Blog Tour & Giveaway: Cops in Space [Coletti Warlords 20] by Gail Koger!

Excerpt!

   Zarek the Coletti Overlord and Lexi’s uncle gives her the Coletti version of the birds and the bees talk:

   “Has your father talked to you about the physical differences between a human male and a Coletti?”

   “No.” Where was this going?

   Uncle Zarek frowned. “Did he explain to you what happens between a male and a female?”

   I stared at him in utter horror. Oh, my, God. He wasn’t going to give me the birds and the bees speech, was he? “Relax I had sex education classes in school.”

   “Sex with a Coletti warrior is not the same. I need to educate you on our anatomical differences.”

   God, just kill me now. “Do you hafta?”

   “Yes, I hafta. Some females find our penis frightening.”

   A giggle escaped me. “Seriously? Does it have teeth or something?”

   “No.” Uncle Zarek rubbed a hand over his face. “Did you notice the slit in Kaelen’s abdomen?”

   I nodded.

   “We are a warlike race and to protect our ability to procreate, the Goddess placed our appendages in a shielded pouch inside our abdomens.”

   Okay. That kinda made sense. “So, kicking a Coletti warrior in the nuts is only going to piss him off?”

   “Exactly.”

   What was he being so mysterious about? “Ok, what’s so scary about your man parts?”

   Uncle Zarek stared at me for a long moment, and an image formed in my head.

   My eyes widened in horror as a snakelike penis with a frill of tentacles around the top slid out of a stomach slit. “Tentacles? Are you freakin’ kidding me? What is it with aliens and tentacles? Ewww.”

   “The tentacles increase a female’s pleasure,” Uncle Zarek replied.

   The tentacles vibrated wildly like some freaky sex toy. “Oh, hell, no. That is not going inside me. Ever.”

   An exasperated frown formed on Uncle Zarek face. “You do not have a choice in the matter.”

   “The hell I don’t.”

   “Coletti warriors are masters of seduction. Kaelen will simply overcome your reluctance.”

   I crossed my arms and said sweetly, “It’s obvious you’ve never dealt with a woman suffering from PMS before. When it’s that time of the month Earth girls are fearless and capable of taking down an armed warrior without breaking a nail. We’re Attila the Hun in a dress.”

   “Attila the Hun?”

   “A conqueror kinda like you.”

Once upon a time, Lexi was a “normal” teenager. Now she’s a galactic cop with a deadly predator as her boss. She gets to deal with flesh eating monsters, alien babies, hunky warlords, space battles, and not so bright bad guys. Plus, the fate of the universe rests in her hands. What could possibly go wrong? Did we mention the baby? (It’s a boy)

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Author bio:

Howdy. My name is Gail Koger and once upon a time I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher. Too many years of wild requests, screwy questions, bizarre behavior and outrageous demands have left me with a permanent twitch and an uncontrollable craving for chocolate. I took up writing science fiction romance to keep from killing people. So far, it has worked.

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Book Blitz & Giveaway: For Liberty and Love [Petticoats & Patriots 01] by Shanna Hatfield!

Excerpt!

   Lucy rushed into the shop and drew up short at the sight of the man who had stood across the street earlier, leaning against her workbench. Despite being so taken aback by his presence, she couldn’t help but admire his muscular form and his handsome features.

   When he removed his cocked hat and nodded politely, her gaze fell on the sun-kissed golden hair of his head, traveled down to expressive brows that raised slightly at her perusal, and hesitated at soulful eyes the color of moss caught in a beam of sunshine. His full lips and defined jawline added to his masculine allure. As he straightened and stepped toward her, she had the fleeting thought that he moved with strength and purpose, as though he was in full control of himself and his surroundings.

   “Hello, Miss Carlson,” he said in a soft, deep voice that made Lucy’s knees feel unexpectedly weak.

   Or perhaps the weakness came from realizing she’d stupidly left the ledger open and out in plain sight for anyone to read the entries. Not that she nor her father had anything to hide, but she didn’t think the tall man with a commanding bearing had any right to know who purchased merchandise in their store.

