Thursday 28 January 2016


Enter to Win 1 of 3 Paperback copies of INTO THE FURY (U.S. Only)
Into The Fury
BOSS, Inc. #1
By: Kat Martin
Releasing January 26, 2016

In Into the Fury (Boss, Inc #1) by Kat Martin, Ethan Brodie knows that distractions can be deadly in his line of work. Yet, the moment he meets gorgeous lingerie model, Valentine Hart, one of the women he's tasked to guard, he finds her hard to resist. Except when the murder of one of the other models occurs, Ethan finds he's going to have to get up close and very personal with her to make certain she doesn't suffer the same fate.   
Valerie, aka Valentine Hart, needs the money her modeling contract to finish her degree and make her dream of being a veterinarian come true. Except what is supposed to be a simple job turns into a nightmare when she and the other models receive threatening notes and then one of the women are murdered. Assigned a bodyguard, Valerie tries her hardest to resist the temptation Ethan offers. Yet, it's impossible. 
What a highly entertaining, fast-paced read Ms. Martin has delivered with this book that offered plenty of surprises with its plot twists, and encompasses the sexy protector trope. I really liked how it started with Ethan receiving his instructions and soon after taking charge of what he needs to do to protect the models.
Intense and well-written dialogue definitely kept me as a reader on the edge-of-my-seat with its suspense as the hero does his utmost to help the police solve the murders that occur while keeping Valerie safe. She isn't at all what he expected and getting to know her makes for great sexual tension, which eventually spills over onto the pages through hot sex scenes. 
I really enjoyed both the main and secondary characters. Valerie is strong, smart, brave. At first, when Ethan makes the wrong assumption about her, it annoyed me. But I'm glad she managed to change his opinion because he should never judge a book by its cover. Or more to the point, never judge a person by their appearance nor what they do for a living, as it might be a temporary arrangement. Also, I liked how much she trusted Ethan to protect her.
While Ethan, he's strong and protective. As an ex-cop, he certainly knows what he's doing when it comes to investigating the crimes. Yet, the more he digs, the more dangerous things become. Especially when it becomes clear that his investigation has some people rattled, and puts a target on his head. Also, I loved the relationship Ethan had with his daughter. She means the world to him.   
Overall, I really enjoyed this story and I'm really looking forward to the next book in this series. The ending wrapped this book up perfectly, and I loved how Valerie teased Ethan with her answer to his question. I would recommend Into the Fury by Kat Martin, if you enjoy romantic suspense or the sexy protector trope.    


A bodyguard, a bounty hunter, a P.I.--the men of Brodie Operations Security Service, Inc. are down for the job. . . 

Sinners, whores, and sluts beware--your time is at hand: a faceless menace is threatening lingerie models on a cross country tour, and Ethan Brodie is there to defend and protect.

Ethan's learned the hard way that beauty is no substitute for character. So even though Valentine Hart is one of the most breathtaking women he's ever seen, he's keeping his hands off and his eyes open. Or that's what he tells himself.

Then one of the models is murdered, and the closer Ethan gets to the answers, the closer he finds himself to Valentine--and the hotter the pressure feels. There's more to Val--more to the other girls--than he could have guessed. But one is keeping a secret that could kill them all.

