What Shifts a Billionaire? book blitz

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Welcome to the most exclusive club in the world. The Novo Club. Novo is Latin for “change.” Our members prefer the word “shift” though.

It’s the hottest club in town.

The price of membership is your heart and your secrecy.

All you need to do to join is to be loved beyond your wildest imagination by someone powerful with an…alpha side so primal it’s in their blood.

Are you ready?

Good. Then let’s begin.

About the Author

DIANA SEERE was raised by wolves in the forests outside Boston and San Francisco. The only time she spends in packs these days is at romance writing conventions. In truth, Diana is two New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors who decided to write shifter romance and have more fun.

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.99 Box Set Sale – August 18-23, 2021

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What Librarians can do! Book Blitz

No one at the library she worked at knew about Kristy Cooper’s other job.⁣

⁣⁣ I Was a Stripper Librarian is a new memoir by Kristy Cooper and it’s out NOW!

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I got involved with a former stripper before I ever became one myself.

Lillian had gorgeous long red hair, tattoos, and wore glasses. She was working as a barista at a coffee shop in my college town, Champaign, IL. I was twenty-three and finishing off a year of fucking around partying before moving to Ann Arbor to pursue a Master of Science in Information at the University of Michigan.

One day, I went into her coffee shop and, as I often did when ordering things, I became annoyingly indecisive about what I wanted. “I want a green tea, or wait, maybe a chai… I think I’m hungry… I’m sorry I’m wasting your time.”

Lillian just looked at me coyly. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t have anywhere else to be.” I smiled and felt more at ease as she winked.

I finally picked a chai and enjoyed the feeling as her gaze lingered on mine while she handed it to me. Then another customer popped up behind me, and I realized I had to move along, but I knew I wanted to see her again.

Later, I found out from mutual friends that she was newly single and, like me, was hitting the bars like a fiend. We formally met when our friend groups started coalescing at all the local watering holes. After our drinking group finally reached critical mass, we declared ourselves a girl gang, named ourselves Pussy Control, after the Prince song, and convinced ourselves that we were a serious force to be reckoned with. Most guys quickly learned not to mess with us, because we would cackle at them or mock their ridiculous attempts to approach us. We were not the toughest or most organized gang ever, but we did at least manage to decrease the number of random guys hitting on us.

Maybe Lillian’s risqué past was part of what drew me to her. I don’t know. I had never thought there was anything wrong with stripping, but like most people, it was something I didn’t think I would ever do. At the same time though, I was intrigued with her previous job and wondered what it was like to do something considered so socially deviant and potentially stigmatizing. I had actually done sex work before, but it was working as a dominatrix one summer in Chicago. That kind of work had its own stigma, but there was no audience, I didn’t have to get naked, and I also didn’t have to be nice.

Lillian would tell me about the stage and the pole tricks that would leave calluses on her hands. There were her quirky customers, like the man that just wanted her to sit still like a doll on his lap while he spoke to her. She explained how different customers liked different looks for their strippers and how she avoided working at clubs that only featured what she considered Barbie look-alikes. Lillian described living in Baltimore and how she would walk around half-naked all night, make good money, and then go home to her apartment. It sounded so normal, like being a waitress who happened to forget to put the rest of her clothes on.


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Kristy Cooper is a librarian single mom in Michigan. In her spare time, she fights politicians for libraries and will eventually get around to finishing writing her YA series.

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Orders of Vampires? Book Blitz

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Meet the Order of the Black Oak: a powerful order of modern-day warriors fighting evil to protect the ones they love.⁣

⁣⁣⁣⁣“She’d said always. In his world, always meant forever. An eternity.”

The Order of the Black Oak by is a fantastic series of action, magic and awesome romance. You will fall in love with the characters and feel you are right with them!⁣

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She’d come to the club to talk to him countless times in the last three months, but today was different. Today, her quest was personal.

The one she was coming to see was the most infuriating man of her acquaintances—as if nothing serious ever touched him. Keeping her persona at the highest level of professionalism was the best way to approach him.

And there he was.

She watched him work at his usual corner booth beside the bar.

Magnovald St-Amand. Owner of this trendy Montreal nightspot, his actual wealth a secret, even to her. No doubt its origin tethering between both sides of the law, some legitimate and some probably criminal.

And this time—even though it killed her to have to do this—it was the latter she had come for.

Mag, as they called him, was pouring over a pile of ledgers spread across the table and punching numbers on a printing calculator, his demeanor unusually focused on the menial task.

A nudge of respect rose with a flutter in her stomach to see him work on his own accounts.

Such a contradiction. Nothing in his laid-back facade indicated a thriving business owner. As always, his dark hair brushed his neck, the curls a little too long above the plain black t-shirt emphasizing the defined broadness of his shoulders and arms. His skin—a tad too pale to be healthy—contrasted gently with the sculpted cheekbones and dark determined brows.

And as she watched him check his calculations, she knew she had mere seconds before needing to brace herself from his immense charm.

Once his dark gaze hit her, when his lips curled into that constant amused expression he had every time they met, she would have to fight hard her attraction for the man who was nothing like her.

