Writing From Hart
Today is the last day of my husband, D.B. West's Kindle Scout campaign. Nominate his books Awakening https://kindlescout.amazon.com/p/2PD5PUWWBLS3T and then visit his facebook page: www.facebook.com/authordbwest to enter the Kindle Fire giveaway! Thank you all for your support!
Today is also the last day to enter the $25.00 Amazon gift card giveaway pinned to my page: www.facebook.com/lanehartbooks for sharing the Exploited cover!
I've been busy this week getting everything ready to pack for Vegas and finalizing the PowerPoints for the two classes I'll be teaching with fellow NYT authors, Melissa Stevens and Jami Brumsfield. One class explains in detail how we organized a box set last October to hit the NYT, and the other is for authors just getting started in self-publishing. Find out more here: http://romancenovelconvention.com/
I look forward to meeting readers at the book fair on Saturday, June 4th!
I happen to be a very lucky girl who got to read an ARC of Sawyer Bennett's newest release in exchange for an honest review.
Sawyer is one of my favorite authors because I know I can count on her for a great read, without fail. She doesn't disappoint in Sugar Daddy either. As soon as I started reading this story I was sucked in and devoured it within a day. Sela, the heroine, is a very believable character that you can't help but sympathize with. She has her sights set on a particular outcome, a little personal justice, and I hope she gets it. Beck is such a great guy and is perfect for Sela. Together they are incredible! Too bad Sela's hiding her agenda from Beck.
Be warned, Sugar Daddy has a cliffhanger, which I was not expecting. When I came to the end I actually yelled out "What the f*ck!!!" and nearly cried, only because I needed more. So, despite being left hanging, I think this is one of my favorite books this year. It's sweet and addictive, just like sugar ;) I can't wait to see how it all ends.
Go buy it now from one of these places: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks
Only 9 days to go until the release of Tainted Love, the first story in the Lovestruck series!
Here's an excerpt from the first chapter:
“Are you pouting?” I ask my best friend as the car roars to life with a twist of my wrist. A minute later I’m driving us out of the slushy, gravel parking lot.
“If you don’t think it will work, it won’t work,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest like a child having a tantrum. “Oh my God. You can’t be serious, Reagan. Love potions don’t exist. If they did, there wouldn’t be any single ladies, would there? Beyoncé’s song about putting a ring on it would’ve been a big flop, not a worldwide sensation.”
“So you’re not even gonna try it?” she huffs.
“I can make you a big batch of Kool-Aid when we get back to my apartment for free,” I tease.
“Just promise me you’ll try it! What do you have to lose?” she asks, as I start looking for the signs for the highway. “I know how lonely you’ve been, but you refuse to date anyone because of that dipshit who cheated on you!”
“Don’t think so, Reagan,” I remark. “That dipshit was my soulmate and, yes, he cheated on me and I refused to forgive him. But feel free to try it yourself. I mean, you did pay a fortune for it.”
I exhale a breath of relief when we take the exit for Interstate 421 north, thankfully heading back to normal civilization after that freak show we just left.
“Try it!” Reagan screeches, making me jump in surprise before she thrusts the bottle into my face.
“No!” I exclaim, batting her hand away. “And chill the fuck out. Do you want me to wreck?”
OMG. She was exposed to the crazy people for far too long. Now she’s caught it, and I don’t have any antidotes to restore her sanity.
“Josie?” she says when I don’t respond to her psychotic request.
“What, Reagan?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road.
The glass bottle appears in front of my line of sight yet again. “Try. It.”
“Oh, for the love of God!” I yell. Keeping one hand on the wheel, I jerk the bottle out of her hand, pull the glass stopper out with my teeth and chug half of it, just to get her to shut the hell up. “Happy?” I ask when I hand it back. “And yuck.” My entire body gives an involuntary shiver at the foul, bitter taste still lingering on my now numb tongue. Ugh, it’s like a spicy cough medicine. “That shit is…is…”
“Wow! Look! It turned blue, your favorite color,” I vaguely hear her say before I have to slap my palm over my mouth to contain the mouthful of regurgitated acid.
