Thursday, March 31, 2016


Title: The Rancher's Son 
Series: Montana, #2
Author: R.J. Scott
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date:  March 25, 2016

A man without memories, and the cop who never gave up hope.

When he wakes up in the hospital, the victim of a brutal beating, John Doe has no memories of who he is or who hurt him. The cops can find nothing to identify him and he can't remember anything to help... except the name Ethan and one recurring place from his dreams. Two words, and they're not much, but it's a start: Crooked Tree.

Detective Ethan Allens has never stopped searching for the two boys who vanished. When a report lands on Ethan's desk that may give new leads, he jumps at the chance to follow them up. The man he finds isn't his brother, but it's someone who could maybe help him discover what happened twelve years ago.

What neither man can know is that facing the very real demons of the past could destroy any kind of future they may have together.

"5 Stars!!  For a romance and a mystery all in one!!  ~Jaime - Alpha Book Club

".... a wonderful "second-chances" story and I couldn't put it down once I started it." ~Paul (Goodreads Review)

"You can't go wrong with an R.J. Scott book, and this one is no different. Heartwarming and fun with a splash of angst and suspense..." ~Ceri (Goodreads Review)

Ethan must have nodded off at some point, waking to another coffee from Clare and a ten-minute warning that breakfast was about to be brought up to the patients. His neck ached, and he was semi curled up in the hard chair. 

“Thought you needed this. If you want to go to the cafeteria, I can keep an eye on Adam.” 

“No, I’ll stay here. Thank you, though.” 

“I’ll see if I can get someone to bring you up something.” 

A quick glance at his watch showed Ethan it was a few minutes after six. He checked his email. He’d only sent the information to Navy Liaison at late last night, but there was already a message back saying all efforts would be made to get the information to Cole Strachan. There was a group joke sent by one of the shift officers back at the precinct, and some spam. Other than that, nothing. 

Ethan stood and stretched tall, sipped his hot coffee, and watched the April morning unfold before his eyes. Clare managed to scrounge up some pastries, and he ate them at the window, a hundred thoughts racing through his head. 

A nurse disappeared into Adam’s room, and Ethan tensed in expectation. He desperately wanted to go in there, but would Adam even be interested in talking to him? 

“Are you Ethan?” the nurse asked. The tray in her hand carried untouched food. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“You can go in. He’s asking for you.” 

As he started to walk past her, she thrust the tray at him. There was a plate of eggs, and a sorry-looking pancake. “Try to get him to eat some of this,” she said. 

He took the tray, because he didn’t really have a choice, and went into Adam’s room, kicking the door shut behind him. There was no one in the bed, but the bathroom door was closed, so Ethan assumed that was where the errant Adam was. He placed the tray on the table and waited, looking out of the same window Adam had been standing at last night. From this angle and at this height, Ethan could see the water of Lake Michigan and watch the hospital parking lot grow busier by the minute. 

The bathroom door opened. Ethan instinctively turned and wished he hadn’t, because now he was staring. Not so much at the pajama bottoms that rode low on slim hips, or the broad chest that had a smattering of hair, tapering to a happy trail downward, nor to the muscles in Adam’s arms. No, Ethan was staring at the scars—new ones and some way older by the look of them—bruises purple and yellow and green, and the tattoos. 

Tribal tattoos circled Adam’s arms, over his right shoulder, and down onto his pec: big swathes of dark ink with finer detail in curls around muscles. Something that looked like old burns marked his neck. A body that had seen a lot, felt a lot. 

“I don’t remember them,” Adam said, his voice lost. He ran his fingers over the tattoos as if touching them would bring back memories. “They must have hurt, don’t you think?” 

Ethan thought of the small tattoo over his heart and recalled the discomfort of getting it. His hadn’t hurt; the million tiny pricks into his skin were nothing. 

“Maybe,” he offered. 

Adam turned a little and checked the tattoos in the mirror, peering close. “I wonder what they mean?” 

When he turned, he exposed more marks on his back and the fine lines of a horse standing on his hind legs. Ethan inhaled sharply. 

“What?” Adam snapped, attempting to see his back even though he couldn’t get the right angle. “What is it?” 

“Your horse.” 

Adam frowned. “That is my horse? I want to see that again, the detective took a photo but he didn’t have a copy for me.” 

Ethan pulled out his cell and snapped a shot of the beautiful tattoo, then passed the phone to Adam, who stared at the picture. 

“Why is it—” Any energy seemed to leave him in the exhalation of a sigh, and he slumped to sit on his bed. “—I remember this is a cell phone, but I don’t recall patterns on my own skin?” 

From his research Ethan learned terms like brain centers and retrograde amnesia, alongside traumatic stress, he didn’t understand a lot of it. “I have no idea.” 

Adam curled into himself, hunching over his knees, looking utterly defeated. 

Compassion welled inside Ethan, and he sat next to his old friend, pushing the tray toward him. “Eat your eggs,” he said gruffly. 

Adam side-eyed him and huffed before taking the tray and resting it on the small hospital table. He forked some into his mouth, grimacing as he chewed and swallowed, but at least he ate half of what was there, and one cold, dry pancake. 

“I need a proper breakfast,” Adam grumped. 

“Like what?” 

“Hot fresh bacon,” Adam said immediately, paling at what he was saying. “I think that I love bacon. I’d eat plates of the stuff if you gave them to me.” 