   “May I help you, sir?” Lucy asked in a crisp tone as she strode behind the workbench, closed the ledger, and slid it onto the shelf where her father kept it.

   “I came to retrieve something my…” He hesitated just long enough for Lucy to grow suspicious of his intentions and motives. “… aunt left here. A pair of gloves. Aunt Patsy sent me to retrieve them.”

   Lucy could have easily handed over the gloves, which were sitting next to her tools just inches from where she stood, but she didn’t. Surely, he had to know she’d seen him lingering across the street, watching for Patsy.

   Did the man mistake her for a complete dunce? Or did he think his attractive features and a voice that rumbled like a summer thunderstorm wrapped in velvet would leave her so captivated that she would bow to his every whim and wish?

   Affronted, she stiffened and lifted her chin. “I will give … Patsy the gloves when I next see her. If that is not her preference, then please bring a note from her to indicate otherwise.”

   “I assure you, Miss Carlson, I mean no harm. My aunt was quite distressed to realize she’d misplaced her gloves. They were a gift from someone quite dear to her heart, and it would be a tragedy for her to lose them.”

   “And I assure you, Mister …” She paused, since the man had failed to introduce himself.

   “Barton. Burwell Barton at your service,” he said with a bow, then offered her a boyish grin that caused her stomach to flutter. “But my friends call me Branch.”

   “Branch,” she repeated, wondering if the name had anything to do with the series of barely noticeable moles on his left cheek that were shaped like a curved tree branch.

   As though he could read her thoughts, his fingers brushed over his cheek. “A mark from birth, I suppose. Now, may I please have my aunt’s gloves?”

   Lucy shook her head. “No, you may not. I intend to place them into her hands myself, sir. Now, unless I can interest you in a set of buckles or perhaps a snuff box, then I’ll have to ask that you depart. My family is waiting for me.”

   “My apologies, Miss Carlson.” He backed toward the door. “My intent was not to insult or upset anyone.”

   “Yes, well, I …” When she looked up into his face and caught him smiling, it was as though all the words she’d planned to say fell back down her throat. Mercy, but he was handsome with those sharp cheekbones and a bottom lip that seemed designed for passionate kisses.

   Passionate kisses? Heavens above! What was she thinking? For all she knew, this man could be one of the king’s spies.

Courage built a nation. Love made it worth fighting for.

Throughout 250 years of American history, a well-loved locket finds its way into the hands of eight spirited heroines—each standing at the crossroads of love and destiny, and each inspired by a true patriot. As it journeys from one heart to the next, these stories unfold with sweet romance, unwavering hope, and a deep love of country, proving that even in uncertain times, love is always worth the risk. Start reading the Petticoats & Patriots series today!

She never intended to become a spy … or fall for one.

Philadelphia, 1776

As whispers of revolution turn swell into a roar for freedom, Lucy Carlson is no longer content to simply watch from behind the counter of her father’s jewelry shop. When a mysterious woman—none other than Martha Washington—leaves behind a locket, Lucy discovers the piece is more than a pretty keepsake. The necklace is a secret vessel for the revolution that carries the promise of love.

Drawn into a dangerous spy ring, Lucy begins crafting coded messages concealed within the locket’s clever design, living a secret double life and risking everything she holds dear in a time of sacrifice and war.

Continental soldier Branch Barton is a man defined by duty. Tasked with rooting out traitors, he moves through the shadowed world of deception and divided loyalties. He’s trained to trust no one, yet he finds himself drawn into a slow-burning connection with the jeweler’s spirited daughter.

But when Lucy begins to suspect Branch may be a Redcoat in disguise, their fragile bond is tested by mistaken identity, growing mistrust, and the threat of betrayal.

In a war where even allies can become enemies, Lucy and Branch must navigate a world of hidden truths and guarded hearts. With the fate of the colonies—and their hearts—hanging in the balance as Lucy delivers a message in enemy territory, will they find the courage to trust each other and choose love?

