wasn’t until I was fifteen years old and witnessed it myself that I understood what he’d meant.

I let the hand of fate fall again. Even if Grand-mère was upstairs and couldn’t hear the knocking, the maid would be downstairs, organizing the refreshments for the evening. I’d seen her so many nights, polishing away last smudges on the silver, holding the Baccarat glasses over a pot of steaming water and then wiping them clean to make sure they gleamed.

Dusk had descended. The air had grown cold, and now it was beginning to rain. Fat, heavy drops dripped onto my hat and into my eyes. And I had no umbrella. That’s when I did what I should have done from the start—I stepped back and looked up at the house.

The darkened windows set into the limestone facade indicated there were no fires burning and no lamps lit inside. My grandmother was not in residence. And neither, it appeared, was her staff. I almost wished the concierge had needed to open the porte cochère for me; he might have been able to tell me where my grandmother was.

For days now I had managed to keep my sanity only by thinking of this moment. All I had to do, I kept telling myself, was find my way here, and then together, my grandmother and I could mourn my father and her son, and she would help me figure out what I should do now that I had run away from New York City.

If she wasn’t here, where was I to go? I had other family in Paris, but I had no idea where they lived. I’d only met them here, at my grandmother’s house, when I’d visited ten years previously. I had no friends in the city.

The rain was soaking through my clothes. I needed to find shelter.

But where? A restaurant or café? Was there one nearby? Or should I try and find a hotel? Which way should I go to get a carriage? Was it even safe to walk alone here at night?

What choice did I have?

Picking up my suitcase, I turned, but before I could even step into the courtyard, I saw an advancing figure. A bedraggled-looking man, wearing torn and filthy brown pants and an overcoat that had huge, bulging pockets, staggered toward me. Every step he took rang out on the stones.

He’s just a beggar who intends no harm, I told myself. He’s just look- ing for scraps of food, for a treasure in the garbage he’d be able to sell.

But what if I was wrong? Alone with him in the darkening court- yard, where could I go? In my skirt and heeled boots, could I even outrun him?

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Make sure you visit M.J. Rose’s website to enter to win this gorgeous necklace to celebrate her release! 

 

THE WITCH OF PAINTED SORROWS Synopsis:

Possession. Power. Passion. New York Times bestselling novelist M. J. Rose creates her most provocative and magical spellbinder yet in this gothic novel set against the lavish spectacle of 1890s Belle Époque Paris.

Sandrine Salome flees New York for her grandmother’s Paris mansion to escape her dangerous husband, but what she finds there is even more menacing. The house, famous for its lavish art collection and elegant salons, is mysteriously closed up. Although her grandmother insists it’s dangerous for Sandrine to visit, she defies her and meets Julien Duplessi, a mesmerizing young architect. Together they explore the hidden night world of Paris, the forbidden occult underground and Sandrine’s deepest desires.

Among the bohemians and the demi-monde, Sandrine discovers her erotic nature as a lover and painter. Then darker influences threaten–her cold and cruel husband is tracking her down and something sinister is taking hold, changing Sandrine, altering her. She’s become possessed byLa Lune: A witch, a legend, and a sixteenth-century courtesan, who opens up her life to a darkness that may become a gift or a curse

This is Sandrine’s “wild night of the soul,” her odyssey in the magnificent city of Paris, of art, love, and witchery.

 

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“Haunting tale of possession.” —Publishers Weekly

“Rose’s new series offers her specialty, a unique and captivating supernatural angle, set in an intriguing belle epoque Paris — lush descriptions, intricate plot and mesmerizing storytelling. Sensual, evocative, mysterious and haunting.” —Kirkus

“Mixes reality and illusion, darkness and light, mystery and romance into an adult fairy tale. [Rose] stirs her readers curiosities and imaginations, opening their eyes to the cultural, intellectual and artistic excitement that marked the Belle Epoque period. Unforgettable, full-bodied characters and richly detailed narrative result in an entrancing read that will be long savored.”—Library Journal (Starred Review)

 

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Author photoAbout M.J. Rose:

New York Times Bestseller, M.J. Rose grew up in New York City mostly in the labyrinthine galleries of the Metropolitan Museum, the dark tunnels and lush gardens of Central Park and reading her mother’s favorite books before she was allowed. She believes mystery and magic are all around us but we are too often too busy to notice… books that exaggerate mystery and magic draw attention to it and remind us to look for it and revel in it.

