Toward the Sound of Chaos Release Blitz by Carmen Jenner

A heart-wrenching new military romance from USA TODAY bestselling author Carmen Jenner.

Available exclusively on Amazon and KU

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Amazon CA: http://www.amazon.ca/dp/B01FOQJ780

Amazon AU:  http://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B01FOQJ780

Blurb

Jake Tucker is broken. At twenty-two, he went into the Marine Corps a naïve, troubled youth. Nine years and four tours later, Jake finds himself back on US soil, though his mind remains firmly planted in the sands of Afghanistan with the men he left behind.

Wounded, chewed up and spat out by war, Jake has only his dog, Nuke, PTSD, and survivor’s guilt to keep him company. He’s lived every day for nine years wondering when it will be his last, but there’s little comfort in the fact that he’s still standing when his platoon isn’t.

Ellie Mason doesn’t have time for broken. She’s too busy trying to put food on the table. And keeping up with the demands of her autistic son, Spencer, is sometimes like fighting behind enemy lines. As if navigating the minefields of single parenthood isn’t enough, Ellie finds herself drawn to the quiet Marine who’s just as lonely as she is. But she’s loved damaged men before, and it left her wounded.

Set against the picturesque backdrop of Fairhope, Alabama, Ellie and Jake find themselves running toward the sound of chaos.

Love is war.

Only the strong survive, and surrender is inevitable.

Excerpt

I ease her down on her feet, before the bed and take a step back. I want this, God do I want this, but I’m terrified. Elle’s eyes roam over me and she takes in a deep breath, and I won’t lie—it hurts like hell. I don’t want pity, and I don’t want the woman I care about looking at me like a monster just sprouted from my back. She reaches out a hand and trails her fingertips over my scarred flesh, feeling the hard, ugly edges. I flinch a little, and she pulls away as if she’s been burned.

“Did I hurt you?” she whispers.

“Angel, it hurts just looking at you.”

She smiles and continues her exploration of my body, openin’ old wounds with every scar she touches, and yet it’s as if she’s tenderly sewing them shut at the same time. I haven’t felt the touch of a woman for a very long time, and never again did I think I would, especially not one as perfect and kind-hearted as this.

“What did they do to you, Jake?” Her eyes are bright with tears, and I grab her hands and hold them flat to my chest.

“I don’t want your pity, Elle.”

“You think that’s why I’m here?” she says, staring up at me with those incredible eyes. “You think that’s all this is between us?”

“I thought about it.” I nod. “I can’t see much other reason that a woman like you would want someone like me. I’m a freak and a drunk, and you? You’re so goddamn beautiful it hurts.”

About the Author

Carmen Jenner

Carmen Jenner is a thirty-something, USA TODAY and international bestselling author.

Her dark romance, KICK (Savage Saints MC #1), won Best Dark Romance Read in the Reader’s Choice Awards at RWDU 2015.

A tattoo enthusiast, hardcore lipstick addict and zombie fangirl, Carmen lives on the sunny north coast of New South Wales, Australia, where she spends her time indoors wrangling her two wildling children, a dog named Pikelet, and her very own man-child.

A romantic at heart, Carmen strives to give her characters the HEA they deserve, but not before ruining their lives completely first … because what’s a happily ever after without a little torture?

Stalk Her: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

Published titles to date:

Welcome to Sugartown (Sugartown Series #1)

Enjoy Your Stay (Sugartown Series #2)

Greetings from Sugartown (Sugartown Series #3)

Now Leaving Sugartown (Sugartown Series #4)

REVELRY (Taint #1)

KICK (Savage Saints MC #1)

TANK (Savage Saints MC #2)

Finding North

THANK YOU!

Blog Tour: Passion's Magic by Julie Shelton

Molly Duncan, forty-one, has come to Passion Lake for three things. A new job. A new life. And a new Dom. Her Dom husband has been dead for four years and she desperately wants the closeness of a loving D/s relationship. So she accepts a job at the Passion Lake library and buys an old semi-run-down farm suitable for boarding horses. Horses were a huge part of her life growing up, until she met and married Tom and entered his world of BDSM. Now she hopes to combine both of her passions.

Enter Jared Thompkins, seven-time World All-Around Rodeo Champion and circuit heart-throb. His career ended by injury at age twenty-eight, he’s ready to settle down and find a submissive of his own. A woman he can love and cherish and dominate the hell out of. On the recommendation of his older brother Mitch, he applies for the position of stable manager.