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Author bio:

USA Today Bestselling Author Shanna Hatfield writes sweet romances rich with relatable characters, small town settings that feel like home, humor, and hope.

Her historical westerns have been described as “reminiscent of the era captured by Bonanza and The Virginian” while her contemporary works have been called “laugh-out-loud funny, and a little heart-pumping sexy without being explicit in any way.”

When this farm girl isn’t writing or indulging in rich, decadent chocolate, Shanna hangs out with her husband, lovingly known as Captain Cavedweller. She also experiments with recipes, snaps photos of her adorable nephew, and caters to the whims of a cranky cat named Drooley.

To learn more about Shanna or the books she writes, visit her website http://shannahatfield.com or find out more about her here: linktr.ee/ShannaHatfield

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For Liberty and Love Blitz

Book Blitz & Giveaway: The Crown of Moonlight [The Five Crowns 01] by Martina Boone!

Excerpt!

Flora

   The fire crackles around the last remnants of the Ever’s bloody bandages and clothing, acrid smoke curling into the shadows. I blink away exhaustion as dawn approaches. Chyr teeters beside the bed, one hand white-knuckled on the chair for balance while I lace him into the bodice of Catriona’s dress. The wool stretches over bandaging and bare skin, his fevered heat seeping into my fingers.

   Given that I’ve practically carved him apart like a joint of beef and stitched him back together, only his willpower and stubborn strength keep him upright. If I can get him back to the keep alive, let alone pass him off as a believable companion for my mother, it will be a miracle.

   On the bright side, being half-dead has made him accept the indignity of the disguise with less argument than expected.

   For a warrior, it must be a true humiliation. The sheep’s fleece rolled over the bandaging gives him a bosom nearly as large as Catriona’s, and elsewhere, he fills the dress out by being wide and hard where she is softly padded. Overall, the fit isn’t as bad as I feared, apart from being a foot too short. As a final touch, I arrange the shawl low over his forehead in the way pious old women wear them to church.

   “There.” I tuck the ends of the shawl under the bodice. “Now stay seated, hunched over, and quiet, and you’ll be drab enough to pass as a giant’s spinster aunt.”

   He shoots me a look that promises retribution. “If this is subtle revenge for all that Siorai have done to you, your mind is devious.”

   “My idea of revenge would be more painful, trust me. This is self-preservation. Dunhaelic has no men left of fighting age. You’d stand out a mile if anyone saw you.”

   “Then I’ll hide so no one sees me.”

   “There’s nowhere safe in your condition. Dressed as a lady’s companion, you’ll be invisible in plain sight. No one would imagine a Rider stooping to disguise himself in a dress.”

   “Why would they?” the Ever asks. “Wearing a skirt would make it damned difficult to intimidate, much less kill, someone. And that’s literally half my job.”

   “You’re welcome to change back into trousers as soon as you’re strong enough to kill again. Or whenever your magic is back and you can do better.”

   “A dress won’t fool anyone. Look at me.”

   I let myself look. His stained-glass eyes shift from honey to gold to brown and green as I look deeper. They glitter with fever, and the soft drape of the shawl only highlights the strength of the jaw and the straight, sure nose, the harsh perfection of his features.

   Even half-dead and wearing a dress, Chyr is more treacherously male than any warrior I’ve ever met. Every movement hums with coiled strength, tempered by intelligence and command. He’s a predator, a hunter. Every sensible part of me wants to run.

   “What’s wrong?” he asks.

   “Nothing. You’ll be fine. Your face is pretty enough,” I say too honestly.

   “Pretty?” he repeats. Then he smiles—a slow, wide grin made slightly crooked by a thin silver scar at the corner of his mouth. The imperfection only makes the rest of his face more dangerously beautiful. His eyes light with amusement, and a wicked spark hooks low and deep inside me. I turn away with an unfamiliar ache drying out my throat.

