BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - CONTEMPORARY - DON'T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME (Love on the Radio, #2) by Naima Simone

Don’t You Forget About Me

Love on the Radio, #2

by Naima Simone

Publication date: November 1st 2022

Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

BLURB

Whoever said be careful what you wish for had a serious gift for understatement.

As one of the world’s hugest musicians I’d seen and had it all. Sold out tours. Awards. Fame. Money. Women… And I’d almost lost it all. Epically.

Now I’m back home. A broken, burned out, desperate rock star…and a single father. I returned to give my son a family, stability. To figure out my life. But coming home meant seeing her.

The woman who was once my everything. Who made life in this too small town bearable. Who I loved with my whole heart…my whole body. But long held secrets forced me to leave nine years ago. Forced me to abandon her. And she’s never forgiven me.

Still…

I’ve never forgotten her or the heat between us that burned so hot we damn near went up in flames with it. And I want it again. And again. Even knowing the past will only tear us apart once more…

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SNEAK PEEK:

I enter Hunt Auto’s breakroom, closing the door behind us. As soon as the lock engages, Lennon whirls around, and I shift my gaze from her infuriated glare to over her head.

Just for a minute.

Because Jesus… She’s f*cking gorgeous.

My fingers itch to sink into those beautiful, thick curls, hold her steady while I desecrate that wide, lush mouth. The knit of her dress pays homage to every curve and dip of her body, molding to her high, firm breasts, the sensual flare of her hips, the thickness of her thighs. And fUck if I can’t feel the heels of her knee-high boots in my lower back.

At twenty I’d barely had the opportunity to explore the searing sexuality and lust that had existed between us before I had to leave. Barely had my fill of that violets and musk scent that was more intoxicating than the best top-shelf alcohol. My stomach aches with hunger for a woman whose particular flavor is still as fresh, as potent to me as it was ten years ago.

“What in the hell are you thinking?” she snaps, then flicks her gaze towards the closed door. She lowers her voice without losing any of the venom. “Do you know what you just did?”

“Yeah.” I drag my gaze from the wall and meet hers. Not daring to glance below her chin. No, f*ck that. Her nose. “I stopped you from driving while you were upset. And don’t try lying to me,” I interrupt when her lips part to do just that—lie. “You were upset. Still are. Don’t ask me to see you hurting and walk away, whether it’s my business or not. Don’t ask me to do it.”

“Why not?” She jerks her gaze back to me, and I go solid. “You do it so well. You’re a pro at it.”

I stare at her. At the tautness of the skin over her cheekbones. The darkness in her eyes. She’s a bomb set on emotional detonate, and the masochist that I am, I want all that shrapnel embedded in my skin. I want her to draw my blood.

“Don’t stop now. Let it out, baby. You’re right. I left you. Didn’t look back. Didn’t give a f*ck,” I lie.

“You don’t give a f*ck about anyone but yourself. You never did. You used me and then threw me away,” she rasps.

“Yeah, I did. Now what?” I keep shoving at her, even though guilt slides through me like filth. “You want me to apologize? To crawl on my knees and grovel? To beg?”

“Yes.” Her whisper echoes in the room as if she shouted it. “I want to see you hurt, sorry, suffering. Just like when you left me broken. You didn’t give a damn then so don’t pretend you do now. Nothing about you has changed, King. Not one thing. And I hate you for it. I hate you for not once looking back at the wreckage you left behind you. I hate you for going on with life and living it like I never mattered while I had to face reminders and memories of you every time I walked out my front door. I hate you…” Her voice hoarsens, and she crosses her arms over her chest, bowing her head. “I hate you because you gave another woman what you promised me. A family. Gunner could’ve been ours. Should’ve been ours. But you stole one more dream from me.”

F*ck.

F*ck.

It doesn’t occur to me not to touch her.

Eliminating the space between us, I pull her into my arms.

“King, don’t…” Her whisper ends on a sob, and I tighten my hold on her, pressing my lips to her hair.

“No. I can’t. There’s no way I can let you go right now.” I inhale her, take her so deep into my lungs, her scent burns me, marks me. Rubbing my mouth over her hair, I beg just like she wanted me to. “Let go, Len. Let go and allow me to be the one who carries you through it. Lean on me, baby. Just for a little while.”

Her fists ball into my shirt, stretching the material at my waist. She rolls her forehead against my chest, and her jagged breaths scorch me through my clothes. I slide a hand up her spine, cupping the back of her neck, squeezing it.

As if that unlocks something inside her, her shoulders shake and seconds later, her cries rip through the room. She crushes her cheek against me, and her tears dampen my shirt and skin. Stroking her back with one hand, I cradle her head with the other, fingers tunneling under the bun to scratch her scalp.

How long she sobs in my arms, I’m not certain. Minutes, hours. A lifetime. It’s not long enough. Curling my body over her, I brush my mouth over her ear.

“I left, yes. But I did look back. So many damn times. And never, ever did I stop giving a f*ck,” I softly admit.

Her breath shudders against my chest, and locking down a groan, I lift my hands to her face, tilting it back. Her eyes, moist with all the tears she’s shed, meet mine. Even with her face wet and swollen, she’s beautiful to me.

“Liar,” she accuses, voice so rough, it’s nearly painful to hear. “You’re such a liar.”

Then she raises on her toes and crushes her mouth to mine.