Rose’s work has appeared in many magazines including Oprah Magazine and she has been featured in the New York Times, Newsweek, WSJ, Time, USA Today and on the Today Show, and NPR radio. Rose graduated from Syracuse University, spent the ’80s in advertising, has a commercial in the Museum of Modern Art in NYC and since 2005 has run the first marketing company for authors – Authorbuzz.com

The television series PAST LIFE, was based on Rose’s novels in the Reincarnationist series. She is one of the founding board members of International Thriller Writers and currently serves, with Lee Child, as the organization’s co-president.

Rose lives in CT with her husband the musician and composer, Doug Scofield, and their very spoiled and often photographed dog, Winka.

 

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TAG Book Blitz

Today we have a book blast for Shari Ryan’s Tag!!! And to celebrate the sale she’s running, Shari is sharing an exclusive excerpt and a fantastic giveaway.

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About Tag:

Tag_(Final_ebook)What if your family had a big secret . . . a life changing secret. My dad, the bigwig CIA agent, was always on the run, whether he was being chased or doing the chasing. I missed him. Then my mom passed away, and my sister was murdered. I turned my solitude to strength because the alternative was too bleak.

But my luck seemed to turn: I met Tango. And while I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my twenty-two years, danger lurks around every corner and I simply can’t take the chance of it finding me. But his tattoos, his smell, his darkness, and his body— that marine has taken over my every thought. But, what if he too isn’t what I think? A ticking time bomb isn’t going to leave me much time to waver. Even the bravest person can be in need of a miracle.

Before she was gone, my mom warned me to know everyone and trust no one. But what was I supposed to do when I found out I am the one not to be trusted? Turns out, I was always the bait in this conspiracy.

In author Shari J. Ryan’s gripping novel, TAG, the canyons hold secrets, the waterfalls provide safety, and romance has a pesky way of showing up when you are sweaty and dirty and least expect it.

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Exclusive Excerpt:

I’ve been seated among the dozens of other passengers for the past two hours, watching the gate times change a number of times before I see the plane actually arrive. Just as I’m powering my phone down, preparing to board, an awful stench burns my nose from a few inches away. A middle-aged man with greasy black hair and a thick lip-covering mustache who smells exactly like the inside of a port-a-potty has found a reason to sit directly beside me in a row of empty seats. When my eyes unfortunately meet his, he takes the opportunity to speak to me. “Heading to Boston?” he asks. I raise my eyebrows and force a tightlipped smile. I simply follow that with a nod and give him a no shit look. “I heard winter’s coming early this year,” he continues.

“Cool,” I mumble with a sigh. I pull a magazine out of my bag and open it in front of my face, hoping to block my vision of the man’s blackened-stained grin. But it’s only seconds before I’m taken back when his finger sweeps down the bare skin of my collarbone.

“What does that mean?” he asks, pointing to my tattoo.

With a smooth motion, I lay my magazine down onto my lap and place my hand over his, giving him the false notion that I’m a gentle person. I take the opportunity to offer him a slight smile before I twist his forefinger backwards as far as it will go before the expectant snap. “I’m sorry,” I say sweetly. “Did I tell you it was okay to touch me?” I pull down a little harder, and he smiles in response to the pain. But as I hold my hand there, I see the smile begin to fade.

“It’s a free country, chicky,” he sputters as his tongue knocks around between his bare gums.

“Why would you think it’s okay to touch me?” I ask again, keeping my voice calm, yet stern. He licks his lips and looks me up and down, responding with only a look. “Do you go around touching girls half your age because you feel it’s okay?”

He clears his throat and looks around to see who’s watching or listening, but I don’t move my eyes from his. “Why not?” he says, shrugging his bony shoulders. “Besides, you’re definitely asking for it.”

He thinks I’m asking for it? I’m wearing a fucking scoop neck, black long sleeve shirt, jeans, and combat boots. “The only reason it’s okay, is because no one has ever probably told you no. But it occurs to me that after I snap your finger off your hand, you won’t be able to touch people inappropriately anymore, will you?”