   The smile is trouble. It’s the first unguarded expression he’s given me, and I don’t know what to do with the part of me that wants him to give me more.

   Bloody stupid Evers.

She’s the Highlander who saves his life with forbidden magic. He’s the immortal stranger who falls first—one healing touch, one fierce kindness at a time.

A romantic fantasy inspired by Scottish history, where the land itself is magic and chooses a woman as its champion.

Flora Domhnall is the last of her line: a healer, a strategist, her clan’s only defence in a war neither side can win. When she finds a dying immortal warrior in her woods, saving him is a terrible risk. But if he dies on her land, her clan will pay the price.

Her choice binds her fate to his.

Chyr has spent four centuries chained by the oaths carved into his flesh—oaths that read his every thought. Violence and honour are all he knows, and Flora’s brave, impossible mercy breaks him open.

Hunted across the burning Highlands, they can rely only on each other. Their longing grows with every mile they share a saddle, every sacrifice made in silence, and every night they guard each other in the dark.

He’s hopelessly fallen. She’s fighting not to fall.

Then the ancient sovereignty magic of the Cailleach Queens awakens in Flora—and marks her as something the world hasn’t seen in four hundred years.

And Chyr’s oaths may demand he destroy the one person he can’t bear to lose.

For her, he’ll try to break his oaths. Even if it kills him.

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Author bio:

Martina Boone is the award-winning author of romantic fiction set in magical places. Her books blend lush writing, strong heroines, wounded heroes, atmospheric landscapes, history, folklore, family secrets, and magic woven through the ordinary world. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found traveling, reading, studying history and folklore, wrangling wildflower meadows, or playing with Shetland Sheepdogs and tuxedo cats.

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The Crown of Moonlight Blitz

Book Blitz & Giveaway: Makerborn [Maladies of Empire 01] by Daymon Ashcord!

Excerpt!

   Bez woke in darkness, deep in a pit, having failed his parents yet again. The night air was heavy and damp. The acrid stench of feces had lessened, but his nose still burned with the stink of decay. He felt like he would never wash the smell from his body. What does it matter now?

   The moist earth offered scant relief from the Southern Waste’s merciless heat. Sweat slicked his body. His skin felt on fire, reminding him of how the Salvians slowly roasted meat on spits. He pinched his right nostril and blew out a thick wad of phlegm.

   How long? How squalling long have they left me down here to rot?

   He traced fine grooves in the earthy wall of his cage with long, dirty fingernails. Twenty-seven days he’d scratched before he’d given up counting. Then the real fun began. Weeks of wading in his own shit like a rutting hog once the pit guards had stopped retrieving his privy bucket. Weeks more of starvation when the obvious solution to avoid living in a hog pen penetrated his addled mind: no food, no feces. His only companions were self-pity, nightmares, and maggots gorging on his noxious filth.

   And the moans of indentured miners, likely years past their freedom date, and Collared All-Tribe—his people—drifting down in his dirt tomb.

   “Water,” cried a pit prisoner.

   “Bread, just a heel of bread for Seal’s sake,” whined another.

   “It was Tuftson,” someone sniveled. “He made me do it. It was him. Please, let me out.”

   “Shut your gobs!” bellowed a voice.

   The sounds washed over him, had become part of him, familiar as his gnawing hunger or the ever-present worms wriggling against his hot skin. Even without starlight, his people’s blessed vision allowed him to penetrate the mirk. He watched his sunken stomach rise and fall. Each rib pressed against his skin. Sour spit filled his mouth.

   He wasn’t surprised that an army of worms assaulted the sides of his stomach and shoulders while he dozed. The slimy little grubs coated him with a sticky sludge, but he was past caring. Hands trembling, he brushed the vanguard away that had reached his chest. His legs were a lost cause. Scores of grubs covered them so only his toes peeked out.

