Tag Archives: secrets

Blog Tour: Fade to Black by C F White

Fade To Black | C F White

London Lies #1

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Cover Artist: Rhys Everly-Lawless

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 78,000 words/280 pages

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Available on Kindle Unlimited

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Blurb

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A celebrity accused of murder. A writer needing his big break. The lies that tie them together.

Accused of a murder he didn’t commit, vilified celebrity Jackson Young enlists the help of a rookie journalist to clear his name and write his biography.

Jackson has a secret though. One he must keep from becoming public. But Fletcher’s dreamy green eyes, Irish drawl and effortless charm makes it hard to suppress those long-buried feelings, even if it could compromise his innocence.

Uncovering the murky past behind Jackson’s rise to fame, Fletcher grows closer to a man he’d once declared as talentless, and their intense attraction starts to affect not only his professional integrity but the life he’d made since moving to London.

Falling for the subject of his book could be fatal for Fletcher, and Jackson should know better than to trust a journalist.

Fade to Blank is the first book in the London Lies trilogy set in 1999, and is a slow burn, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort romantic suspense.

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Excerpt

Fletcher drew troubled eyebrows in. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Okay? Okay?” Jackson breathed out a laugh that was more a release of pent up anguish. He’d always been taught to laugh in the face of adversity. He hadn’t been able to do much of that lately. Any flicker of amusement seeping out when in Flaymore would only have been captured by an inmate wanting a name for himself and used against him in the media. He rubbed his stinging eyes. “My girlfriend is dead. Someone strangled her whilst I was passed out in the other room. The world thinks I did it. I’ve spent six months inside because I wasn’t granted bail. This morning I wasn’t told that I was free because they believed I didn’t do it. They just couldn’t prove that I did. I can’t quite see how I would be okay after all that. Do you?”

Perhaps that was too blunt. Too much, too soon? Perhaps all this seeking the truth was coming across more selfish than he’d anticipated. It was. But the world was pointing at him. So he needed to prove his innocence to force people to look at who might have killed her, instead of allowing them to tie the noose around his neck.

And on that thought, his heart almost stopped. So the desperation kicked in. “I need you. Your help.”

Fletcher softened before him. “Okay,” he said. “Go on. Why would I, the fella you tried to knock out due to one bad review, want to write another article about you?”

“I want more than an article. And you’ll have a ready and waiting readership for this. It’ll rocket you to a fortune you never knew existed.”

“Wind your neck in, lad, that’s a touch arrogant there.”

“Arrogance doesn’t equal guilt.” Jackson leapt up from leaning against his bike, new found energy resumed. “Nor does it equal untalented.”

Fletcher glanced away, flicking his gaze back just as quick. “What are you talking here, then? A featured piece?”

Jackson forced a smile. “A full exposé of Jackson Young and why he isn’t the man he’s been depicted as in the media of late.”

“So this is all about you? Not… Tallulah?”

Jackson sucked in a breath at her name. It still stabbed at his heart, strangled his chest, erupted bile into his throat. He wondered if it would ever stop.

Scrubbing fingers across his perspiring forehead, Jackson had to find the right way to explain what he needed. What he had to do before it was too late and this was all hidden under the carpet as so many of the lies and manipulations already had been. He wasn’t sure how far he should go. How much he should admit he knew. There was the whole story. And there was his story.

“I was arrested for something I didn’t do,” he settled on. “I’ve been painted in the media as a monster. Pretty much all my friends and family have abandoned me because they believe people like you.”

“People like me?”

“People with the ability to write words and print them for the public to read, to believe and to act upon.”

“I never wrote about what happened to her. I’ve avoided talking about you, or her, since.”

“I know. Now I want you to.”

Jackson waited for the faint glimmer of understanding to work its way across Fletcher’s face. He had to know this would be the ultimate scoop for him. A writer, a journalist, a gossip columnist…whatever the man claimed to be, if he took this opportunity he could retire.

“I don’t write news. I write…gossip.” It sounded a lot like he hated to say that word, and his gaze blinked away from Jackson toward the glass frontage of London Lights HQ.

“I don’t want you to write for a paper. I don’t want this to be news, or gossip. This is the truth. My truth.”