Molly sees a handsome, cocky, young cowboy with a swagger for a walk and a panty-melting grin. Jared sees a lusty, voluptuous, mature blond who’s ready for what he can give her.

The attraction between them is instantaneous and explosive. Each is exactly what the other has been seeking. Now all Jared has to do is prove to a wary Molly that it’s not just sex. He’s in it for the long haul. And a thirteen-year age difference is not the insurmountable obstacle she seems to think it is.

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“That’s a very pretty outfit you’re wearin’,” he said, his normal, slow drawl even slower and definitely sexier. “But it’ll look much prettier on the floor. That’s where I would like to see it. Start with the sweater.”

“Yes, Sir.” She should have been shocked to hear those words tumbling so automatically from her lips. But she wasn’t. They seemed so right. Because Jared wasn’t the only one who needed this. Her mind’s need to submit to him was almost overwhelming, like a thirst that could not be quenched. Her body’s constant, aching need for the exquisite pleasure she knew he was about to give her was almost beyond bearing.

Grabbing the hem of her cashmere sweater, she lifted it up over her head and let it fall to the floor, leaving her clad in nothing but a pink lace bra. Her dusky nipples, hard as berries, were clearly visible through the peek-a-boo lace.

“Now the jeans and socks.”

She reached for the snap, pulling it apart with a tiny, metallic click, followed by the quiet rasp of the zipper being lowered. Putting her thumbs inside the waistband, she began pushing the jeans over her hips and down her legs, stepping out of them and dropping them on top of the sweater. She removed her socks and stood there in her pink lace bra and bikini panty set. At least she was wearing pretty underwear.

“Good girl. Beautifully done. Bra next.”

Without hesitation, she reached back behind her and released the hooks. Cupping her hands beneath her breasts, she held the cups in place while allowing the straps to fall down her arms. Leaning forward, she jiggled her breasts back and forth, letting gravity take over. The lace garment fell into her hands and she let it drop to her feet. Straightening, she stood, hands at her sides, fingers twitching as she fought the urge to cover her naked breasts. Jared was the first man other than Tom who had ever seen her naked, and if the two Doms were anything alike, she knew that covering herself in his presence would not be allowed and would most likely result in a punishment. Although, the very thought of being turned over his very sexy knees and spanked until her bottom was hot and rosy sent juice gushing from her pussy. Hmmm. Maybe a spanking wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Jared extended his right hand toward her. She gasped at the first touch of his calloused fingertips to the soft underside of her left breast.

He frowned. “Am I hurtin’ you?”

“No sir.” She shook her head. “It feels”…her voice softened to a whisper…“wonderful.”

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Julie Shelton is 73 years old, a retired storyteller/puppeteer. She loves reading and writing, ballet, pistachio ice cream, the mountains, Medieval illuminated manuscripts, Classical music. 80’s rock ballads, and violets.

She hates hypocrisy, intolerance, liver, and sushi.

If she were a tree, she would be a live oak because it lasts for hundreds of years, it doesn’t shed its leaves in the winter, and it’s great for climbing and hanging swings from.

If she were a piece of music…hmmm, that’s a bit tougher. She’d either be Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto #2 in C Minor, the most achingly romantic piece of music ever written, or Prokofiev’s sumptuous score to the ballet Romeo and Juliet.

Blog Tour - Paige's Warriors by Ann Mayburn

After a lifetime of war, Commander Trenzent has left behind the bloody battlefields of the Bel'Tan galaxy and traveled to Earth in the hopes of finding his bondmate. He can only pray that the one woman in the universe who can save his battered soul can look past his scarred exterior to the man within. Unfortunately for Tren, his potential bride is terrified of men thanks to years of abuse at the hands of her father and won't be easy to seduce.

Paige Grant is pretty sure she's losing her mind obsessing about a man who doesn’t exist. Ever since the night a wormhole opened up next to Jupiter she's had these intense dreams about a terrifying, damaged man who awakens a passion inside of her she never knew existed. Despite his grim exterior, he makes her feel safe, something she desperately needs in the real world as she fights off the advances of a man who will not take no for an answer.

But Trenzent isn't the only Kadothian warrior who believes Paige is his bondmate. An old political enemy of Tren's, Rell Thantos, also believes the sweet and shy young Earth woman holds the missing part of his soul. He will do whatever it takes to win her heart, even if it means becoming bloodbrothers with a man he hates.

The men will have to find a way to get past their anger and work together to protect Paige against an unknown enemy who is determined to keep the women of Earth out of the Bel’Tan Galaxy forever.