   Bez yawned. Heat-induced spans of intermittent sleep kept him drowsy and muddled. Sometimes his parents sat beside him in the dirt, back from the dead, singing and laughing. Other times, he was in the mountains climbing crags, or swimming in crystalline lakes so clear he could see rocks at the bottom. Moments ago, he was a boy again, running barefoot with his cousins through Uncle Darian’s fields, the tall grass whipping at his legs. Then a cry from a prisoner or the damp air clogging his nose had awakened him, shattering the vision. What was real or imagined blurred. Maybe I’m with my uncle still and the pit is only a nightmare.

   Hesitantly, he stretched his hands to either side, fingertips brushing the cool, root-tangled walls. Feet firmly pressed against damp earth. Not a nightmare. He moaned like a wounded animal.

   “Guardian spirits above,” he wheezed, not wiping the hot tears streaking down his cheek. “There’s no way out.”

   But that was a lie. There was a way. His fingers searched for the gouge in the wall, finding the sharp-edged shard of obsidian he’d hidden there. My final escape.

   He pried it free, hand shaking, and pressed the jagged edge against the soft flesh of his right wrist. A bead of blood sprang from the tip.

   “I’ll do it this time,” he said to the crude face carved into the wall. A pause. “I know that’s what I said last time. By the All-Spirit, I can’t—” His throat tightened. “I can’t take it anymore.”

   “Enjoying your new home, demon-blood?” asked an unwelcome voice from the pit’s metal cage above.

   “Dorota,” he rasped, tongue clumsy from disuse. “What a pleasure.”

   He hated Yan’s henchwoman, but at that moment, his life in the balance, he clung to her words like a drowning man to driftwood.

   Her chuckles echoed in the earthy tomb. “Liar. Play it friendly as you like, slit-eyes, but we both know what you are.” She crouched, damp hair plastered to her face, mouth hooked in a grin that never reached her eyes. “I saw the demon in you when we caught you on that ridge. Thought you were clever, didn’t you? Thought the aqueduct workers wouldn’t notice you and your two friends? What is the count? Your third?”

   It was his fourth failed attempt to escape the Makersmetal mining camp, but he didn’t bother correcting the murdering bitch. I failed them just like my parents. Tala dead. Marcel beaten or worse. Anelia missing. And Bez… well, he would die in darkness, dooming his parents’ souls to wander the Shadowlands forever, never to reunite with their ancestors. He choked down a sob, not wanting to give her any satisfaction seeing him broken.

The God War is over. An empire built on suffering, slavery, and betrayal remains…

In the fractured lands of the Salvian Empire, the Great Houses rule through blood and fear. For years, Alandra Phoenyka has hunted powerful Sonomancers in the empire’s name, paid in empty promises that her stolen daughter would be returned. Each step forward demands another compromise. Another betrayal. Another piece of herself lost.

When those promises turn to treachery, she is forced to take matters into her own hands and risk everything to reclaim her child.

In the empire’s mining camps, Bez Windstrider has endured years of torture and brutal experimentation. Broken but unyielding, he clings to one purpose: vengeance. The men who murdered his parents will pay, and their deaths will complete the ritual needed to free his parents’ souls from damnation.

But the deeper his grief cuts, the more he becomes something far more dangerous, for himself and for the empire.

As their paths draw closer, the buried truths of the God War begin to surface. What begins as two personal vendettas threatens to unravel something far greater than either of them can control.

Because empires do not fall quietly.

And the gods that shaped them are not as dead as they seem.

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Author bio:

Daymon Ashcord writes dark fantasy shaped by suffering, resilience, and the brutal edges of love pushed too far.

Born in Gdańsk, Poland, and raised in New York, he grew up on science fiction, fantasy, and the stories that linger long after the final page. After studying accounting and public policy, he left a conventional path to travel the world and create a documentary, turning storytelling into something essential.

His debut novel, Makerborn (2026), reflects years of persistence, personal setbacks, and a fascination with the darker truths people endure to survive.

He lives in North Carolina, hiking mountains by day and writing by night. He is considering adopting a dog, a cat, or both, and suspects they would judge him harshly.

