You can read the next part of One Fell Sweep (written by Ilona Andrews) here:
http://innkeeper.ilona-andrews.com/2016/02/26/ofs-chapter-3-part-3/
Friday, 26 February 2016
Wednesday, 24 February 2016
Saturday, 20 February 2016
An exclusive excerpt from "One with You" (Crossfire #5) by Sylvia Day
I reached for my phone on the nightstand to call my mom when Gideon’s face lit up my screen. “Hey,” I answered.
“How’s your morning so far?”
It tickled me to hear his clipped, businesslike tone. My husband’s head was in the game, but he was still thinking of me.
“I just rolled out of bed, so I can’t really say. How’s yours? You finish buying up everything in Manhattan?”
“Not quite. Have to leave something for the competition. Otherwise, where’s the fun?”
“You do love your challenges.” I headed into the bathroom, my gaze sliding over the tub before pausing on the shower. Just thinking about my husband naked and wet made me hot. “What do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t resisted you to begin with? What if I’d just fallen into bed with you when you asked?”
“You would’ve blown my mind, just as you did. That was inevitable. Have lunch with me.”
I smiled. “I’m supposed to be planning a wedding.”
“I hear a yes in there. It’s a business lunch, but you’ll enjoy it.”
Looking in the mirror, I saw wildly tousled bedhead and creases in my cheeks from the pillow. “What time?”
“Noon. Raúl will be waiting for you downstairs shortly before.”
“I should be responsible and say no.”
“But you won’t. I miss you.”
My breath caught. He tossed that out there nonchalantly, the way some men would say I’ll call you. But Gideon wasn’t the type of man to say anything he didn’t mean.
Still, I craved to feel the emotion behind the words. “You’re too busy to miss me.”
“It’s not the same,” he said. There was a pause. “It doesn’t feel right not having you here in the Crossfire.”
I was glad he couldn’t see me smile. There was an unmistakable trace of perplexity in his voice. It shouldn’t make a difference to him that I wasn’t working floors below his office, where he couldn’t see me. But it did.
“What are you wearing?” I asked.
“Clothes.”
“Duh. A three-piece suit?”
“Is there any other kind?”
Not for him, there wasn’t. “What color?”
“Black. Why?”
“It makes me hot thinking about it.” Which was true, but not why I was asking. “What color tie?”
“White.”
“Shirt?”
“Also white.”
Closing my eyes, I pictured him. I remembered that combination. “Pinstripes.”
He’d go with a pinstriped suit to keep the business look with that shirt and tie combination.
“Yes. Eva . . .” His voice lowered. “I have no idea why this conversation is making me hard, but it is.”
“Because you know I’m seeing you in my head. All dark and dangerous and sexy as hell. You know how much it turns me on to look at you, even if it’s only by memory.”
“Meet me here. Early. Come now.”
I laughed. “Good things come to those who wait, Mr. Cross. I’ll be cutting it close as it is.”
“Eva—”
“I love you.” I hung up and faced myself squarely in the mirror. With the picture of Gideon freshly in my mind, I found the sleepy mess looking back at me totally insufficient. I’d changed my look when I’d thought Gideon had left me for Corinne. I had dubbed the result “New Eva.” In the time since, my hair had grown past its former shoulder length and my highlights had grown out with it.
“You decent?” Cary called from the bedroom.
“Yes.” I faced him when he strolled into the bathroom with my coffee in hand. “Change of plan.”
“Oh?” He leaned into the counter and crossed his arms.
“I’m hopping in the shower. You’re going to find me a fabulous hair salon that can fit me in about thirty minutes from now.”
“Okay.”
“Then I’m going to lunch and you’re going to make a few calls for me. In return, I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. You pick the place.”
“I know that look you’ve got,” he said. “You’re on a mission.”
“Damn straight.”
One with You: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Paperback
“How’s your morning so far?”
It tickled me to hear his clipped, businesslike tone. My husband’s head was in the game, but he was still thinking of me.
“I just rolled out of bed, so I can’t really say. How’s yours? You finish buying up everything in Manhattan?”
“Not quite. Have to leave something for the competition. Otherwise, where’s the fun?”
“You do love your challenges.” I headed into the bathroom, my gaze sliding over the tub before pausing on the shower. Just thinking about my husband naked and wet made me hot. “What do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t resisted you to begin with? What if I’d just fallen into bed with you when you asked?”
“You would’ve blown my mind, just as you did. That was inevitable. Have lunch with me.”
I smiled. “I’m supposed to be planning a wedding.”