“I’m not sure my editor will buy into it.” Fletcher sighed. “And if she did, she’d pass it onto the more seasoned journalists.”

“I don’t want your editor. I don’t want this in your poxy magazine.” Jackson spat the word, nodding toward the office block in contempt. He wanted nothing to do with any of that. Especially not London Lights. “This has got to be independent.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you wanted an exposé?”

Jackson stepped forward, a hair’s breadth from Fletcher, so close he could taste the man’s coffee breath. “Ever want to write something different? Something good. Something that could make a name for yourself away from the trash rags? Don’t you want to see your name on a shelf?”

“What type of shelf?”

“A book shelf. I want you to write my biography. So if you ever wanted your fortune handed on a plate, Fletcher Doherty…” Jackson held out his arms. “It’s here.”

About the Author

CFWhite-logo-heart

Brought up in a relatively small town in Hertfordshire, C F White managed to do what most other residents try to do and fail—leave.

Studying at a West London university, she realised there was a whole city out there waiting to be discovered, so, much like Dick Whittington before her, she never made it back home and still endlessly search for the streets paved with gold, slowly coming to the realisation they’re mostly paved with chewing gum.

And the odd bit of graffiti. And those little circles of yellow spray paint where the council point out the pot holes to someone who is supposedly meant to fix them instead of staring at them vacantly whilst holding a polystyrene cup of watered-down coffee.

She eventually moved West to East along that vast District Line and settled for pie and mash, cockles and winkles and a bit of Knees Up Mother Brown to live in the East End of London; securing a job and creating a life, a home and a family.

After her second son was born with a rare disability, C F White’s life changed and brought pen back to paper having written stories as a child but never the confidence to show them to the world. Now, having embarked on this writing journey, she can’t stop. So strap in, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

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Release Blitz: Flat Whites & Chocolate Fish by Jay Hogan

Flat Whites & Chocolate Fish | Jay Hogan

Southern Lights #3

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Release date: July 16, 2020

Universal Link: https://readerlinks.com/l/1335919/07

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Blurb

ADRIAN POWELL has a secret, a secret he’s guarded for 17 years. But it’s come at a cost—few friends, fewer lovers and a lifetime of loneliness. If he’s a bit grumpy and a tad pessimistic, who can blame him? So, exactly how he’s ended up with a bunch of nosy friends, a beautiful lakeside cottage and a successful business, is beyond him.

It’s a life he never imagined, and one that includes a problematic new neighbour, NIALL CARMICHAEL–an irritating, equally grumpy, sexy as hell silver fox, who kisses like a dream, shakes every one of Adrian’s walls, and who might just prove Adrian’s undoing.

But secrets have a way of catching up with you. And when Adrian’s past comes knocking, it might just threaten everything he’s built.

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Exerpt

Adrian paused, horrified at the wide smile he was sporting. Holy moly. It was too late. The universe had cemented him into the friendship collective whether he liked it or not. “You know what?” he grumbled in surrender. “You’re right. It is my turn to be crapped on by all of you. But I won’t be going down without a fight, so be warned.”

“There’s the spirit.” Ethan laughed. “So, back to this bloody coffee shipment, then.” He blew out a sigh. “I think this one’s definitely for the pessimist’s list. You do the whole pissed-off-business-owner role way better than me. I cave at the first hint of officialdom, whereas you laugh in the face of a spreadsheet. My Jedi mind tricks don’t work on these guys. That was the deal, remember? I bring the charm, you bring the swinging dick.”

Adrian nearly choked on his tongue. “I’m not sure those were the exact words.”

“Whatever. Please? Pretty, pretty please?”

Adrian could almost see the kid’s eyelashes batting. “All right. Good grief. Stop embarrassing yourself. I’ll call and sort it.” God knew how.

“You’re the best. See you tomorrow.” Ethan hung up so fast Adrian almost felt the draught in his ear, which left him with the distinct impression he’d been expertly played.

He glared at his phone, threw it on the passenger seat, tugged the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, and peered through the windscreen. The torrential rain had eased to just plain heavy, which anyway you looked at it still meant fucking wet. He threw open the door of the Everest, sprinted to the mailbox to retrieve its only contents—a sodden local newspaper whose editor wrote dubious commentaries on local events—lost his hood on the way back, and leapt back into the car to drip water all over his clean leather seats.