His life was far from the world she came from. His was late evenings and sensual pleasures. Dubious connections all over the city and the lording over its luxurious nightlife.

Hers was pondered and orderly. Charity balls and business bureaus. A continuous quest to keep her tight hold on the Montreal’s real estate power.

As she looked at him now with a slight weight lodged in her chest, in those few seconds before he would become aware of her presence, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was perhaps a possible place where they might be alike.

But that small hopeful moment was soon over.

He knew she was here.

Magnovald St-Amand slowly lifted his head. With a profound inhale, she took hold of herself as the dark undercurrent of his gaze seized her and threatened her very soul.

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Marie-Claude Bourque – BIO

Marie-Claude Bourque is a Montreal-born Seattle-based author of gothic paranormal romance and the winner of the American Title V award with her first novel ANCIENT WHISPERS.

Her writing features modern-day fantasy skillfully weaved into infinitely romantic supernatural stories between smart strong women and complex passionate heroes. 

Happily Ever After always absolutely guaranteed!



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Flashing the point: Book Blitz

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💜friends-to-lovers romance

💜forbidden lovers

💜gamer/hacktivist heroine

💜witch sisters

💜murder mystery

💜all the steam 🔥

A witch hunter who’d fallen for a witch.

There was no spell in the world to unravel that level of stupid.

“Can I kiss you?” The question came out on a breath, so soft she wasn’t sure he’d hear it with the fans humming as steadily as her powers on a Josh high.

*She poured seven hundred days of anticipation into this first kiss.


The staked witch burst into flames. Mina swore and jumped clear of the blaze. By the powers, she’d lit the wrong target with her elemental magic.


At least it’d only been a mannequin.

The camera above the door blinked a steady red, a judgment of her failure. Her boss could be watching right now. Or worse—her sisters.

Embarrassment sent hot tingles across her skin, and her pulse thudded louder in her ears than the massive fan above. Why couldn’t she control her powers?

If this had been one of her video games, she’d wield her magic with precision worthy of a stupendous title. Something inspiring. Something enviable. Something that would make her, Mina Donovan, legendary.

Second spare to the heir of a ruling witch family? Yeah, not so much.

Reality sucked in every supernatural way. Or at least it had these last few weeks.

Her actual targets—giant cotton balls tacked to a wall across the room—mocked her with their bright white while the mannequin and its formerly Mean-Girls-esque you-can’t-sit-with-us designer threads burned like a tiki torch.

“You missed.” Of course her district attorney sister picked that moment to walk into the room. Delia was everything Mina wasn’t—accomplished, distinguished, polished. Never mind how her sister’s blue-eyed, blonde-haired dressed-to-the-elevens flawlessness compared to her own frizzy-curled, height-deprived, rolled-out-of-bed look. “Unless you’re practicing to light one of us up like a witchy sparkler?”

“Hardly.” Being recruited to a secret FBI task force right after college had seemed cool. But it should’ve come with a neon warning: “All loved ones may be collateral damage.” Last night, her oldest sister and baby niece had almost died. Not her fault entirely, but that didn’t ease her guilt. Or help her get a grip on her powers. The now flaming mannequin was proof of that. “What happened to safety cones and boring bulls-eyes for training? Whose idea was it to put humanish targets in here anyway?”

“The boss’s. A13 wanted to test your aim so you won’t torch us out in the field. After this little demonstration, I’ll be sure to stay out of the line of—”

            “Don’t say it.” Mina jabbed the button for the secondary exhaust system to blast out her know-it-all sister’s opinions as much as smoke. If she’d heard one bad fire joke, she’d heard them all from her snarky sisters.

The roar of the combined fans wasn’t enough to shut Delia up. “Good thing this place is retrofitted for magical elements training. One wrong spark in LA, and the whole city burns.”

Not the reminder Mina needed right now. She changed the subject. “Who decided on the witch hat and the giant demon dummy?” Red-sequined horns sparkled in the light from the fire.

“My fiancé has a sick sense of humor. You started that little inferno. You going to put it out?”

“Yes.” She hoped. But when she pulsed a thread of magic toward the mannequin, the flames shot higher than its pointed hat.

“Did you mean to make the fire worse?”


Delia’s yeah-right look was a speed dial straight to Mina’s self-doubt.

If the place had been made of anything but concrete, the fire would’ve raced across the room taking everything out. As it was, black circles spread in a messy scrawl on the ceiling.

Mina closed her eyes. The orange glow burned behind her lids, a flashing pyrotechnics show that didn’t help her maxed-out stress levels. With a deep breath, she imagined darkness where there was light. When she dared a peek, the fire was gone. Thank the powers.

“Quick work.” Delia sounded almost impressed. “Maybe we should race sometime.”

“Right, except if you’d used your air element, we’d both be unconscious. Me from oxygen deprivation and you from magic drain.” Petty, but true.

Delia’s powers would have her blonde butt on the floor within seconds—the price of her whirlwind-slinging element. Then the designer diva would be pissed off that she’d gotten soot on her suit. The tornado-tosser looked anything but amused. “Okay, super witch.” Which sounded like a not-so-subtle reference to another word ending in –itch. This was big sister bossiness at its worst. “Care to hit any of the real targets now? I thought you’d been working on this during your training sessions.”

