Werewolves, Vampires and Demons, Oh My 2 Read Online Free
Hey anybody…I'm back with more than volume blasts. This one is a series by MJ Pullen chosen the "Marriage Pact Serial." Savor!
Writer Bio:
M.J. (Manda) Pullen studied English language Literature and Business at the University of Georgia in Athens, and afterwards Professional Counseling at Georgia Land Academy in Atlanta. She skilful psychotherapy for 5 years before taking fourth dimension off for writing and raising her two young boys. Since high school, she has also been an executive banana, cashier, telemarketer, professional fundraiser, marketing guru, magazine writer, grant-writer, waitress, box-packer, 60 minutes person, and casual drifter.
She reads and writes across many genres, and learns something from everything she does. No affair what she's writing, M.J. believes that love is the greatest adventure there is, and that hopeless romantics are never really hopeless.
She loves to hear from readers and other writers – and so drop her a line!
Author Links –
Website: mjpullen.com
Facebook: facebook.com/mjpullenbooks
Twitter: @MJPullen
Blog: mjpullen.com/blog/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4993237.M_J_Pullen
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/M.J.-Pullen/e/B0055UFL68/
Giveaway – details for your giveaway, be specific. You may pick one prize of more than than i.
Ebooks, paperbacks, Swag or souvenir cards
Hosting Incentive: If offering an incentive (giveaway) for those that host your bout such equally a gift carte du jour.
I will be giving away one set of autographed paperback copies of the Matrimony Pact trilogy (winner can cull a custom inscription for the get-go book).
Pit Crew: Will you lot exist offering a donation to our Street Team that will exist helping promote your tour?
One prepare of autographed paperback copies of the Marriage Pact trilogy (winner tin can choose a custom inscription for the first book).
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Tags/Labels: The Marriage Pact Series, K.J. Pullen, contemporary romance, romance, romance novels, romance writers, romance authors, dear, beloved and relationships,virtual book tour Café
The Marriage Pact
Volume Genre: Gimmicky Romance
Publisher: Flourish Publications (Cocky)
Release Date: June 2011
Buy Link(southward):
- Amazon Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/The-Marriage-Pact-K-J-Pullen/dp/1463600682/
- Amazon Kindle: http://world wide web.amazon.com/Wedlock-Pact-One thousand-J-Pullen-ebook/dp/B0055LH79Q
- Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/west/the-marriage-pact-mj-pullen/1103851254
- Apple iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/x/id723193295
- Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/362781
- Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-Usa/ebook/the-marriage-pact-2
Book Clarification:
Marci Thompson e'er knew what life would be similar past her 30thursday birthday. A large only cozy suburban home shared with a mannerly married man and two vivid children. A celebrated career as an established writer, complete with wall-to-wall mahogany shelves and a summer volume tour. A life full of adventure with her friends and family by her side.
Instead, Marci lives alone in 480 square feet of converted motel space next to a punk rock ring, hundreds of miles from her friends and family. She works in a temporary accounting consignment that has somehow stretched from two weeks into nine months. And the only bright spot in her life, not to mention the only sex she's had in ii years, is an illicit thing with her married boss, Doug. Thirty is non at all what information technology is croaky up to be.
Then the reappearance of a cocktail napkin she hasn't seen in a decade opens a long-forgotten door, and Marci'south life gets complicated, fast. The lines between right and wrong, fantasy and reality, heartache and happiness are all nearly to become very blurry, as Marci faces the nearly difficult choices of her life.
Extract One (300-500 or then Words):
In her mind, she had concluded it a thousand times. She would spend hours rehearsing three versions of the parting speech:
Rational:
"Doug, I tin can't practice this anymore. Neither of us intended this to happen, but information technology has to terminate. I honey you lot [should she say that?], but I can't be responsible for breaking up a marriage, even so unhappy information technology might exist. I deserve better than this. I need someone free to make a life with me, and you are not. I know in my heart that role of you still loves Cathy, and I call up yous should render to her and really invest in your matrimony."