“I hear a yes in there. It’s a business lunch, but you’ll enjoy it.”
Looking in the mirror, I saw wildly tousled bedhead and creases in my cheeks from the pillow. “What time?”
“Noon. Raúl will be waiting for you downstairs shortly before.”
“I should be responsible and say no.”
“But you won’t. I miss you.”
My breath caught. He tossed that out there nonchalantly, the way some men would say I’ll call you. But Gideon wasn’t the type of man to say anything he didn’t mean.
Still, I craved to feel the emotion behind the words. “You’re too busy to miss me.”
“It’s not the same,” he said. There was a pause. “It doesn’t feel right not having you here in the Crossfire.”
I was glad he couldn’t see me smile. There was an unmistakable trace of perplexity in his voice. It shouldn’t make a difference to him that I wasn’t working floors below his office, where he couldn’t see me. But it did.
“What are you wearing?” I asked.
“Clothes.”
“Duh. A three-piece suit?”
“Is there any other kind?”
Not for him, there wasn’t. “What color?”
“Black. Why?”
“It makes me hot thinking about it.” Which was true, but not why I was asking. “What color tie?”
“White.”
“Shirt?”
“Also white.”
Closing my eyes, I pictured him. I remembered that combination. “Pinstripes.”
He’d go with a pinstriped suit to keep the business look with that shirt and tie combination.
“Yes. Eva . . .” His voice lowered. “I have no idea why this conversation is making me hard, but it is.”
“Because you know I’m seeing you in my head. All dark and dangerous and sexy as hell. You know how much it turns me on to look at you, even if it’s only by memory.”
“Meet me here. Early. Come now.”
I laughed. “Good things come to those who wait, Mr. Cross. I’ll be cutting it close as it is.”
“Eva—”
“I love you.” I hung up and faced myself squarely in the mirror. With the picture of Gideon freshly in my mind, I found the sleepy mess looking back at me totally insufficient. I’d changed my look when I’d thought Gideon had left me for Corinne. I had dubbed the result “New Eva.” In the time since, my hair had grown past its former shoulder length and my highlights had grown out with it.
“You decent?” Cary called from the bedroom.
“Yes.” I faced him when he strolled into the bathroom with my coffee in hand. “Change of plan.”
“Oh?” He leaned into the counter and crossed his arms.
“I’m hopping in the shower. You’re going to find me a fabulous hair salon that can fit me in about thirty minutes from now.”
“Okay.”
“Then I’m going to lunch and you’re going to make a few calls for me. In return, I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. You pick the place.”
“I know that look you’ve got,” he said. “You’re on a mission.”
“Damn straight.”
One with You: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Paperback
Friday, 19 February 2016
One Fell Sweep (Innkeeper Chronicles #3): chapter three, part 1 and 2 is up!
You can read the third chapter (part 1 and 2) of One Fell Sweep (written by Ilona Andrews) here:
http://innkeeper.ilona-andrews.com/2016/02/19/ofs-chapter-3-part-1-and-2/
http://innkeeper.ilona-andrews.com/2016/02/19/ofs-chapter-3-part-1-and-2/
Sunday, 14 February 2016
An excerpt from "One with You" (Crossfire #5) by Sylvia Day
“You’re quitting?”
Mark Garrity’s incredulous gaze lifted from my resignation letter and met mine.
My stomach knotted at the expression on my boss’s face. “Yes. I’m sorry I can’t give more notice.”
“Tomorrow is your last day?” He leaned back in his chair. His eyes were a warm chocolate shades lighter than his skin, and they registered both surprise and dismay. “Why, Eva?”
Sighing, I leaned forward, setting my elbows on my knees. Yet again, I went with the truth. “I know it’s unprofessional to cut out like this, but . . . I’ve got to rearrange my priorities and right now. . . . I just can’t give this my full attention, Mark. I’m sorry.”
“I . . .” He blew out his breath and ran a hand over his dark, tight curls. “Hell . . . What can I say?”
“That you’ll forgive me and won’t hold it against me?” I huffed out a humorless laugh. “It’s asking a lot, I know.”
He managed a wry smile. “I hate to lose you, Eva, you know that. I’m not sure I’ve ever really expressed how much you’ve contributed. You make me work better.”
“Thank you, Mark. I appreciate that.” God, this was harder than I thought it would be, even knowing it was the best and only decision I could make.
My gaze went beyond my handsome boss to the view behind him. As a junior account manager, he had a small office and his view was blocked by the building across the street, but it was still as quintessentially New York as Gideon Cross’s sprawling office on the top floor above us.