He hoots with laughter, dragging in attention he probably shouldn’t want. “You think you could break my finger, little chicklette?”

I pull his finger a little further, and his smile grows. “Ow, stop. You’re hurting me,” he puckers his lips and winks at me.

“Oh, look, it’s your right hand. You a righty?” I turn his hand over and see deep callouses bubbling on his palm. “Yes, you are. So, if I rip this thing off, you wouldn’t miss it, right?” I turn his hand back over and glare into his beady eyes. He’s questioning my words. He’s unsure of my capabilities. And that’s fine. “Sound okay to you? Or are you going to leave and stop touching people?” His smile fades and his eyes widen. I release his hand and offer him a smart-ass smile. “Oh, and the tattoo means death. It’s a Maori Warrior symbol. They used to eat their enemies once they slaughtered them. Cool, huh?”

I see his Adam’s apple struggle to move. He lifts his bag from the ground and nearly trips over his own feet, darting away.

I reopen my magazine to the page I was reading and refocus my attention on an article as I hear a soft chuckle coming from the other side of me. I turn to see who was enjoying the free entertainment and I’m faced with a man who looks to be either a wrestler or in the military–black shaven hair, stiff jaw and bulging muscles on every inch of his arms. His eyes are currently focused on a book, and I suppose he could have been laughing at that, rather than me. But as I question it, his large shamrock green eyes lift and look right at me. A slight grin tugs on the corner of his lips, and he winks so quickly I’m questioning whether it was me who might have blinked. Before I can react, he stands up and walks away.

I swallow hard and refocus my attention on the magazine once more. Stupid attractive man causing a moment of feebleness. I didn’t react, though. He winked at me. I think. And I didn’t make a snide comment or scowl. Weakness.

I let out a few short breaths, regaining my composure. He’s gone. It’s fine.

 

About Shari Ryan:

ShariProfilePicBestselling author, Shari J. Ryan, hails from Central Massachusetts where she lives with her hubby and two lively little boys. Ryan has published the 3-book Schasm Series for Romantic Suspense/Thriller fans. TAG is her first book written solely for the Romantic Suspense audience, and she is hard at work on Red Nights, a standalone coming this spring. To learn more, visit her at: www.sharijryan.com

 

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Jennifer L. Armentrout’s DON’T LOOK BACK -Release Day Launch

We are extremely excited that Jennifer L. Armentrout’s DON’T LOOK BACK releases today!! DON’T LOOK BACK is a young adult suspense being published by Disney Hyperion!

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BUY LINKS:

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EXCERPT:

I didn’t recognize the name on the street sign. Nothing about the rural road looked familiar or

friendly. Tall, imposing trees and overgrown weeds choked the front of the dilapidated home.

Windows were boarded up. There was a gaping hole where the front door had been. I shivered,

wanting to be far away from here…wherever here was.

Walking felt harder than it should be, and I stumbled off the chilly asphalt, wincing as

sharp gravel dug into my feet.

My bare feet?

I stopped and looked down. Chipped pink nail polish peeked through the dirt…and blood.

Mud caked the legs of my pants, leaving the hems stiff. It made sense, seeing as how I wasn’t

wearing any shoes, but the blood…I didn’t understand why there was blood staining the knees of

my jeans.

My vision clouded and dulled, as if a gray film had been dropped over my eyes. As I

stared at the weathered asphalt under my feet, large and smooth rocks replaced the tiny stones.

Something dark and oily seeped over the rocks, slipping through the cracks.

Sucking in a sharp gasp, I blinked and the image was gone.

Hands trembling, I raised them. They were also covered with dirt and scratches. My nails

were broken, bloodied. A silver ring wrapped, encased in soil, around my thumb. Air froze in my

chest as my gaze crawled over my arms. The sleeves of my sweater were torn, revealing pale

flesh covered in bruises and gashes. My legs started to shake as I swayed forward. I tried to

remember how this had happened, but my head was empty—a black void where nothing existed.

A car drove by, coasting to a stop a few feet in front of me. Somewhere in the trenches of

my subconscious, I recognized the flashing red and blue lights as a source of safety. Elegantly

scrawled along the black-and-gray side of the cruiser were the words ADAMS COUNTY SHERIFF’S

DEPARTMENT.