Magnanimous and melodramatic:
"Listen, Doug. This has been wonderful; information technology really has. But information technology's wrong and it'south been wrong from the first. It'due south fierce me apart. I am not an adulteress; I deserve to exist more than 'the other adult female.' I can't live with myself for another 24-hour interval this style, and I tin can't allow you practice information technology, either. Go back to your wife, your domicile, the life that y'all chose all those years ago. I volition treasure our time together and you have my give-and-take that I will never tell anyone about us."
Jealous and generally pissed off:
"Doug, your little weekend getaway with your wife gave me time to get clarity and realize that I am ameliorate than this situation, and amend than you. If you loved me, you would no longer be married. If y'all loved your wife, you would not be with me. You deed like this is torture for y'all, but actually you're just a typical cheating sleazebag who wants to have his block and eat it, also. I want you out of my life forever. If you try to speak to me over again, I will call Cathy and tell her everything. Become out."
This last version was the most emotionally satisfying. She would march into piece of work armed with these words, confident, resolute and set to take back her life.
Until she saw him. She'd find a sticky notation on her keyboard: "It was awful. I missed yous." Or he would option her upwardly at dejeuner, and instead of going dorsum to her identify, they would drive to the top of Mount Bonnell and wait over the Texas hill land and talk. She would feebly threaten to end it, crying pathetically and remembering none of her kickass speeches.
So they limped along in a relationship netherworld—not together, non apart, each 24-hour interval full of the twin possibilities of limitless passion or farewell forever. With stacks of invoices and mindless tasks in front of her each solar day, Marci had entirely likewise much time to contemplate both ends of the spectrum.
Today was no dissimilar, except for the fact that she was officially no longer wasting her late twenties in a hopeless relationship. Thirty had arrived, and a new decade was waiting. And there was an e-mail service from Jake.
Excerpt 2 (500-800 or so Words):
Her Hotmail business relationship had thirty-ii new letters. At least half were automatic e-mails from online retailers wishing her a happy altogether with ten% off and gratuitous shipping. There were a few east-cards from friends, which she decided to open later. A couple of notifications from writing listservs of which she was a fellow member, simply somehow never made time to read. A forward chain e-mail service from Suzanne'due south grandmother, alerting her that her UPS commitment driver might exist a member of Al Qaeda. A auction on her favorite jeans at the Plus-Size outlet store. A happy birthday from her chiropractor.
As she neared the bottom of the highlighted portion of her inbox, she saw the first new bulletin had been sent at 12:01 a.1000. from Jake Stillwell, one of her best friends from higher. Nothing was in the subject line, but she saw there was an attachment, and curiosity beat out her hesitance about the scary meeting with the IT guy. She clicked to open it, read the two brusque sentences Jake had included, and sat back while the image loaded on the screen. No. It couldn't be. Had he really kept information technology?
The consternation must still take been visible on her face a few moments later when Doug's head appeared around the side of her cubicle, considering he stopped his momentum to ask, "Everything okay?" despite his obvious bustle. Startled, she lunged forward and clicked the windows airtight, even though Doug certainly would not care that she was checking her e-mail from the office.
"It's fine. I'grand…fine," she said.
"Okay, proficient. Listen, infant," he began, and Marci looked around wide-eyed to make sure no i was around to hear the familiar term. He laughed at her panic, every bit usual. "I already checked—we're alone, kiddo. "
Kiddo.
"I just came by to say I tin't go to dejeuner today. In that location's a meeting at Motorola this afternoon—a big project we might be doing for them. I have to be in that location. Frank's been really riding my ass most bringing in new clients lately…hey, are you lot sure you're okay?" He looked genuinely concerned.
"Yes, I'chiliad fine," she said, pasting on a smile. "Just a weird e-mail from home."
"Oh." He seemed to be debating whether to go on, or wait for her to explain further. Not knowing what to say, Marci remained silent.
"Anyway, sweetheart, I'grand deplorable that I can't get to tiffin with you on your birthday. I promise I will brand it up to yous tonight. Cathy's, um…" He hesitated, flustered, and then finished in a rush. Usually he avoided saying his married woman'southward proper name to Marci. "Well, I'thousand costless for a while tonight."