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Makerborn Blitz

Release Day Blitz: Spicy Disaster [Don't Date Him 06] by Lani Lynn Vale!

Everyone talks about finding the one that makes their heart skip a beat.

Personally, I’m not looking to develop any heart problems.

I definitely don’t have to worry about developing any when it comes to the one man who knows how to get on my every nerve.

Odin Mayer is the most offensive, black-hearted, no-good, very-bad, surliest man I’d ever met.

He was Grumpy with a capital G, a biker to boot, and never missed a chance to make me see red.

Just as I’m convinced there’s no good side to Odin, he shows me differently, saving me when I didn’t ask him to.

And, of course, I have to spend the next few weeks with him after we both get chosen for the same trial to perform our civic duty.

Jury duty was not on my Bingo card.

Nor was falling for the jerkoff.

But there I was, somehow lingering in the middle space between fuck you and I want to fuck you.

Odin knew what he was doing, too.

Teasing and taunting me at every turn.

Then he had to go out of his way to be a hero, and I forgot that I was supposed to stay away.

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Author bio:

Lani Lynn Vale is an American author of humorous romantic suspense novels. Born in the Great State of Texas, she has lived the majority of her adult life in East Texas where most of her novels are based. She’s married to her high school sweetheart whom her readers refer to as “LLV’s Bearded Half.” She published her first novel, Boomtown. in the summer of 2013 after the birth of her third child. She’s gone on to publish over 100 novels, with most of them going on to become USA Today Bestsellers.

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Book Blitz & Giveaway: The Ice Queen’s Shoes [Breadcove Bay] by R.S. Kellogg!

Excerpt!

   “It is my holiday,” the man sitting across from Della on the train said. “A short one. Two days. So, I suppose it’s going a little bit differently than how I’d envisioned.”

   Della watched him carefully. Who had a holiday that lasted only two days? And, for that matter, what kind of a person had a holiday now? Her university had reached the end of its term, but most of the city wouldn’t go on holiday for another three weeks, and then the whole city basically would take a month off.

   The old man must have read something in her questioning expression. “I’ve been working on a project,” he said. He looked a bit stressed as he said it, but there was also something a bit impish about him—Della liked him despite her natural distrust of strangers. He seemed avuncular, and she could tell by the unique worn smooth brown cloth of his clothing that he was one of the North Men, rarely sighted in the city of Breadcove Bay.

   She was a little flattered by the focus of his attention.

   It was going to take some time to get to where she was going, so she may as well spend the time in interesting conversation.

   “Tell me about your project,” she said.

   He grinned. It was all the encouragement he needed.

   “Me and my men have been tracking something across the northern plains,” he said, with the flair of a natural storyteller. “And a week ago, it just got a little bit more interesting. But three days ago, the trail went cold, fast. So, me and the men, we decided a break was in order. We’d each take a two-day vacation, and start at it fresh again.”

   “If you’re tracking something,” Della interjected, “Wouldn’t taking a break mean you’d risk the trail going cold?”

   The man shook his head.

   He looked smug, Della thought. Smug with the air of a man who has supreme confidence in his craft.

   “It’s not a beast I’m tracking,” he said. “Not that kind of a being at all. The way tracking of this nature goes, first the trail goes cold, then, we take a break, and if we’re lucky, as we soften our approach to it, the perfect information will naturally show up.”

   Curiosity piqued, Della tilted her head. “Naturally show up when you are nowhere near the trail of your prey? I ask you, what on earth are you tracking?”

   She’d heard, of course, the legends: that North Men tracked animals, found lost humans, located lost camps and lost objects, and sometimes . . . rumor had it . . . tracked supernatural beings.

   She wondered whether she’d happened upon a North Man in the middle of a fairy tale, feeling a bit like an explorer who has stumbled into a strange new environment, where the people might do something completely unexpected at any moment.

   Staring at him as though she were watching a polar bear in the governor’s private animal enclosure, where she had been a guest at the winter party one year, she waited as he seemed to debate within himself whether to share with her any part of his tracking tale—and if so, how much.