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With over forty published books, Ann is Queen of the Castle to her husband and three sons in the mountains of West Virginia. In her past lives she's been an Import Broker, a Communications Specialist, a US Navy Civilian Contractor, a Bartender/Waitress, and an actor at the Michigan Renaissance Festival. She also spent a summer touring with the Grateful Dead-though she will deny to her children that it ever happened.

From a young Ann has had a love affair with books would read everything she could get her hands on. As Ann grew older, and her hormones kicked in, she discovered bodice ripping Fabio-esque romance novels. They were great at first, but she soon grew tired of the endless stories with a big wonderful emotional buildup to really short and crappy sex. Never a big fan of purple prose, throbbing spears of fleshy pleasure and wet honey pots make her giggle, she sought out books that gave the sex scenes in the story just as much detail and plot as everything else-without using cringe worthy euphemisms. This led her to the wonderful world of Erotic Romance, and she's never looked back.

Now Ann spends her days trying to tune out cartoons playing in the background to get into her 'sexy space' and has accepted that her Muse has a severe case of ADD.

Blog Tour : CHIMERA by Stephie Walls

Title: chimera

Author: Stephie Walls

Genre: Adult, Dark Romance

Published: May 11, 2016

I couldn’t be anything other than a romantic at heart — it’s my nature, it’s who I am. But this isn’t a typical story of traditional love. It isn’t a fairy tale. No happily ever after neatly tied up with a shiny bow. It’s a memoir of the reality left behind in the wake of grief — the desolation, the resurrection, and final culmination life offers to the fallen. This is a journey through love…the love of self, love of a friend, and sometimes love is ugly, messy —destructive. My name is Bastian Thames…and this is my story.

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CHIMERA - Copyright © Stephie Walls 2016

Chapter One

When Sylvie died, it left a hole in my being that seemed prodigious. I adorn my face with the plastic appearance people anticipate from me, but internally, I weep. Continuing through the monotonous motion of my daily life, I increasingly find myself lost in what my friends—well, those who remain—refer to as a fictional world: novels, authors, artists, musicians, and the illusion of relationships on social media. The more time I spend on Facebook, the more entrenched I become in the fiction that exists on the screen. I believe these “friends” are truly concerned for me; they’re what relationships are in reality. Sadly, these seem to be the only things keeping me hanging on, but the thread threatens to break daily, frayed from top to bottom. The tightly woven fabric that was once my life has deteriorated beyond recognition.

That’s the crux of my juxtaposition. My life had value, it had meaning. It was everything I had ever imagined it could be. But without Sylvie, black clouds roll through my mind, hindering my ability to think, eliminating productivity, and stifling my creativity. My art is as dead as I am. But online…online I can be anything I want to be, whatever version of myself I decide to show to the world. I don’t have to be the pathetic artist who lost his muse. I don’t have to be the sweet, sensitive man Sylvie loved. I don’t know whom I want to reinvent myself as, but the idea of being whatever still exists in my soul doesn’t appeal to me. My craft has become recreating my persona, anything to escape the pain, the desolation, and the solitude. Surely there’s art in recreating an identity.

Most days, I find it difficult to even get out of bed. The colder it gets outside, the shorter the days are, the deeper I sink—sometimes only escaping the protection of my covers to take a piss or get something to eat or drink. Although frequently, I let those things go in favor of marinating in my misery. My laptop calls to me from my nightstand when the loneliness becomes too much to bear, the darkness too black to see through.

That recognizable blue-and-white screen brings me comfort, the newsfeed seemingly a link to real conversation, touching base with the people I’ve known for years—but it always introduces the possibility of newcomers. The “friend recommendation” is the online equivalent to a friend introducing you to someone new; at least it is in my mind. I always check out the recommendations. They’re often other painters or singers that might have known Sylvie—or people I barely recognize from high school or college. But every once in a while, some totally random person surfaces with no tie to my past.

Those are the connections I find most interesting, most appealing.

They also seem to be the safest, having no knowledge of the person I once was, or how all that remains of me is a fragmented shell. I have made several “friends” this way, people I would say I’m close to—even though we’ve never met and likely never will. Herein lies my fictional world, the one my real friends don’t understand and believe to be emotionally damaging to me. I’m not processing my grief…blah, blah, blah. If I hear that shit one more time, I may scream.

As soon as I log in, the familiar recommendations bombard me as if the universe is playing some cruel joke. There she is, my Sylvie…only her name is Sera Martin. She’s a perfect duplicate with the same striking green eyes, long chestnut-colored hair, high cheekbones, and luscious, pouty lips.

I realize I haven’t inhaled or exhaled.