Without warning, he leaned downward and kissed her. He had never so much every bit touched her hand in the function before, and her body tingled with the danger and excitement in response. Later on, he kept his face close to hers. She smelled his clean peel, and somehow resisted the temptation to put her palm apartment against the crisp white undershirt beneath the blueish.
His vocalisation in her ear was husky. "I really did want to have you to lunch." His tone suggested eating lunch had probably not been on the agenda. Her heart pounded and she looked effectually wildly, expecting to run across someone come up around the corner at any 2d and discover them in this pose, for which there was no feasible professional explanation. "I'll detect you later." She closed her optics, inhaling his olfactory property. When she opened them, he was gone.
Regrets Only
Book Genre: Women'south Fiction/Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Flourish Publications (Self)
Release Appointment: July 2012
Buy Link(s):
- Amazon Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Regrets-Only-Sequel-Spousal relationship-Pact/dp/1478362111/
- Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Regrets-Only-ebook/dp/B008QD09P4/
- Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/regrets-only-mj-pullen/1113648443
- Apple iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/x/id722559258
- Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/362801
- Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-The states/ebook/regrets-only-1
Book Clarification:
At xxx-three, Suzanne Hamilton has information technology all. A successful party-planning business with an elite client listing. A swank condo in a hot Atlanta neighborhood and a close group of friends – especially her longtime best friend Marci. A list of men a mile long who accept tried to win her heart and failed. Plus, she's just landed the event that volition have her career and social status to the side by side level. What could she maybe have to regret?
Then a freak accident changes everything, and Suzanne discovers that her most-perfect life is just a few steps away from total disaster. She is humiliated and at gamble of losing it all… except the surprising support of her newest celebrity client. With nothing else to continue, Suzanne follows him into an unexpected job and unfamiliar territory. Soon she volition question everything – her career, her past, her friendships, and fifty-fifty her own dating rules.
But when her itemize of past relationships turns into a list of criminal suspects, she is faced with the horrifying possibility that she may not live to regret whatever of it…
Excerpt One (300-500 or so Words):
She smiled broadly at him, remembering to evidence her teeth the style she'd been instructed earlier dazzler pageants equally a child. She could nearly taste the Vaseline her mother fabricated her rub on her top teeth to ensure they didn't go smudged with lipstick. Smile. Exist open up.
Rick returned the smile with warmth. He also seemed to notice he'd been talking about himself for too long. "So tell me how y'all got started in the party planning business organization."
Suzanne recounted briefly how she had been an art history major at the University of Georgia, desperately wanted to work as a museum curator, and how she'd taken the chore on the upshot staff at the High Museum right later higher. "Originally, I hoped the pes in the door at the museum would state me a job in procurement or something, but it never happened."
"Oh, I'm distressing," Rick said sympathetically.
Suzanne shrugged. Information technology turned out she had a knack for effect planning. Something nearly the combination of creativity and crisis response. After a couple of years at the Loftier, she had been hired abroad by a large effect planning agency. She stayed there for a few years earlier creating her own boutique agency. At present she had one of the nearly successful, prestigious agencies in the city. People were often shocked to detect she and Chad were the merely permanent staff. "We actually won an award last year," she told Rick.
"Sounds similar y'all are quite the little rock star in the consequence planning globe," he said. "Or practice you just programme events for rock stars?"
Normally very discreet about her clients, Suzanne couldn't resist the opportunity to brag a little. "Actually, I am doing a do good in a couple of weeks for Dylan Burke. Of course, he's more a land star…"
"Seriously? I was kidding about the whole rock star thing."
A Southern lady is always modest, her mother'southward voice chided her. "Well, information technology'due south not that big of a deal," Suzanne hedged. "It's at my old stomping grounds at the High, which is probably why I got the job."
"Don't sell yourself curt," Rick countered enthusiastically. "That'southward awesome. He'due south totally famous."
She waved abroad the words with a manicured mitt, but Rick was undeterred. "Seriously, you should be really proud of yourself. That'southward a huge deal. Obviously you've earned quite a reputation for someone like Dylan Burke to choose y'all."
His eyes held hers sincerely. Okay, Rick, ease up. We've already slept together. You can dial it down a tad.