   “I’m tracking a lady,” he finally said, and Della roared with laughter.

   The man jolted, clearly knocked off kilter by Della’s hearty response.

   She didn’t have a delicate laugh. It was more like the way a man would laugh when he had bested everyone at a game of cards. And it would come out of nowhere.

   She cocked an eyebrow at him, folding her arms. She didn’t care a twig how people responded to her laugh. They could take her or leave her.

   Just as she could take or leave anyone who came across her path.

   And at the moment, this was a person who was entertaining her.

   “You’re tracking a woman?” she asked him. “Did she wander out into the north and get lost? Or are you trying to find a romance?”

   She snorted and shook her head.

   He looked wounded but still doggedly eager to pursue the conversation.

   “I’m tracking a Sky Woman,” he said, and Della leaned forward intently, her smile instantly gone.

   A Sky Woman.

   That would be more akin to a goddess.

   “Why are you tracking a Sky Woman?” she asked him.

   He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s complicated,” he said. “But it’s part of the job of my family, and my men, to keep the balance between the Sky people of the north and the boundaries of the city. We have to make sure that neither side encroaches on the side of the other.”

   She sighed. “That sounds like a big project.”

   He nodded.

   “How do you even begin to do something like that?” Della asked.

When missing your train could change everything…

Freshly graduated from Borealis University and reeling from a failed apprenticeship, Della only wants to get home. But a minor injury changes her route in magical ways and opens unexpected possibilities.

If you love atmospheric fantasy, subtle magic, and stories where a single moment can change a life, discover The Ice Queen’s Shoes today.

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The Ice Queen’s Shoes is a FREE prequel story setting up the novel the Sea Queen’s Key, which will be releasing on Kickstarter soon. Follow the campaign at the link below to be notified when it goes live!

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/rskellogg/the-sea-queens-key-balancing-breadcove-bay

Author bio:

R.S. Kellogg writes the Everyday Goddess Stories, the Mermaid Magic Tales, and fiction in the story realms of Breadcove Bay and Agratica, among other places.

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The Ice Queen’s Shoes Blitz

Blog Tour & Giveaway: Deking at Love [A The Playmakers Series Novella] by G.K. Brady!

A broken past. A forbidden present. A second chance worth everything.

Sam Durbin is on the brink of everything he’s worked for. One bad injury threatens to end his breakout hockey season, and the pressure to get back on the ice is mounting. But nothing throws him off his game faster than coming face-to-face with his physical therapist—the woman he walked away from. The one he never forgot.

Angelina Rossi finally has the career she fought for. A position at a top-tier clinic, a future she built on her own terms … and a patient who could destroy it all. Treating Sam should be simple. Clinical. Professional. But every session drags up the past she’s tried to bury and the feelings she never truly let go.

Sam knows he doesn’t deserve a second chance. Angie knows she can’t survive giving him one. But every session chips away at their defenses—old wounds resurfacing, new heat building, and neither of them quite able to hold the line.

Giving in to desire could end Sam’s comeback before it begins. It could destroy the career Angie’s fought so hard to build. But walking away might be the one loss neither can overcome.

Deking at Love is a steamy, second-chance, forbidden sports romance featuring a wounded hockey player, a no-nonsense physical therapist, and a chemistry they can’t outskate. Perfect for readers who love witty banter, workplace tension, and high-stakes emotion—with a guaranteed HEA.

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Author bio:

Since childhood, all sorts of stories and characters have lived in G.K. Brady’s imagination, elbowing one another for attention, so she’s finally giving them their voice on the written page.

An award-winning writer of contemporary romance, she loves telling tales of the less-than-perfect hero or heroine who transforms with each turn of a page. She also writes historical fiction under the pen name Griffin Brady.

G.K. is a wife and the proud mom of three grown sons. When she’s not writing, she might be reading, traveling, drinking wine, listening to music, or gardening—sometimes all at once! She currently resides in Colorado with her very patient husband.

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