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Beau Desmond, meet Ethan Brodie,” Carlyle said. “The guy with the ’stache is Dirk Reynolds.”
            Desmond reached out a hand and Ethan and Dirk both shook.
            “Ethan’s heading up the additional security team we’ve hired. He’s also a PI, so he’ll be doing some digging, trying to find out who sent those notes.”
            “Long as he keeps his nose out of my business he can do whatever he wants,” Desmond said.
            One of Ethan’s eyebrows went up. So it was going to be a pissing contest. Who’s the toughest, who’s the best at his job. He’d been afraid of that when he’d spotted the earrings.
            “I’ll do my best to stay out of your way,” Ethan said diplomatically. He was there to do a job. He’d do it with or without Beau Desmond.
            “Make sure you do,” Beau said, determined to get the last word.
            Carlyle made no comment, but clearly he had picked up on Desmond’s belligerent attitude. As they walked away, Dirk was grinning in anticipation. He loved nothing better than making a dickhead look like a fool.
            “Beau’s good at his job,” Carlyle said. “Be helpful if you kept that in mind.”
            “Oh, I will,” Ethan said.
            Dirk wisely made no comment.
            Leaving           Beau Desmond behind, Carlyle led them into a room where four men stood drinking coffee. They each wore jeans and a black T-shirt with a white La Belle logo on the front left corner, the symbol for male and female, a round circle with a cross at the bottom and an arrow off the circle at the top.
            The shirts made them easily identifiable as La Belle security. He and Dirk had been given a stack when they’d walked in that morning and each was wearing one now. Carlyle made the introductions. “Listen up, you men. The guy on my right is Ethan Brodie. He’s heading up additional security for the show. That means the four of you. The guy next to him is Dirk Reynolds. They’re both professionals. They know what they’re doing, so listen and do what they say.”
            The men introduced themselves one at a time. They all had some security experience, not much. A sandy-haired, thirty-something parking lot guard named Sandowski, a tall beanpole of a guy named Walt Wizzy who had worked for Walmart. A Hispanic named Pete Hernandez who was built like a brick house but stood only about five foot six and, by the jut of his chin, probably had a little-man’s complex. Ethan figured if there was trouble in the group, Hernandez would be it.
            A black guy named Joe Posey was an ex-cop, but he was older and out of shape. The men were hardly first string, but Ethan figured unless something really bad went down, they would do just fine.
            He gave the guys a brief rundown of what he expected them to do. “Your job is to keep people out of the theater who aren’t supposed to be here. With this many women around, there’s bound to be a handful of smart-asses who think they’re God’s gift. Handle them pleasantly but firmly. Whatever bullshit story they come up with, don’t let them anywhere near the models. You get in over your head with one or more of them, use your radio to call for backup. Questions?”
            No one spoke.
            “The second part of your job is to keep an eye out for anyone or anything that looks suspicious. Someone who has ill intent, no matter what it might be. Report anything out of the ordinary directly to me or Dirk, and don’t be afraid to say something, even if it seems insignificant. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”
            Joe Posey raised a dark hand. “I heard a rumor someone sent threatening notes to some of the models. That true?”
            It was, but Carlyle didn’t want the media getting their hands on the information, turning the show into some kind of circus.
            “These women model lingerie,” Ethan said. “They get all kinds of mail, some good, some not so good. Carlyle has his own men escorting the ladies to and from the theater, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
            He ended by filling them in on what Carlyle had told him. “Rehearsals the rest of the week. They start at eight in the morning, go till they’re finished. We’re here before they get here until after they leave. The show is on Saturday night, then we travel. You all understand we’ll be spending some time on the road, right?”
            The men rumbled an affirmative.
            “One last thing: Keep your hands off the girls. No fraternizing, no hassling the women. Stick to that rule and we’ll get along just fine. Break that rule—you’re fired.”
            They had all been warned, but it didn’t hurt to repeat the warning. “Now, I’d like you to spend some time getting familiar with the theater. You need to find all the nooks and crannies, places some joker could hide. Take your time and make it thorough.”
            It was a task he and Dirk would be performing, too, as soon as Carlyle was finished with them. The group of men broke up and headed out the door.
            Ethan turned to Carlyle, who had been standing quietly to one side. “What’s next?”
            “Now I introduce you to our ten top models. There are thirty in all, but these are the stars of the show, the ones who got notes like the one I showed you. These are the women I’d like you to focus on.”
            Carlyle led them out of the room, back to the rear of the stage, where all thirty models were lined up, ready to start rehearsing.
            “There are five segments to the show,” Carlyle explained. “Countries of the World, Nashville, Devil-Angel, Winter Wonderland, and Diamond Jubilee. There’s a wrap with the entire cast, then we’re finished. Each of the women makes at least two costumes changes. They’re working on the World segment now. Follow me.”
            Ethan and Dirk followed Carlyle toward the group of women standing in a semicircle, taking direction from the choreographer of the show, who stood in front of them.
            “That’s Daniel Clemens. He can be a little pissy, but he’s damn good at his job. We couldn’t do the show without him.”
            For rehearsal, most of the women were wearing black leggings under a collection of very short skirts, cutoff jeans, long T-shirts, and cutoff sweatshirts.
            “For the next few days they’ll be working on their routines. There’s a full dress rehearsal the day before the show. That’ll include final costume fittings, live orchestra, everything.”
            Ethan’s gaze ran over the women. At least for the moment, they were decently covered. Their casual dress didn’t change the fact that each woman was incredibly beautiful, their faces right out of a magazine.
            Carlyle roll-called ten names and the women came forward. A couple of redheads, five blondes, two brunettes, and an ebony-skinned beauty with amazing cheekbones and long jet-black hair.
            Ethan flicked a glance at Dirk, who carefully kept his eyes straight ahead.
            “Ladies, these men will be working as additional security while we’re on tour. Ethan Brodie is the big guy on the right. Dirk Reynolds is the guy with the ’stache.”
            Carlyle smiled. “Do me a favor and cut them some slack. They have a job to do, same as you. It’s easier if they don’t have to contend with naughty smiles and flirty remarks.”
            The women chuckled good-naturedly.
            “Introduce yourselves. First names are enough. Start at the far end and work this way.” A redhead stepped forward. “I’m Caralee,” she said with a soft Southern drawl.
            “I am Katerina.” A beautiful, smiling blonde with a hint of Russia in her voice.
            As the women each spoke their names, Ethan mentally attached the name to a face, knew Dirk would be doing the same. The redheads were Caralee and Megan. The blondes were Heather; Katerina, the Russian; Delilah, with very high cheekbones; Ursula—either German or Austrian; and Valentine.
            The brunettes were Isabel, a young Sophia Loren lookalike; and Carmen, a pretty, dark-eyed Latina. The exotic ebony-skinned woman was Amarika. From Africa, maybe. He couldn’t be sure.
            He let his gaze travel over the women a final time, paused for a moment on the one who called herself Valentine. He liked blondes, always had. All five of them had gleaming long blond hair, some straight, some wavy. Valentine’s was the color of honey. It curled softly down her back and swung around her shoulders.
            She was maybe five nine, about an inch shorter than the redhead named Megan, who stood beside her. Most of the girls were around five ten; a couple, including Amarika, appeared to be at least six feet. All of them wore strappy high heels that pushed them up another five or six inches.
             In a room full of gorgeous women, it took a helluva lot to stand out. He heard throaty laughter, realized it came from redheaded Megan. Next to her, the blonde flashed a grin, and a stunning pair of dimples popped out. He’d remember that one now, Valentine. Sounded more like a stripper than a classy underwear model, but hey, what did he know?
Kat Martin is the author of twenty-one Historical and Contemporary Romance novels. She tackles many different aspects of her genre with settings ranging from the rugged West to the Antebellum South, Regency, Georgian, and Medieval England. Not one to shy away from change, she also tackles Contemporary Romantic Suspense novels which involve the paranormal. Some of her titles include Nothing But Velvet, Sweet Vengeance, and Dangerous Passions. These works have won a bevy of awards including a recent Romantic Times Magazine nomination for Best Historical Romance of 1998 for her latest release, Wicked Promise. She is also published in, among others, Germany, Norway, Sweden, China, Russia, and Spain.