"Really, his director chose me. I oasis't actually met him nonetheless. We'll see how it turns out," she said, and pretended to be engrossed in the highlights of spring training on the Idiot box over the bar. "How do you lot recall the Braves will practise this year?"
Excerpt Two (500-800 or and then Words):
A few hours later, Suzanne awoke suddenly, unable to breathe. She gasped for air in the darkness, badly trying to movement, to figure out where she was. There was no light anywhere. Her chest tightened painfully, eye pounding, lips dry. Every bit she struggled to move, she heard Rick groan softly nearby and coil over, releasing her from his grasp. She was in his hotel room, she remembered, and relaxed a niggling. When his breathing was soft and steady she moved again to slide out from between the crisp sheets.
I can't do information technology.
She found the clock face down on the floor. Nigh four a.m. She crept into the bath and shut the door before finding the unpleasantly brilliant light. She splashed water on her face and breathed deeply. After a few moments with her hands steadying her against the sink, she looked in the mirror. Jesus, I look like crap. Mascara was smeared beneath her eyes, her formerly perfect pilus was a rat'due south nest behind her head, and the evening of cocktails had weathered her face like a sailor's. Suzanne looked and felt much older than thirty-3. She fabricated a mental annotation to have Republic of chad schedule a facial earlier the benefit.
Silently, she began gathering her things. The hotel room was pitch black, so she scrounged in her purse for the tiny keychain calorie-free, shaped similar a squealer, which Marci had given her years agone. The expensive pumps had been kicked off almost the door. Skirt and blouse were in a heap nearby. Later on a few moments of searching, she located her bra hanging off the desk lampshade across from the bed. Her panties, all the same, had gone completely missing.
She covered the room with the tiny pig several times, freezing periodically when she heard Rick shift or grunt in his sleep. Opening the blackout curtains a fraction gave her plenty low-cal to shimmy into the rest of her dress and make one more sweep of the room. She kicked herself for wearing her favorite pair of La Perla underwear, equally they were about to go a casualty to an early-forenoon getaway.
Sorry, girls.
She decided to add "Exit favorite underwear at home," to her list of dating rules. The rules were sort of Suzanne's cross between Emily Post and Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, by and large resulting from her ain bad experiences: Never bring a man dorsum your place. No emotional talk during sex activity. Never get naked with the lights on. E'er undress yourself. No dating guys with kids or dogs. No sex in cars. And and so on. She thought i day she could publish these rules and make a fortune.
She airtight the curtain and crept toward the door. She was about out of the room when she lost her balance and bumped against the closet door. It rattled loudly. Rick stirred behind her. "Suzanne? You okay?"
Damn.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Her voice was sheepish despite her best efforts. "I just need to get an early start today."
"Only," his voice in the darkness was tiresome and softened past sleep, "it'southward Sabbatum."
"Yeah, I just have so much going on with this benefit; I really need to get home. Thanks for dinner and…everything."
She waited as she heard him fumble for the lamp and got information technology turned on. "Um, sure. You're welcome?" he said, looking effectually, addled. In the sudden light, his bare chest looked a little pudgier, and furrier, than she remembered. He ran his hand through the thick brown hair standing up all over his head.
"Okay, well…bye, Rick," she said, as sweetly every bit she could. She turned back toward the door.
"Wait," he said softly.
Please don't brand an ass of yourself, she willed him. Please just hate me and let'southward be washed with it.
She didn't have to worry. Equally much as he liked her, Rick the Salesman knew a simple, cardinal rule of all relationships: never beg. He simply asked the exact question to which he wanted the answer. "This is ending right now, isn't it?"
Suzanne noticed that there was neither hope nor despair in his tone. Obviously, he genuinely liked her, and yet the question only sought to confirm, rather than to convince or retaliate. She hesitated but for a split second. "Yes."
She hovered in that location momentarily, waiting for the usual barrage of questions or arguments to commence, but Rick but nodded slowly and said, "I'yard sorry to hear that. It actually was very overnice to meet you, Suzanne."
Her face flushed. The stark dissimilarity betwixt this courteous ending and last night's very primitive activities embarrassed her, as did standing in her professional clothes and heels with no underwear. "You, too, Rick. Take care, okay?"