Author Bio:

Published since 2009, USA Today Bestselling author Naima Simone loves writing sizzling romances with heart, a touch of humor and snark. Her books have been featured in The Washington Post and Entertainment Weekly, and described as balancing “crackling, electric love scenes with exquisitely rendered characters caught in emotional turmoil.”

She is wife to Superman, or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet proof equivalent, and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, sometimes domestically-challenged bliss in the southern United States.

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BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - CONTEMPORARY - BRATVA TREASURE (Ivankov Brotherhood, #3) by Sabine Barclay

Bratva Treasure

Ivankov Brotherhood, #3

by Sabine Barclay

Publication date: September 20th 2022

Published by: Oliver Heber Books

Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Mafia, Romance

BLURB

She has no idea what she agreed to…

My printsessa thinks she’s taken a regular job for a regular lawyer.

She doesn’t know the devils that lurk below the surface now that she’s in my world. The bratva world.

Innocent, sweet, and trusting.

All the things I am not. All the things I never knew I wanted.

But I do now. And she’s mine.

Let someone try to take her. I’ll burn the world down around them to keep her. She’s my soulmate.

She doesn’t know her limits yet. I’ll take her there, then bring her back with my touch and my love.

Bratva Treasure is an interconnecting, standalone Dark Mafia Romance with a HEA and no cliffhanger. It contains extra-steamy scenes that will make your toes curl and your granny blush. This is book three in The Ivankov Brotherhood, a six-book series that’ll keep you warm at night.

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EXCERPT:

I can’t stay away. I have no reason to go to Maks’s place every day. But I keep finding excuses. I’m so intrigued, and I keep making it worse by feeding my curiosity. Part of me is genuinely interested in getting to know Stasia, but the other part of me is suspicious as hell. I trust next to no one who isn’t family or bratva. My sisters-in-law are the rare exceptions, and I wasn’t sure at first. I was impressed and respected Laura from the get-go. She wrapped us around her little finger to the tune of forty billion when she out negotiated us for a merger with a company she represented.

Christina was an inspector for the city planner, and she showed up at one of our building sites for a rather untraditional and unforgettable meeting. Poor Bogdan. I will never forget the look on his face when he recognized her. He clearly wasn’t over how they parted the first time they met a few days earlier. But she was incredibly helpful and sorted out more than one mess for us. She’s so good that we made her the head of our construction branch.

But Stasia. I don’t know yet what to make of her. I want to fvck her into next week. That much I know. She’s beyond pretty. She’s not stop-you-in-your-tracks beautiful until she smiles. Actually, I take that back. I think she’s beautiful and hot as fvck, but I know a lot of men wouldn’t see her that way. That’s more than fine by me. She’s almost too thin, but more in a leggy supermodel kind of way. Eastern Europe produces some of the most gorgeous women in the world. Her half-Russian side is strong.

But I still find it hard to trust her. She’s in my brother and sister-in-law’s house every day and around my niece and nephew. I know she passed a background check, but anyone new makes me uneasy.

“How do you like the job so far?”

I know that’s an unfair question, but I ask it anyway. I want to see her eyes, her gut reaction, not hear her profess she loves it.

“It’s great. I love working for Laura.”

Sincerity. Either she’s telling the truth, or she’s a sociopath with no compunction about lying. I think it’s the former.

“Better than what you did before?”

Half the time we speak Russian, and I don’t even notice. We have been today. It’s enough to lull me into thinking that she might be fully Russian and would understand our life. But she’ll stumble over a word or have to think about one for a moment. It all comes crashing back down that she isn’t. She’s only half. But all of her was raised in America. Then my suspicions start all over again. What happens if she finds out? What were Maks and Laura thinking bringing a stranger into their home?

Not just because we’re bratva, but because the twins are here. She doesn’t seem like the type, but I’ve seen “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle.” I remember that Soul Asylum song I used to hear sometimes on the Classic Rock station. “Runaway Train.” That was one with the music video with the woman who grabs the baby out of the stroller. I watched it once, and it’s stuck with me ever since.

I have an overactive imagination. That’s what my dad would tell me when I was really little. It was usually when I made Bogdan pretend to be my dog. My parents wouldn’t get one. Our apartment in Moscow was barely big enough for the six of us. I would make Bogdan crawl around with me. I was five, and he was four. What was the point of having a little brother back then if I couldn’t get him to do things for me?

“Big plans for the weekend?”

“No. I’m just going to help my friend Beth move and then hang out at my place. My friend Gracie and her fiancé are going out of town.”

“I don’t miss the days of helping people move. I spent a summer working for one of those college guys moving companies. Good money, but never again.”

I pretend to shiver.

“Monday nights are actually our night to go out. There’s a place near campus that has great happy hour specials.”

Tucking that little nugget away.

 

Author Info

Sabine Barclay, a nom de plume also writing Historical Romance as Celeste Barclay, lives near the Southern California coast with her husband and sons. Growing up in the Midwest, Sabine enjoyed spending as much time in and on the water as she could. Now she lives near the beach. She's an avid swimmer, a hopeful future surfer, and a former rower. Before becoming a full-time author, Sabine was a Social Studies and English teacher. She holds degrees in International Affairs (BA), Secondary Social Science (MAT), and Political Management (MPS). She channels that knowledge into creating engrossing contemporary romances that will make your toes curl and your granny blush.

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