I gasp and hold my breath until my lungs burn. I haven’t seen her in years. The day she died, I came home and stripped our house of any reminder—every picture, every video, every stitch of clothing, anything she loved. It all had to leave. I couldn’t bear the weight of what the world took from me. I imagined if I discarded everything, she wouldn’t haunt me, and maybe, somehow, I would manage to learn to live again if reminders of her didn’t surround me.

Yet, her loss possesses me daily.

This girl. This Sera. Could this be Mother Nature returning my Sylvie to me in a strange twist of fate? The notion there’s a doppelganger roaming the world has always been a thought I believe in. It’s possible after years of suffering, dying inside, barely hanging on, that my savior has come. Without hesitation, I click “add friend.”

Sera responds to my request with a private message.

Sera: Wow! Are you really Bastian Thames?

Me: Yes. Have we met before?

Sera: Once, but I doubt you’d remember. It was at a gallery down on the West End where your work was being featured a couple years ago. Is this the real Bastian? Not some lurker claiming to be the famous artist?

Me: Far cry from famous, but yes, one and the same. Are you certain we met that night? I remember the opening and can assure you I would have remembered you.

Sera: Yes, you were with your wife. She’s quite lovely. I’m not sure which was more beautiful, her or the nudes you had in the collection. That showing was the talk of the art community for months around here.

Me: That was the last opening I did. Seems like a lifetime ago.

Sera: Are you not painting anymore? I hate to admit that I lost track of your work when I went off to college but for years, I was a huge fan.

Me: Life happened. I haven’t painted in some time.

Sera: I can’t imagine you quit painting. Surely you just quit putting them out for the public.

Me: No. I haven’t so much as held a brush in five years.

Sera: That’s a shame. Hey look, Bastian, I have to run out but I accepted your request. I hope maybe we can talk some later. Maybe you’ll let me pick your brain about a project I’m working on?

Me: Certainly. I hope to hear from you soon.

Sera: Bye

Me: Later

My mind races with possibilities. I immediately go to her profile to see what information I can garner on her before our next conversation—assuming one comes. Jesus, she’s twenty-five, went to the Rhode Island School of Design, graduated with her Masters in Fine Arts, and holy hell, she’s a sculptor. If these pictures are of her work, then she has phenomenal talent. Scouring her profile provides only surface-level information. There’s almost nothing personal. The pictures all seem to be with other artists or at galleries or in a studio. Moving to her wall, I find tons of posts by other local artists, memes about artwork, jokes…the proverbial Facebook bullshit.

I almost quit scrolling when I see a post that grabs my attention. There’s a picture of two beautiful women, scantily clad, one bent over, the other yielding a paddle, and the words, “Someone’s been a bad girl.” Jesus Christ. There are one hundred forty-seven comments and two hundred fifty-three likes on the thread posted by a Maria Martin.

I click on Maria’s name first, assuming it will be a sister or cousin, not expecting it to be her mother. Holy shit, whose mother posts this kind of profanity on their daughter’s Facebook wall? Making my way back to the thread, I find myself enthralled by the dialogue.

It’s cheeky and playful but talk about insight. This one picture, one conversation, tells me scads about who she is personally, not about her work, but seemingly what she enjoys—intimately. Reading her responses to the comments ignites a fire in an area of my anatomy I thought had died with Sylvie. As my cock starts to twitch, that old, familiar heat seeps through my crotch.

I stop myself, realizing I’m staring at dialogue—about a woman who could be my dead wife’s twin—between people I don’t know. It’s morbid, really. Backing out of the comments and Sera’s profile, then I set the computer aside. I don’t close the laptop for fear of missing a message from her. Lying back, I stare at the all-too-familiar ceiling. I know every blemish on the drywall with aching familiarity. There have been hours of loneliness and isolation. The depth of pain is so fathomless, I often wonder how I made it to the next day without feeling the cold steel in my hand, without pulling the trigger.

I've lived all over the country but have made Greenville, South Carolina my home for the last 20 of my 37 years. I have a serious addiction to anything Coach and would live on Starbucks if I could get away with it. If you follow me on Facebook you'll also find that I'm slightly enamored with Charlie Hunnam. I'm an avid reader (literary whore to be more precise) averaging around 300 novels a year. I have a penchant for great love stories, sensual poetry and am a romantic at heart. I currently work full-time in the Greenville area and fill my "extra" time with writing contemporary romance novels with a hint of erotica. I couldn't do it without the support of my family and friends who push me to keep going when I don't have the confidence or patience.

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