Adams County? A flash of familiarity came and went.

The driver’s door opened, and a deputy stepped out. He said something into the radio on

his shoulder before he looked at me.

“Miss?” He started around the cruiser, taking tentative steps. He looked young for a

deputy. Barely out of high school and able to carry a gun seemed wrong somehow. Was I in high

school? I didn’t know. “We’ve received some calls into dispatch concerning you,” he said

gently. “Are you okay?”

I tried to respond, but only a hoarse squeak came out. Clearing my throat, I winced as the

motion scratched and pulled. “I…I don’t know.”

“Okay.” The deputy held up his hands as he approached me, as if I were a skittish deer

about to bolt. “My name is Deputy Rhode. I’m here to help you. Do you know what you’re doing

out here?”

“No.” Knots formed in my belly. I didn’t even know where here was.

His smile strained. “What’s your name?”

My name? Everyone knew their name, but as I stared at the deputy, I couldn’t answer his

question. The knots started twisting more. “I don’t…I don’t know what my name is.”

He blinked, and the smile was completely gone. “You don’t remember anything?”

I tried again, concentrating on the empty space between my ears. That was how it felt.

And I knew that wasn’t good. My eyes started to tear up.

“Miss, it’s okay. We’ll get you taken care of.” He reached out, lightly taking hold of my

arm. “We’ll get this sorted.”

Deputy Rhode led me around the back of his cruiser. I didn’t want to sit behind the

Plexiglas, because I knew that wasn’t good. Only bad people sat behind the glass in police

cruisers. I wanted to object, but before I could say anything, he settled me into the seat and

wrapped a coarse blanket around my shoulders.

Before he locked me in the bad part of the car, he knelt and smiled reassuringly.

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

But I knew he was lying, trying to make me feel better. It didn’t work. How could

everything be okay when I didn’t know my own name?

 

ABOUT DON’T LOOK BACK:

Samantha is a stranger in her own life. Until the night she disappeared with her best friend, Cassie, everyone said Sam had it all—popularity, wealth, and a dream boyfriend.

Sam has resurfaced, but she has no recollection of who she was or what happened to her that night. As she tries to piece together her life from before, she realizes it’s one she no longer wants any part of. The old Sam took “mean girl” to a whole new level, and it’s clear she and Cassie were more like best enemies. Sam is pretty sure that losing her memories is like winning the lottery. She’s getting a second chance at being a better daughter, sister, and friend, and she’s falling hard for Carson Ortiz, a boy who has always looked out for her—even if the old Sam treated him like trash.

But Cassie is still missing, and the facts about what happened to her that night isn’t just buried deep inside of Sam’s memory—someone else knows, someone who wants to make sure Sam stays quiet. All Sam wants is the truth, and if she can unlock her clouded memories of that fateful night, she can finally move on. But what if not remembering is the only thing keeping Sam alive?

“This engrossing thriller packs a heady atmospheric punch with plenty of theatrical scares,” Kirkus Reviews

“Armentrout has written another winner. From the first page to the last, she builds both terror and confusion to the point where readers will be hooked and on the edge of their seat. This standalone contains all of Armentrout’s usual trademarks– a strong and determined heroine, witty comments and hot guys–but she adds in an extra layer by ratcheting up the suspense to the highest degree and follows it up with an ending no one will see coming.” RT BOOK REVIEWS 4 1/2 Stars TOP PICK

 

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Author PhotoAbout Jennifer L. Armentrout:

# 1 NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY Bestselling author Jennifer lives in Martinsburg, West Virginia. All the rumors you’ve heard about her state aren’t true. When she’s not hard at work writing. she spends her time reading, working out, watching really bad zombie movies, pretending to write, and hanging out with her husband and her Jack Russell Loki.

Her dreams of becoming an author started in algebra class, where she spent most of her time writing short stories….which explains her dismal grades in math. Jennifer writes young adult paranormal, science fiction, fantasy, and contemporary romance. She is published with Spencer Hill Press, Entangled Teen and Brazen, Disney/Hyperion and Harlequin Teen. Her book Obsidian has been optioned for a major motion picture and her Covenant Series has been optioned for TV.

She also writes adult and New Adult romance under the name J. Lynn. She is published by Entangled Brazen and HarperCollins.

 

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