She hurried out, made her way down the stairs, and exited the side door. She had the phone number to the cab visitor on speed dial.
Baggage Check
Book Genre: Women's Fiction/Romance
Publisher: Flourish Publications (Self)
Release Date: Nov 2013
Buy Link(due south):
- Amazon Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Baggage-Bank check-Wedlock-Pact-Volume/dp/1493697439/
- Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Baggage-Cheque-The-Spousal relationship-Pact-ebook/dp/B00GS8HSSA
- Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/baggage-check-mj-pullen/1117442130
- Smashwords: https://world wide web.smashwords.com/books/view/377701
Volume Description:
At 30-five, Rebecca Williamson is surrounded by happy endings. Her friends Suzanne and Marci are living out their own personal fairy tales in Atlanta, Georgia. But despite Rebecca's best efforts four years ago, her adorable college friend Jake Stillwell has officially slipped through her fingers and cleaved her heart. Fifty-fifty though her task every bit a flight attendant fits perfectly with her orderly nature, and brings her into contact with lots of eligible men, she can't seem to notice a human who is Jake'southward equal.
So a frantic phone telephone call from her mother in Oreville, Alabama turns Rebecca's structured life on its ear. She will discover herself back in the tiny town she worked then hard to exit behind, and thrown together with Deputy Alex Chen, a face from the past who'south made information technology clear he thinks of Rebecca equally more than merely an sometime friend's child sister.
But Alex is aught similar what Rebecca had in heed; and in the concurrently, she has other battles to fight, including her painful family history. Can she navigate the chaos and get her life back to normal? Will Alex prove himself to exist the friend she's e'er needed? Or volition she discover that the door to Jake is non every bit tightly airtight as she thought?
Excerpt One (300-500 or so Words):
"What the hell was that?" Valerie asked, sliding into the booth across from Rebecca. "He was a squeamish-looking kid. You don't similar foreign guys?"
"That's not it," Rebecca said.
"Well, I had that one primed for you. Such a waste."
"Thank you, Val, but I don't need yous to discover guys for me. And I'thou certain he won't go to waste. Look, he's talking to that girl at the bar already."
"I didn't mean him," Val said. "I meant you lot. You're such a beautiful girl: educated, prissy nose, and that pretty chocolate-brown hair is your real colour as far as I can tell. We've flown together three years and I never hear about you dating anyone."
"Well, maybe I—"
Valerie leaned across the table with a loud whisper. "Are you a lesbian?"
"What? No!"
"Because I'thou okay with it, really. I'm very hip well-nigh this stuff. I even have a lesbian niece. Very attractive, if she would but permit her hair grow out. Of course, she'southward younger than you, but…"
"Valerie!" Rebecca said also loudly. And so softer, "I am not a lesbian. I used to appointment men all the time. I just haven't lately."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. The hours?"
"Bullshit."
"Come on, Val. Why the sudden interest in my love life? Tin can nosotros talk about something else?"
"No."
Rebecca knew from experience Valerie had no intention of letting up. She took a sip of her drink, not terribly helpful since information technology was mostly melted water ice. A long sigh under Valerie's unwavering stare. "I guess you could say I got my heart broken a few years ago, and I merely haven't gotten over it yet."
"Really? Who was this? How come I haven't heard well-nigh him?"
Rebecca sighed. In for a penny… "You have heard of him. It was my friend Jake."
"Jake?" Valerie furrowed her brow. "Yous mean…your friend, the girl with the blog, what'due south her name—Marci? That Jake?"
"Yes. That Jake."
Valerie whistled. "So how long ago was this?"
"How long ago was what? They got married four years ago. And they accept Bonnie now."
"Yeah, but when did you stop…" Valerie trailed off.
Rebecca shook her head. "I don't call back I accept stopped. I know that'southward ridiculous, but I-I loved him for and then long. It'due south similar I don't know any other fashion to be."
Val looked down at the table for a minute, and slid the residue of her neat Scotch across to Rebecca. "Here, child. I call up yous need this a hell of a lot more than I do."