Veering off onto the right shoulder of the road, I barely fling my car door open in time before I start retching. Fuck, it’s awful. I projectile vomit across the entire four-lane highway.
“Josie?” Reagan asks softly. “Are…are you okay?”
“Do I look like I’m okay?” I snap at her caustically, sounding like the demonic girl from The Exorcist before another wave of heaves wrack through me.
“Here,” she says when I eventually stop yakking. A wad of fast-food napkins gratefully appear in front of my face.
“Thanks,” I mutter as I grab for the stack, wiping my eyes, face and nose. Ugh. It feels like I’m leaking from every orifice. “That was some seriously nasty shit,” I tell her after I clean myself up, even though it’s unnecessary. Just then, I feel a big gust of wind, followed by a loud BOOM.
Reagan and I both scream as the car rocks us back and forth from the force of impact.
“What the hell was that?” she asks, but I just hang my head because I already know without looking.
“My door,” I groan into my palms.
Reagan leans over me and then gasps, “Oh shit!” before the little tramp starts giggling.
“It’s not funny!” I exclaim with a shove to her shoulder. That only makes her laugh harder, her head thrown back, full out snorts now, which makes me join in, even though it feels like my own arm was ripped off from my body.
Fuck. I sober up at the thought of how much this is gonna cost to fix. Living on your own is not cheap, and I don’t have a lot of money in savings, hence the reason I didn’t want to spend two hundred dollars on a bottle of upchuck.
Waiting until traffic clears, I jump out of my car that’s now one door away from being a dune buggy, and weave through the maze of vomit to retrieve my unhinged door. Quickly grabbing it up, I give it a hug to my chest and utter an apology before laying it down gently in the back. That’s why El Caminos are the most awesome cars in the world, the comfort of a car with the bed of a truck. It’s ingenious.
Sitting back down in the driver seat, I buckle up and prepare to get wet on the hour-and-a-half drive home. One where my best friend laughs at me the entire way. This is all her fault.
FML and fuck bogus ass love potions.
PRE-ORDER NOW AT AMAZON FOR ONLY 99 CENTS!
The price will increase to $2.99 on release day.
My husband and I are getting ready to celebrate the day ten years ago that we were married on the beach. We're going back to the same oceanfront house we rented for the wedding, and for those of you who have read Mace's book, I based Linc's beach house on this place that's so special to us. Here are some photos of the beautiful property and a few pictures from our photo album.
On Saturday, May 7th All In: Paying His Way will be released! You may remember Jake Young first from Zack's book, Playing to Win, and from his own novella, Paying to Play. This new story is about Jake's oldest brother Jordan Young. It's short and sweet, so grab it now at the pre-order price of only 99 cents, before the price increases to $2.99 on release day.
Here's a sneak peek of the first chapter:
I’m standing in the only open checkout lane at the supermarket, trying not to get annoyed and epically failing.
Tired of holding the case of beer, I sit it down by my feet to put my hands on my hips in the universal sign of you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I volunteered to bring the booze to the small backyard barbecue, so by God I’ll stand here all damn day if I have to.
My buddy, Caleb, who I met in the Reserves when we joined up together four years ago, invited me down to his place in Greensboro to celebrate one of the holidays-that-must-not-be-named with his wife Lauren and a few of their friends. The M word probably won’t even come up since his passed away a few years ago from breast cancer, and his wife’s is a worthless piece of shit. And if it does, well, that’s what the case of beer is for. Shit. Maybe I should’ve grabbed two. Then I could’ve started on one while I stand here and wait for the woman holding up the line with her coupons or price matching bullshit.
I blow out a frustrated breath and then have to apologize to the blue-haired lady in front of me when it ruffles her poofy Sunday hairdo. Standing on the balls of my feet, I make my six-foot-two frame a little taller to get a better look at the woman we’re all silently cursing.
She's a small, nothing special brunette with her hair slicked back in a ponytail. Wearing a tattered and faded floral dress, the girl is digging frantically through a canvas tote, her head halfway inside of it looking for something that probably doesn’t exist based on the cashier’s outstretched palm and annoyed expression. More money.