 “Don’t you have something better to do? Like making out with your fiancé? Since that’s all I see you doing these days when you’re training.” Mina wiggled her fingers in air quotes with the last word.


“Nope.” She totally was. Legacy daughters—those witches born to rule the witch Senate—were traditionally forced into arranged matches for powerful bloodlines and big bank accounts. But not her sisters. No. They’d each risen above that to find true freaking love. “So why don’t you get back to your guy instead of interrupting me?”

“Don’t be such a brat. I was just checking on you.”

Because Mina was the screw-up baby sister. Not as bad as their brother, but he’d set the bar low. As in conspiring with the Revelare, a demon-led organization looking to overthrow the witch Senate—that kind of low. “I can do this by myself.”


Luna author flash - Flashing the point: Book Blitz

Luna Joya writes sexy hexy romances in the award-winning Legacy Series.

Fluent in sarcasm and penal code, Luna prosecutes by day and writes at night. She loves history, especially Los Angeles and Hollywood lore.

A survivor of traumatic brain injury with steel body parts, she lives in SoCal with her combat veteran husband and their two-pound terror of a rescue pup.

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Diabolical? : Book Blitz

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Warning: What you’re about to read is not a romance . . .

Nefarious by @mary_ann_marlowe is a new contemporary novel and it’s out NOW! Get yours today ➞

⁣#Bibliophile #Booshelf #BookClub #Bookish #Booksy #BookNerd #BookWorm #maryannmarlowe #contemporary #XpressoTours @XpressoTours #BookBlogger #BookQueen #BookLove #BookStack #GoodReads #BookShark #BookCommunity #ReadersOfInstagram #BookBabe #Reading #BookAesthetic #BookishPost


Val scanned the other interns, chess pieces on her board, sizing up their value to her. So far, the only one with the chutzpah to approach her sat at the far corner of the table. Anthony. He stood out in the way he sat. Leaning back in his chair, one foot crossed on his knee. Val raised an eyebrow at him, and he straightened up and put his forearms on the table. Now they were all a neat row of matching pawns.

The door swung open, and Dane waltzed in. Fifteen intern heads swiveled away from Val and gawked at him. Anthony vacated his chair with alacrity, as though he feared someone else might beat him to it. He gestured for Dane to sit, but Dane’s lip curled up on one side in disdain, and he simply leaned against the back wall, languidly pushing a stir stick around his Styrofoam coffee cup. Dane never sat at meetings. These kids will learn.

Anthony sheepishly pulled his chair back and returned to his place at the table.

As Val waited for order to return, she let her gaze linger on Dane, draped against the wall in all his languorous beauty. She knew he’d spent a fortune to look like he did, but knowing it didn’t make her appreciate it less. Of course, she’d seen him before he’d learned to groom himself so handsomely. She’d taught him after all. But he’d been born with those dark sultry eyes and that decadent luscious mouth. Fully aware she was drinking in her fill, he puckered his lips like he might blow her a kiss.

She inhaled, searching for a hint of his scent. If it wouldn’t be considered unseemly, she might be tempted to cross the room and take him up on his implied offer.

Instead she turned her attention to the interns, now waiting for her lead.

“This company,” she continued, “was founded by Martin Fleetwood in 1957 with a specialization in mortgage trading.” Val clicked through the slides, expanding on the historical events that nobody wanted or needed to know. The subject of the slides moved on to the current state of the company. “Have any of you researched the company’s stock position?”

Anthony raised his hand. “Yes, ma’am. Stocks are trading at thirty-eight as of this morning.”

Val glanced at Dane. “Are we up or down?”

Anthony opened his mouth, but Dane’s voice commanded the room’s attention. “The market’s hot, and our stock is rising.”

Val controlled her expression, but the corner of her mouth rose slightly. “What do you make of our throughput?”

Dane lifted his shoulders from the wall, engaged now. “I like our position with regard to market penetration.”

The interns had stopped taking notes, and their heads followed the volley as though they were spectators at a tennis match.

Val set up the shot. “And the projected yield?”

“Coming together.” Dane crumpled the Styrofoam and tossed it into the trash bin.

Val exhaled. “Our stockholders will be very satisfied.”

Dane reached in his pocket and produced a single cigarette. He toyed with it for a heartbeat before walking out the door.

Val bit the end of her pen. My most valuable chess piece moves in every direction.

Except into her bed.

No, she wouldn’t cede that game until she knew how they could both win.

With all the eyes back on Val, she proceeded to lecture them on expectations of ethics and compliance, chuckling to herself as they diligently took notes.

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AUTHOR BIO:Some Kind of Magic is Mary Ann Marlowe’s first novel. When not writing, she works by day as a computer programmer/DBA. She spent ten years as a university-level French professor, and her resume includes stints as an au pair in Calais, a hotel intern in Paris, a German tutor, a college radio disc jockey, and a webmaster for several online musician fandoms, plus she has a second-degree black belt. She has lived in twelve states and three countries and loves to travel. She now lives in central Virginia where she is hard at work on her second novel. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at, on Facebook,, and at

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