Excerpt Two (500-800 or so Words):
Rebecca Williamson picked up a smooth, rust-colored clay bowl for the fifth time in as many minutes. She ran her hand along the sloping curve from the base of operations to the rim, and and so bounced it lightly in her artillery for heft. It was two pounds, she decided. Mayhap ii and a half once they had wrapped information technology for the airplane. She put information technology downward again and stepped back to look at the rest of the artist'southward brandish, dusting her hands together.
"Oh, but purchase it already!" Valerie said from a few anxiety away. "I've gotten married after shorter courtships than yous're having with that bowl."
"I don't need it," Rebecca said.
"It would look dainty on your kitchen tabular array. You never buy anything, Becky." Valerie had been calling her "Becky" since she joined the airline three years before. For the commencement several months, Rebecca had corrected her. At present she just accepted it.
"What would I practice with information technology?" Rebecca said. "I hateful, yous tin can't serve food in information technology, not that I ever cook anyway. I don't have anything to store in it. And I'grand never home to wait at how my apartment is decorated. How is a ruddy dirt bowl necessary?"
Valerie rolled her eyes and patted Rebecca's shoulder with a veined hand. "Life needs beauty, doll. Every girl should accept something beautiful and useless in her life. Like my get-go married man, for example. That human was pure heart processed, but the poor idiot couldn't change a light bulb."
Rebecca laughed. She had never asked outright how many husbands Valerie had been through, only her current guess was four, and at to the lowest degree two of them had been pilots. Valerie was in her tardily sixties, ancient by flight bellboy standards, and a legend among all the younger women they worked with. Rebecca had been paired with her during the starting time week of training and they had flown together more frequently than not since so. At first, Rebecca had resisted becoming Valerie's protégé, only through sheer force of will and nonstop chatter, Valerie had get Rebecca'southward only real friend at work. Tonight, they were in an artists' co-op in New Mexico, killing time during an overnight layover.
"Are you ready to go to the bar?" Rebecca asked her.
"What's your bustle?" Valerie said. "Yous never accept annihilation home from there, either."
"Don't start with that."
"What? Come on, you lot know I'g right. And don't apply me for an alibi, either. I may exist an old lady but I know how to make myself scarce when I run across a brassiere on the doorknob."
An aproned woman backside the counter looked up, smirking.
"Shh…" Rebecca hushed. But even she could not help but grin at the mode Valerie said "brassiere on the doorknob" in her New York accent. Rebecca herself had never used this bespeak, but it had been a frequent sight in the sorority business firm at the University of Georgia. She tried to imagine finding one of Valerie's big biscuit contraptions hanging on their hotel room door and shuddered.
"Ready to go?" she asked once again.
"Oh, alright," Valerie said. "Merely let me add together this to my collection." She held upward a bluish-glazed mug that had been formed to look similar the squished-down face of an old man.
Several of Rebecca'due south coworkers kept little collections from places they visited—postcards, spoons, shot glasses, snow globes, you name it. At that place was a sort of unspoken lawmaking that it was simply acceptable to collect items from cities you had truly visited, meaning you had to exit the airdrome for more than a couple of hours. All the same, Rebecca could not understand this tradition. Yes, it was cute in the moment, but they went so many places. What did you practise with all that crap? Put it in a box so yous could re-live your celebrity days of passing out peanuts? Take it gather dust on the shelves while other people pretended to be interested at parties?
Once or twice, something had caught Rebecca's eye, specially when they flew to exotic locations. A tiny but exquisite crystal vase from Waterford in Ireland. Hand-carved candlesticks painted black and inlaid with gold in Toledo, Espana. A set of Russian dolls in Moscow. Each fourth dimension, she had stood paralyzed in the souvenir shop, debating why she needed this thing and where she would put it and how often she would really look at it. So she would sigh, and to the dismay of each patient shop owner, render the item to the shelf and walk out. Except for an irresistible silk scarf from Milan and an emergency t-shirt she'd been forced to buy in New York, Rebecca had not bought souvenirs anywhere. One time in a while she regretted this, but never for long. She would eolith the amount of the foregone purchase into her savings account with satisfaction and motility on. Always motility on.
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