Before starting her writing career in 1985, Kat was a real estate broker. During that time, she met her husband, Larry Jay Martin, also a Kensington author. After double majoring in Anthropology and History at the University of California at Santa Barbara, she found herself incredibly interested in the past. In fact, she and Larry often do research in the areas where their books take place. She remarks, "We like to stay in out-of-the-way inns and houses built in times past. It's fun and it gives a wonderful sense of a bygone era."

In May, Kat will release her next Historical Romance, Night Secrets. Following that is an upcoming Zebra release, a Contemporary Romantic Suspense entitled The Silent Rose, which will be out in August. "It's a ghostly tale of romance and intrigue that was based on a real life incident," says Kat. "It's a little bit scary, a whole lot sexy, and hopefully lots of fun to read."

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Wednesday 27 January 2016


Enter to Win 1 of 3 Print Copies of MERCURY STRIKING (U.S. Only)

Mercury Striking
The Scorpius Syndrome #1
By: Rebecca Zanetti
Releasing January 26, 2016
With nothing but rumors to lead her, Lynn Harmony has trekked across a nightmare landscape to find one man—a mysterious, damaged legend who protects the weak and leads the strong. He’s more than muscle and firepower—and in post-plague L.A., he’s her only hope. As the one woman who could cure the disease, Lynn is the single most volatile—and vulnerable—creature in this new and ruthless world. But face to face with Jax Mercury…

Danger has never looked quite so delicious…

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What had she done? Lynne had actually fallen asleep on Jax Mercury. She awoke, blinking inside the stifling hood, just as he lifted her into the cool morning air and easily strode over uneven ground. A slight change of temperature hit her, and his steps leveled out.