When the infant in the woman's buggy starts screaming like someone's shoving splinters under its fingernails, my patience snaps.
To hell with this.
I shove my way forward, offering apologies to the other customers I nudge. Yanking my worn leather wallet from my back pocket, I eye the rectangular readout to determine the amount of money owed. Hell, I’m getting off cheap at just fourteen dollars and some change. I pull out a crisp twenty and place it in the goth-looking cashier’s hand. Surprised by my intervention, she doesn’t immediately do anything with the currency for several seconds, just stands there frozen.
“Will that work?” I ask, and she nods, turning back to enter it into her register.
“Oh my God! Thank you,” I hear the small brunette beside me say. Her soft voice is shaky like she’s on the verge of tears. Then I hear her sudden and deep intake of breath. “Jordan?”
Of course my head automatically turns at the sound of my name; but even standing inches away, I blink at the young girl with dark rimmed bags underneath her blue eyes, unable to place her. Suddenly, she reaches over to the spinning baggage area to grab the one containing my recent purchase, before pushing the buggy with the still wailing baby quickly out of the store like her ass is on fire.
“Sir? Here’s your change, sir,” the cashier says to get my attention when I don’t notice she’s offering my money back with the receipt. I’m too busy trying to figure out who that woman was and how she knows me. There was something familiar about those sad, indigo eyes…
Oh, yeah! She dated my little brother, Jason, and her name starts with an M. Megan? Melissa?
It hits me like a bolt of lightning.
Maggie Frasier. Jason’s high school girlfriend. And, damn, the poor girl looks like shit. No wonder I didn't recognize her.
For the past few years I've heard Jason mention in passing about how they're fuck buddies or friends with benefits right up until this past Thanksgiving when he joined the Army, the full-time kind of service, unlike my one weekend a month in the Reserves.
Wait a fucking second.
He's been gone less than six months. The wailing baby couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. No. No, no, no. She would’ve told him, right? Jason would’ve said something...
I take off running after her, my case of beer abandoned thanks to this crazy as shit notion that I might be an uncle.
Weaving my way around customers, I make it through the sliding glass doors and look around the crowded parking lot for Maggie. I finally spot her sliding into the driver seat of a rusty brown clunker. I can’t even decipher the make or model of it since it’s missing whatever emblems it once had when it was made in the factory several decades ago.
I run across the rows of vehicles to get to her before she can pull away, and I don't stop until I’m next to the car, knocking on her window. The sound startles her, making her narrow, hunched shoulders jump. Her head bows like she’s debating rolling the window down or just reversing her ass out of there.
“Maggie, talk to me,” I say, proud of myself for actually remembering her name. She finally reaches over to hand roll the window down a few inches, releasing the screaming cries of the baby in the backseat. I try to get a better look at the bundle of blue in the rear-facing car seat. It's hard to make out any features with his mouth wide open while he wails, his tiny clenched fists shaking in the air with his displeasure.
“Is he Jason’s?” I ask her pointblank.
After what feels like an eternity, she gives a small, almost unperceivable nod in affirmation.
Motherfucker. Although in this situation brotherfucker might be the more appropriate term, especially on this day in May when the M word must not be muttered.
My little brother’s a father. Josh, Jake and I are uncles to a baby we’ve never heard about. If Jason knew, he would’ve told us, right? I mean, the woman barely looks like she can legally drink, much less take care of a baby on her own.
Ah, shit. I remember her standing at the register, pitiful because she didn’t have enough money.
“Doesn’t he know? Is he paying child support?” I ask, but the questions are drowned out by the constant howling. “Why is he yelling so damn loud?”
“He-he’s just hungry. I need to go so I can get home and feed him,” she says while looking straight ahead, avoiding my eyes and my other questions.
She needs to feed him.
Because my little brother is a sack of shit that’s not helping her take care of his responsibility.
Before I can say another word, I have to jump back so that my toes don’t get run over when she floors the clunker in reverse; and then she’s gone.
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NY Times bestselling author Lane Hart has published more than a dozen romances that will make your Kindle sizzle.