“And real pancakes,” Ethan added. He reached over and poked at the sorry excuse for one that had been served. “But not like this one. Fluffy, steaming pancakes.” 

Adam nodded and darted his tongue out to collect a small piece of egg resting on his lips. “Maple syrup,” he added softly. 

“You always liked maple syrup.” 

Adam finished the eggs and grimaced again. “When we get out of here, will you find me bacon?” 

“Of course.” 

“Real bacon, and pancakes with maple syrup. That sounds just like what I want to eat.” 

Ethan’s chest tightened as Adam looked up at him under his eyelashes, his dark eyes holding humor. Adam and Justin had spent their childhoods getting Ethan to do what they wanted: the older brother with money from a part-time job, the one with the car. And he’d done everything they asked. 

“I wouldn’t take you anywhere bad,” Ethan said 

Adam pushed the tray to one side. “I need a shower, and then we go, right?” 


“You should take photos of all my tattoos, so you could maybe find out more about me.” 

“I know who you are. The rest will follow when your memories return.” He didn’t want to say that he’d already decided to email the tattoo of the horse to Jen, just in case she could track down where it had been done. It was a beautiful piece of work, and likely whoever did it would have it in a portfolio somewhere. Of course, that was a needle in a haystack. Who knew where Adam had been in the last twelve years? Chicago, where he was now? Or had he traveled from Montana to another city? 

Adam looked at him, confused. “You said I disappeared. How old was I when that happened? Fifteen, you said?” 

“You were nearly sixteen.” 

Adam glanced down at himself, “And I’m twenty-eight now, so what happened in between?” He stood up and half turned. “You should get them all.” 

Ethan did as Adam wanted, and pulled all the photos into one email, sending the whole lot to Jen with a particular request about tracking down the artist. Meanwhile, Adam went into the bathroom, closed the door, and left Ethan staring at the wood.

RJ Scott has been writing since age six when she was made to stay in at lunchtime for an infraction involving cookies and was told to write a story. Two sides of A4 about a trapped princess later, a lover of writing was born. She reads anything from thrillers to sci-fi to horror; however, her first real love will always be the world of romance. From billionaires, bodyguards and cowboys to SEALs, throwaways and veterinarians, she writes passionate stories with a heart of romance, a troubled road to reach happiness, and more than a hint of happily ever after.


Tuesday, March 29, 2016


Title: Waiting on Faith
Series: A She's Beautiful Novel
Author: Nicole Richard
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: March 26, 2016

She’s a woman running from her past.

He’s a man with a fractured heart.

Natalie Brentwood is determined to escape a life of betrayal and abuse. Vowing to live the life she knows she deserves, despite the one she’s endured. 

Cy Davis is no stranger to lies and deceit. He’s harbored a ten-year grudge that could quite possibly ruin his chances with a woman who blindly captured his heart.

But when two people are brought together by fate, can they be the light the other needs? Or will a secret and past insecurity be a test of their love and faith. 

A story of love and hate and the depths one will go to bury heartbreak than runs deep.

“Blue,”―he paused to suck my nipple―“I need inside. I can’t take it. I need to be in you, baby.”

“Yes,” I spilled out in desperation.

Laying me right there on the couch, he lavished kisses on my neck, and the tip of his cock tickled my entrance. “Condom,” I managed to pant out through the lust his assault was creating.

I wasn’t ready to go there yet. I was not ready for the possibilities or repercussions of unprotected sex. I was on birth control, but that didn’t matter to me. No matter how careful or cautious a woman was about taking the pill or getting the shot, babies could still happen.

Cy exhaled a hot breath, leaning his forehead to mine. “Got it. I wonder what exactly it is about you that makes me forget my own goddam name.”

“Cy, my pussy is beating, and it’s begging for your cock. Go get the damn condom and fuck me into tomorrow already. Please,” I added as an afterthought. If he didn’t hurry, I would go searching for a vibrator if I had to. Never in my life had I been so sex starved.

He swooped down for a chaste kiss before running off to his room. “Don’t go anywhere,” he threw over his shoulder.

“Why would I go anywhere when you haven’t given me my damn orgasm yet?”

He laughed, shaking his head as he disappeared through his bedroom doorway.

Forty seconds later, he came back into view with a condom in place and string of them hanging from his hand. I couldn’t help but let my giggle escape.

Then he was over me, caging me between his arms and the couch with his cock right where I needed him. I dropped my knees to the sides, spread them as wide as I could and pulled his hips toward me. 

“Aren’t we a greedy girl tonight?” He chuckled. “But shit if I don’t think it is the hottest damn thing.”

Cy slammed into me hard and I screamed out, arching into him and pulling him impossibly closer. He set a gentle pace, which made my toes curl and a light sweat break out over my skin.

Murmurs of pleasure fell from my lips before I could stop them. My hips surged to meet his, silently asking him for harder, deeper. He obliged, and my screams escalated with each thrust. Stars and white lights, again. Damn, this man was good.

Nicole was born and raised and currently resides in Hawaii with her husband and two teenage children.
At an adolescent age she took a strong liking to reading and even had a pipe dream of writing her own book. Life and growing up had put reading on the far end back burner, but her dream recently came true with her debut novel The Beauty of Grace, book one in the She’s Beautiful Series.
A hopeless romantic, she has a love for romance novels which she credits her late mother passing on to her and now an even stronger love to write her own stories.