            Inside. They were inside somewhere. The smell of dust and burned tomato soup tickled her nose, but no sound provided a clue as to their whereabouts. All but blinded, she tried to tune in to her other senses. Jax’s boots clomped heavily across a hard surface, and his heart beat steadily against her shoulder.

            His stride didn’t hitch as he climbed stairs, turned, walked in a too-quiet area, and opened a door. The world tilted, and he placed her, gently actually, on what felt like a fake leather sofa.

            He yanked the hood off.

            Light from halogen lamps assaulted her wide pupils, and she winced, her eyes tearing. “You’re an ass.”

            Silver flashed, and he cut the zip ties. “So it has been said.”

            Heat climbed into her face. The man had carried her easily and didn’t seem winded a bit. Even so, the legends whispered around campfires and refugee camps across the country had to be exaggerated. Nobody was that tough. “We need to talk,” she gritted out.

            He yanked a kitchen chair toward her, turned it, and straddled it. Now, in the light, she was struck by how young he really was. Maybe mid-thirties, black hair, dark brown eyes, and rugged facial features. Handsome in a pissed-off kind of way. A scar cut under the left side of his jaw, white and deadly. “So, talk.”

            She swallowed and tugged her backpack to her chest, glancing around what appeared to be a small apartment. A kitchenette took up one wall, an unmade bed the other, with dented furniture in between. Sofa, metal coffee table, woodlaminate kitchen table, paint peeling pink kids’ dresser, and mismatched kitchen chairs. Maps covered the table, spread out haphazardly. “Where am I?”

            “You don’t get to know that.” He rested his arms on the top of the chair, muscles flexing.

            She bit her lip. Men’s clothing littered the unmade bed, and the smell of musk and male filled the atmosphere. “Whose place am I in?”

            “Mine.” He lifted a shoulder, his gaze unwavering. “And yours now, I guess.”

            She pushed back into the torn pleather. “I’m not, I mean, I—”

            One dark eyebrow rose. “You’re here because I’m keeping an eye on you and making sure you don’t infect anybody else.”

            “I won’t infect anybody else,” she said slowly, her nails digging into the couch until the pads of her fingertips protested. “We don’t really know the truth about that statement, now do we? You’re the ultimate carrier of the most dangerous plague to ever attack mankind.” He lowered his chin, the movement somehow menacing. “You’re also here so I can make sure you’re not ready to check out.”

            She rolled her eyes. “If I’d wanted to kill myself, I wouldn’t have traveled this far to do it.”

            “Fair enough.”

            She glanced at the unmade bed. Too many women had become victims as the world had disintegrated; the strong overcame the weak. She wasn’t weak, and she was no man’s plaything. “I’m not here for your amusement.”

            “I’m not amused.” He leaned toward her, and her breath caught in her throat. “Let me be perfectly clear. I don’t force myself on women, and neither do any of my men. Any people here, and anyone we come across, remain safe from personal attack. Rape is a crime dealt with by death, so you have no need to fear.”

            She’d heard that in the rumors and tales, but she hadn’t known it to be true. “Women don’t earn their keep, earn their protection, with sex here?” Wherever here was.


            “You were in an inner-city L.A. gang. Years ago.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Rape was against the rules?”

His face blanked. “No, but I’ve never forced a woman.” Those dark eyes narrowed. “My past is my own. You sure know a lot about me.”

            Not really. He’d become a folk legend fighting in L.A. before the news had shut down. Since then she’d been trying to gather facts, but there were still blanks. “Why did you leave the gang? I’ve never heard why you entered the army.”

            He rubbed his chin. “Judge gave me a choice. Prison or military. I guess he saw something in me.”

            She let her shoulders relax. “I wondered.”

            “Yeah.” Jax eyed her shirt just at her neck. “Can I see again?”

            Well, she couldn’t really blame him. She set aside the pack holding her father’s precious journal. Her fingers remained steady this time as she unbuttoned the blouse and drew open the sides.

            Jax’s nostrils flared, while a tension, one she barely remembered as sexual, overtook the atmosphere. “Does it hurt?”