“Son of a miserable cock-sucking, perfidious dickhead.” He dried his hands on his jeans and threw the Everest into gear, only then remembering the truck at the far end of the drive. His jaw set. “Right, let’s see who this wanker is.”

He got to where the driveway split in two and came to a stop. There was no way he was getting round the corner into his property with the truck blocking his way. The cab was empty with no one in sight, and he wasn’t about to go swimming looking for the driver. A fitting end to a craptastic day.

He closed his eyes, sat on his horn, and waited. Like he could give a fuck. Someone would get sick of it soon enough.

Fifteen seconds later—

“Hey!” A fist banged on his driver’s window.

And there it was.

“What the fuck are you doing, arsehole? Get off that thing.”

Adrian turned his head slowly to the right to make a point, and only then did he lift his hand from the horn.

“You’re in my way,” he shouted through the window and pointed to the truck.

The man had to be over six feet and stared at Adrian through the rain and the glass like Adrian had lost his bloody mind. Bring it on. He was bundled up in a calf-length black oilskin which hid anything of interest, hood up, scarf half-covering his mouth, leaving only a pair of irate, startling green eyes for Adrian to focus on. Which he did, because . . . wow, Adrian hadn’t seen anything so . . . green.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” The man’s pissy tone shattered his interest.

“Move it.” Adrian jerked his head to the truck. “That’s my property.” He jabbed a finger toward his cottage.

The guy made signs for Adrian to lower his window, and after a few seconds, Adrian relented. Halfway down he stopped. The man angled side-on to the door, putting the rain at his back and sheltering the open window from the worst of it. It brought them within inches of each other’s faces. A pleasant hint of vanilla swept into the Everest, along with fresh sweat and rain. It smelled . . . good. Of course it did.

Adrian did his best to ignore it. “You’re blocking my drive.” He avoided those eyes and settled on the man’s chin instead. “I need to get to my house.”

“So I gathered,” the man replied testily.

Adrian made the mistake of glancing up and was hit by the full force of that award-winning gaze, which stripped all the sass from his tongue. Close up, the man was older than he’d first thought, mid-forties, give or take, and with a thick grey-flecked auburn stubble, a scattering of lines at the corners of his eyes, and a soft weathering to the skin over his cheeks and forehead. He might’ve spent time outdoors, but he looked after himself, and Adrian felt the sudden need to know exactly what that skin would feel like under his fingers.

He couldn’t see the man’s hair because of the hood, but he imagined it had the same reddish tinge, stippled with silver. With a dry swallow, Adrian supposed the man would be considered attractive, to some—in that silver-fox, fuck-the-world, I’d-be-so-good-to-you kind of way. Not something that Adrian had ever found hot, though. Nope, not him.

“I think the whole damn neighbourhood ten kilometres back into Queenstown understands your need to get to your house.” The man was clearly biting back a smile.

Fucker.

“I’m Niall, by the way. Niall Carmichael.” He offered a wet hand through the half-open window. “Nice vehicle.”

Adrian stared at the hand for a few dripping seconds before finally shaking. “Adrian Powell.” The grip that engulfed him was strong and surprisingly warm, considering the rain and the dismally low mid-September temperature. “Only had it a couple of weeks.”

“Looks good in black.”

Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be Adrian’s anything if it wasn’t black: it was his favourite colour, and he was about to say just that when he caught Niall’s eye and frowned. Niall wasn’t looking at the car. He was watching Adrian . . . closely. Adrian, dressed head to foot in . . . black. His cheeks heated and he opened his mouth to say something, who knew what, but Niall had already moved on, and Adrian figured he’d only imagined it.

“If that’s your house”—Niall nodded towards Adrian’s property—“then it appears I’m your new neighbour.”

Four words and Adrian’s world fell apart. “N-neighbour?” He could barely get the word out as he reeled at the very notion. The lake frontage behind the two properties had been his private domain since he bought the cottage. His. Alone. Not another house on either side for a good kilometre. They were the last built in the area, the council running scared of the increased flood risk from the lake in heavy rain. Steep mountain ranges fell almost vertically into Lake Wakatipu and the rivers feeding it. And with only one outlet, flooding was a given.

“You mean you bought that thing?” Adrian gave a shaky laugh, trying not to reveal exactly how badly the news had affected him. “Well, good luck to you, man. The place is held up by little more than a few nails and some wishful thinking. And it doesn’t solve my problem, does it? Your truck’s blocking my way.”

“It’s not my truck.”

“I don’t ca—”

“And it’s not going anywhere.” Niall glanced at the offending vehicle. “The back wheel is stuck.” He stood back, giving Adrian an unobstructed view of the truck’s rear wheel buried to its hub cap in a mud puddle.

Fuck.

“It’s a pain, I know.” Niall did look somewhat apologetic, but Adrian wasn’t buying it. “But as you so kindly pointed out, the place is a dump. My plans are to renovate the house and garage into common areas for guests, the kitchen, and manager’s accommodation, and then add six luxury suites facing the lake to take in those spectacular views. This is an amazing spot, right? You were lucky to snag the cottage.”

I was. But renovation? Suites? What the fuck?

“The council won’t allow any more land division, so I guess it’s just us.”

Us?

“Anyway, it means there’ll be quite a few deliveries this side over the next few weeks, so . . .”

“You’re renovating?” Adrian hadn’t got much past that and the six accommodation suites before his heart damn near skittered to a complete stop. He couldn’t keep the horror from his voice, his mind flying ahead to endless days of hammering and grinding and concrete mixers. And, after it was all done, people, goddamn people, coming and going and just being . . . people. Jesus, what had he done to deserve this.

About The Author

JayHoganAuthor

I​ am a New Zealand author writing in m/m romance, and romantic suspense. I have traveled extensively and  lived in the US, Canada, France, Australia and South Korea. In a past life I  have been an  Intensive Care Nurse, Counselor, and a Nursing Lecturer.

I’m a cat aficionado especially of Maine Coons, and an avid dog lover (but don’t tell the cat). I love to cook, pretty damn good, love to sing, pretty damn average, and as for loving full-time writing, absolutely… depending of course on the day, the word count, the deadline, how obliging my characters are, the ambient temperature in the Western Sahara, whether Jupiter is rising, the size of the ozone hole over New Zealand and how much coffee I’ve had.

Welcome to my world.

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Release Blitz: All That Remains by RJ Scott

All That Remains | RJ Scott

Lancaster Falls Trilogy #3

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Length: 82,000 words approx.

Cover Design: Meredith Russell 

Buy Links:

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/AllThatRemainsRJS

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Blurb

Federal Agent Lucas Beaumont has an agenda — get himself assigned to the case of the apparent serial murders at Lancaster Falls, find out who the murderer is, and then lay the ghosts that haunt his grandfather to rest.

In the midst of a horrific murder investigation, the only peace he gets is from simple moments in a warm kitchen, talking to hotel owner, Josh. Attraction to the easygoing man is something he didn’t expect; in doing so, he opens himself to hurt, but at the same time, he begins to fall in love.

Josh is struggling to keep the Falls Hotel, even with every cent he has invested in its upkeep. The one thing keeping him above water is the not entirely legal work he does on the side—a steady income that not even his son knows about.

When the FBI takes over his hotel for the duration of the Hell’s Gate serial killer case, Josh is faced with the real possibility that Lucas will not only discover his secret but also steal his heart.

When tragedy hits Josh and his son, and when it seems all hope is lost, can Lucas rescue them both?

Lancaster Falls Series

Book #1 – What Lies Beneath – Amazon US | Amazon UK |Universal Link

Book #2 – Without a Trace – Amazon US | Amazon UK | Universal Link

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About the Author

USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott writes stories with a heart of romance, a troubled road to reach happiness, and most importantly, a happily ever after.

RJ Scott is the author of over one hundred romance books, writing emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, millionaire, princes, and the men who get mixed up in their lives. RJ is known for writing books that always end with a happy ever after. She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing.

The last time she had a week’s break from writing she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a bottle of wine she couldn’t defeat.

She’s always thrilled to hear from readers, bloggers and other writers. Please contact via the links below:

Email RJ rj@rjscott.co.uk | Facebook | Twitter | BookBub | Instagram | Pinterest

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