In a lot of ways, that division of floors mirrored the way I’d tried to define my relationship with Gideon. I knew who he was. Knew what he was: a man in a class by himself. I loved that about him and didn’t want him to change; I just wanted to climb to his level on my own merits. What I hadn’t considered was that by stubbornly refusing to accept that our marriage changed the plan, I was pulling him down to mine.
I wouldn’t be known for earning my way to the top of my field. For some people, I would always have married into success. And I was just going to have to live with it.
“So, where are you going from here?” Mark asked.
“Honestly . . . I’m still figuring that out. I just know I can’t stay.”
My marriage could only take so much pressure before it broke, and I had allowed it to slide to a dangerous edge, trying to find some distance. Trying to put myself first.
Gideon Cross was as deep and vast as the ocean, and I had feared drowning in him from the moment I first saw him. I couldn’t be afraid of that anymore. Not after realizing that what I feared more was losing him.
By trying to stay neutral, I’d been shoved from side to side. And as pissed off as I’d been about that, I hadn’t taken the time to comprehend that if I wanted control, I just had to take it.
“Because of the LanCorp account?” Mark asked.
“In part.” I smoothed my pinstriped pencil skirt, mentally brushing away the lingering resentment over Gideon’s hiring of Mark. The catalyst had been LanCorp coming to Waters Field & Leaman with a specific request for Mark—and therefore me—a maneuver Gideon viewed with suspicion. Geoffrey Cross’s Ponzi scheme had decimated the Landon family fortune, and while both Ryan Landon and Gideon had rebuilt what their fathers had lost, Landon still hungered for revenge. “But mostly for personal reasons.”
Straightening, he set his elbows on the desk and leaned toward me. “It’s none of my business and I won’t pry, but you know Steven, Shawna, and I are all here for you, if you need us. We care about you.”
His earnestness made my eyes sting with tears. His fiancé, Steven Ellison, and Steven’s sister Shawna had become dear to me in the months I’d been in New York, part of the new network of friends I had built in my new life. No matter what, I didn’t want to lose my connection to people I’d grown to love.
“I know.” I smiled through my sorrow. “If I need you, I’ll call, I promise. But it’s all going to work out for the best. For all of us.”
Mark relaxed and smiled back. “Steven’s going to flip. Maybe I should make you tell him.”
Thinking of the burly, gregarious contractor chased any sadness away. Steven would give me a hard time for bailing out on his partner, but he’d do it with a good heart. “Aw, come on,” I teased back. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you? This is hard enough as it is.”
“I’m not opposed to making it harder.”
I laughed. Yeah, I was going to miss Mark and my job. A lot.
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Saturday, 13 February 2016
One Fell Sweep (Innkeeper Chronicles #3): chapter two is up!
You can read the two chapter (part 2 and 3) of One Fell Sweep (written by Ilona Andrews) here:
http://innkeeper.ilona-andrews.com/2016/02/12/ofs-chapter-2-part-2-and-3/
http://innkeeper.ilona-andrews.com/2016/02/12/ofs-chapter-2-part-2-and-3/
Tuesday, 9 February 2016
Snippets from "Magic Binds" and (probably) from "Grey Wolf Novel #2" by Ilona Andrews
“Julie, where is he?”
“He went out to check on horses.”
“Really? He hates horses.”
Julie’s eyes sparkled. “He said it was very important for him to check that they were still there. And that he was also there and not here when you snapped.”
I hugged Curran, still holding REDACTED in an arm lock. “Love you, I’ll be back soon. Don’t let him drink any blood.”
“Julie, Hugh is one of the most lethal fighters I know. You’re nowhere near that. He would cut you down like grass.”
She raised her hand. I couldn’t see her magic but I felt pour out of her, unfurling like invisible wings. “Not anymore.”
“He went out to check on horses.”
“Really? He hates horses.”
Julie’s eyes sparkled. “He said it was very important for him to check that they were still there. And that he was also there and not here when you snapped.”
I hugged Curran, still holding REDACTED in an arm lock. “Love you, I’ll be back soon. Don’t let him drink any blood.”
“Julie, Hugh is one of the most lethal fighters I know. You’re nowhere near that. He would cut you down like grass.”
She raised her hand. I couldn’t see her magic but I felt pour out of her, unfurling like invisible wings. “Not anymore.”
First chapter from "The Beast" (Black Dagger Brotherhood #15) by J. R. Ward
Chapter 1
The Brownswick School for Girls, Caldwell, NY
Ants under the skin.
As Rhage transferred his weight from one shitkicker to the other, he felt like his bloodstream had come to a soft boil and the bubbles were tickling the underside of every fucking square inch of his flesh. And that wasn’t the half of it. Random muscle fibers misfired all over his body, the spasms causing fingers to twitch, knees to jerk, shoulders to tighten like he was about to go tennis racket on something.
For the one millionth time since he’d materialized into his position, he peeper-swept the ragged, overgrown meadow up ahead. Back when the Brownswick School for Girls had been a functioning entity, the field in front of him had no doubt been a rolling lawn that had been well mowed in the spring and summer, deleafed in the autumn, and snow-covered pretty as a children’s book in the winter. Now, it was a touch-football field from hell, studded and tangled with gnarled bushes that could do more than just aesthetic damage to a guy’s crotchticular region, saplings that were the ugly, misshapen stepchildren of the more mature maples and oaks, and late October-brown long grass that could trip you like a little bitch if you were trying to sprint.
Likewise, the brick buildings, which had sheltered and provided instructional spaces to the privileged elite’s offspring, were aging badly without regular maintenance: windows broken, doors rotting, off-kilter shutters opening and shutting in the cold wind as if the ghosts couldn’t decide whether they wanted to be seen or just heard.
It was the campus from Dead Poets Society. Assuming everyone had packed up after the movie had been shot in 1988 and nobody had touched a fucking thing since.
But the facilities were not empty.
As Rhage took a deep inhale, his gag reflex did a couple of push-ups in the back of his throat. So many lessers were hiding in the abandoned dormitories and classrooms that it was impossible to isolate individual scents from the sinus-numbing stench of the whole. Christ, it was like putting your face in a chum bucket and inhaling like the world were about to run out of oxygen.
Assuming someone had added baby powder to all the day-old fish heads and goo.
For that sweet finish, don’tcha know.
As his skin went on another shimmy-shimmy, he told his curse to hold its hey-nannies, that hell yeah, it was going to get let off the chain tonight. He wasn’t even going to try to hold the damn thing in—not that trying to throw the brakes on was ever successful, anyway—and whereas giving the beast free rein was not always a good thing, tonight it was going to be an offensive bene. The Black Dagger Brotherhood was facing how many lessers? Fifty? A hundred and fifty?
That was a lot to handle, even for them—so yeah, his little . . . present . . . from the Scribe Virgin was going to come in handy.
Talk about your ringer from out of town. Over a century ago, the Mother of the Race had given him his own personal T.O. system, a behavior modification program that was so onerous, so unpleasant, so overwhelming that it did, in fact, manage to bring him back from the brink of total douche-baggery. Courtesy of the dragon, unless he managed his energy levels properly and moderated his emotions, all hell broke loose.
Literally.
In the course of the last century, he had become largely successful at making sure the thing didn’t eat his nearest and dearest, or get them on the nightly news with a “Jurassic Park Is Alive” headline. But with what he and his brothers were facing right now—and how isolated this campus was? If they were lucky, the great purple-scaled bastard with the chain-saw teeth and hollow-legged hangry was going to get his Nobu on. Although, again, a lesser-only diet was what they were looking for.
No brothers as Hot Pockets, please. And no humans as tapas or dessert, thank you very much.
The latter was more out of discretion than affection. Shit knew those rats without tails never went anywhere without two things: a half dozen of their evolutionarily inferior, nocturnally codependent, fuck-twit buddies, and their goddamn cell phones. Man, YouTube was a total pain in the ass when you wanted to keep your war with the undead under wraps. For nearly two thousand years, vampires fighting the Omega’s Lessening Society had been no one else’s business except for the combatants involved, and the fact that humans couldn’t stick to their core competencies of ruining the environment and telling each other what to think and say was only one of the reasons he hated them.
Fucking Internet.
Changing gears so he didn’t get loose too soon, Rhage GoPro’d his vision to a male taking cover about twenty feet away from him. Assail, son of Whoever-the-Fuck, was dressed in funeral-cortege black, his Dracula-dark hair requiring no camouflage, his handsome-as-sin face furrowed so tight with murder that you had to respect the guy. Talk about doing a solid—and a one-eighty. The drug dealer had come through for the Brotherhood, making good on his promise to cut business ties with the Lessening Society by delivering the Fore-lesser’s head in a box to Wrath’s feet.
He’d also divulged the location of this bolt-hole the slayers had been using as HQ.
Annnnnd that was how everyone had ended up here, up to their nuts in the overgrowth, waiting for the countdown on their V-synchronized watches to hit 0:00.
But this attack wasn’t some bullshit, buckshot approach to the enemy. After a number of nights—and days, thanks to Lassiter, a.k.a. 00-a-hole, having done recon during sunshine hours—the attack was properly coordinated, staged, and ready for execution. All of the fighters were here: Z and Phury, Butch and V, Tohr and John Matthew, Qhuinn and Blay, as well as Assail and his two cousins, Fang I and II.
’Cuz who cared what their names were as long as they showed up weaponized with plenty of ammo.
The Brotherhood medical personnel were also on standby in the area, with Manny in his mobile surgical unit about a mile away and Jane and Ehlena in one of the vans at a two-mile radius.
Rhage checked his watch. Six minutes and change.
As his left eye started to do the stanky leg, he cursed. How the fuck was he going to hold his position for that long?
Baring his fangs, he exhaled through his nose, blowing out twin streams of condensed breath that were nothing short of a bull’s charging notice.
Christ, he couldn’t remember the last time he was this juiced. And he didn’t want to think about the why of it. In fact, he’d been avoiding the whole why thing for how long?
Since he and Mary had hit this strange rough spot and he’d started to feel—
“Rhage.”
His name was whispered so softly he wrenched around, because he wasn’t sure whether or not his subconscious had decided to start talking to him. Nope. It was Vishous- and given his brother’s expression, Rhage would have preferred to be pulling a split-personality on himself. Those diamond eyes were flashing with a bad light. And those tattoos around that temple were so not helping.
The goatee was a neutral- unless you assessed it on style. In which case the fucker was a travesty of Rogaine proportions.
Rhage shook his head. “Shouldn’t you get into position—”
“I’ve seen this night.”
Oh, hell, no, Rhage thought. Nope, you are not doing this to me right now, my brother.
Turning away, he muttered, “Spare me the Vincent Price, ‘kay? Or are you trying for the guy who does the movie-trailer voice-overs—”
“Rhage.”
“—’cuz you got a future in that. ‘In a world . . . where people need . . . to shut up and do their jobs—’”
“Rhage.”
When he didn’t look back, V came around and glared up at him, those fucking pale eyes a twin set of nuclear blasts that spelled mushroom cloud forward and backward. “I want you to go home. Now.”
Rhage opened his mouth. Clapped it shut. Opened it again—and had to remind himself to keep his voice down. “Look, it’s not a good time for your one-eight-hundred psychic headquarters shit-”
The brother snapped a hold on his arm and squeezed. “Go home. I’m not fucking you.”
Cold terror washed through Rhage’s veins, bottoming out his body temperature—and yet he shook his head again. “Fuck off, Vishous. Seriously.”
No, thank you, Rhage thought. I gave at the office.
He was not interested in testing out any more of the Scribe Virgin’s magic. He wasn’t—
“You’re going to fucking die tonight.”
Saturday, 6 February 2016
Snippet from "The Beast" (Black Dagger Brotherhood #15) by J. R. Ward
Mary tripped over something—oh, God, it was a lesser that was missing an arm—and kept going, blowing another whistle. And a third—-
The beast froze, his flanks pumping in and out, purple scales flashing in the darkness as if the thing were lit from within by an electrical source.
The fourth whistle brought its head around.
Slowing her run, Mary cupped her hands to her mouth. “Come here! Come on, boy!”
Like the beast was just the world’s largest dog.
The dragon let out a chuff and then blew through its nostrils, the sound something between a whoopee cushion and a jet engine taking off.
“Come here, you!” she said. “Leave that alone. It’s not yours...”
The beast froze, his flanks pumping in and out, purple scales flashing in the darkness as if the thing were lit from within by an electrical source.
The fourth whistle brought its head around.
Slowing her run, Mary cupped her hands to her mouth. “Come here! Come on, boy!”
Like the beast was just the world’s largest dog.
The dragon let out a chuff and then blew through its nostrils, the sound something between a whoopee cushion and a jet engine taking off.
“Come here, you!” she said. “Leave that alone. It’s not yours...”
Friday, 5 February 2016
One Fell Sweep (Innkeeper Chronicles #3): chapter two is up!
You can read the second chapter of One Fell Sweep (written by Ilona Andrews) here:
http://innkeeper.ilona-andrews.com/2016/02/05/ofs-chapter-2-part-1/
http://innkeeper.ilona-andrews.com/2016/02/05/ofs-chapter-2-part-1/
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