            “The blueness?” She glanced down, her lungs suddenly

too tight  “No. I don’t feel anything.”

            He reached out and gently took her wrist, shoving the sleeve up to reveal the track marks on her elbow. “This must hurt.”

            His touch stirred awareness deep in her abdomen, and surprise paused her at the feeling. When was the last time she’d felt desire? Or even warmth from another’s touch? She glanced down at the scars caused by drawing so much blood. So many times, and outside of normal medical procedures after a while. “Yes. That hurts.”

            “I knew a junkie once with an arm like this.” Jax shook his head and unrolled her sleeve. “The irrationality of a thing is not an argument against its existence, rather, a condition of it,” he murmured, securing the buttons at her wrist. She frowned as the familiar words rolled around her head. “Einstein?”

            “Nietzsche.” Jax lifted an eyebrow. “Rumor has it you’re carrying an advanced form of Scorpius. True or false?” “False rumor to isolate me.” She tried to keep her tired eyes open.

            Jax gestured toward her pack. “I get the food and water you have, but what’s in the journal?”

            She sighed. “Sorry, but there’s nothing about Scorpius. My dad was a physicist and a philosopher. He wrote a lot down.”

            Jax blinked. “That’s quite the combination.”

            “Yes.” The words on paper were all she had left of her parents.

            Jax studied her and then looked toward the gas lamp on the counter. “We have lanterns left, but not for long unless we get more fuel. So keep an eye on the lamp but extinguish it if you go to sleep.”

            “I understand.” The guy was quoting Nietzsche? What kind of an ex-gang member turned army special ops turned leader of a vigilante group knew philosophy? She shook her head. Time to negotiate. “I’m here for a reason.” “I’m sure.” He eyed her blue heart again. “You can cover up.”

            She fumbled in refastening her shirt. “I’ll teach you everything I know about the illness, and you provide temporary protection and one kill.” The mere idea she was contracting a murder banished the desire humming inside her and replaced the heat with a lump of cold rock.

            A veil fell over Jax’s eyes. “What makes you think we don’t know everything you do about the illness?”

            She shrugged, wondering if he knew what kind of information he might have stored away just from his ransacking labs. “The Internet went down fast, much faster than anyone would’ve thought, and the news and television thereafter. No way do you know what I know.”

            He watched her patiently, as if waiting to strike. “The Internet went down because of a guy named Spiral.”

            She blinked. Wow. So Jax Mercury had some seriously good intel. “True. He was infected with the illness and then reacted by creating a world-class computer virus. Figured if bodies died, so should technology, since it got us in this fix in the first place.” Her instincts hummed. Underestimating Mercury would be a colossal mistake. Suddenly, and for the first time in way too long, hope struggled to unfurl within her. “I still know more about the illness than you do.”

            “Probably.” He studied her for a few moments longer before cocking his head to the side. “What else?”

            She cleared her throat. “I assume you’ve scavenged the area you control?”

            His chin lifted. “So?”

            She swallowed, her body stilling. “Did you scavenge the emergency CDC outpost on the southeast side of L.A.?” Her blood pumped so fast she could feel a vein in her neck bulging.

            “Yes. Why?” he asked softly.

            The softness contained a deadly intent that rippled a shiver down her spine. Her fingers fidgeted. “They had the most recent research, and combined with mine, we might have hope.” They also had intel on where Myriad, the ultrasecret lab, might be located.

            He studied her. “We raided the CDC outpost and took all medical supplies and paper records. Our limited medical personnel went through the files looking for cures, but I have to be honest, none of them are researchers with your background.”

Lynne leaned forward. “I’m happy to go through all the information and decipher it for you.” Oh God. Maybe the risk of heading into Mercury’s territory would actually pay off . . . if she could find Myriad. “Could I look through the data?”

            He leaned back and studied her. “Sure. Are you telling me there may be a cure?”

USA Today Bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti has worked as an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing examiner - only to culminate it all in stories about Alpha males and the women who claim them. She writes contemporary romances, dark paranormal romances, and romantic suspense novels.

Growing up amid the glorious backdrops and winter wonderlands of the Pacific Northwest has given Rebecca fantastic scenery and adventures to weave into her stories. She resides in the wild north with her husband, children, and extended family who inspire her every day—or at the very least give her plenty of characters to write about.

 Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads