My Booklandia

My Booklandia

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

REVIEW: Black Sheep by Zara Cox

Title: Black Sheep 
Author: Zara Cox 
Series: Dark Desires, #2 
Publisher: Forever Yours 
Publication Date: March 14, 2017 

In a family of cold-hearted black sheep, 
I, Axel Rutherford, am the blackest.
My father has hated me since the day I was born. The feeling was mutual. In the shady underworld that was my legacy, Cleo McCarthy became my light. She was beautiful, passionate, and my whole world. So naturally my father had to destroy us. First he sent me away. Next he claimed Cleo as his own. But now I've returned, and nothing will stop me from taking back everything that is rightfully mine.

He was the love of my life - when my life was still my own.
We were young enough to believe we would last forever, Axel and I. But neither of us realized how cruel life - and our families - could be. Now I'm trapped in a gilded cage: desired by Axel, who must never know the full truth, and controlled by his father, who would sooner see me dead than free. And I wouldn't even care, except that it's no longer only my life at stake.

Buy Links:
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Sonja's Review

I became a fan of Ms. Cox after I read her Beautiful Liar back when it was I, Porn Star. I gave it six stars and as soon as I saw Black Sheep, I was so eager to have it and read it, especially once I saw it was part of the Dark Desires series! It took me longer than I anticipated to start it, but I just read Wicked S.O.B. and couldn't wait any longer to crack Black Sheep open. I'm so glad that I decided to stop waiting because while Axel and Cleo didn't beat my love for Quinn and Elyse, I really loved reading their story!

I have somewhat of a love/hate relationship with Cleo. I love her toughness and strength, but I didn't like how she handled things with Axel. I don't want to go into too much detail because I don't want to spoil anything for anyone, but I will say that I never hated her, I did like her more than not, and I loved how determined she was in the end. Cleo probably won't be a heroine that you love all the time, but she is a good person and it's worth it to get to know her.

Quinn Blackwood owns my heart, but Axel Rutherford definitely stole a piece of it. Axel is hard and rough and someone you don't mess with, but there's a lot more to him under the surface. He has a great heart, he's protective of the people he cares about, especially Cleo, and he would do anything for her. Axel just makes my heart ache and when I said he stole a piece of my heart, that was no joke. He's a wonderful dark, sweet, messed-up hero and I completely loved him.

Black Sheep was certainly no cakewalk to read. It's dark and frustrating, it will make your heart beat faster, make you want to yell and rant, and it will keep you on the edge of your seat. It's wickedly steamy, heartachingly tragic, and heartbreakingly beautiful and sweet. Black Sheep brought tears to my eyes, a smile to my face, and made me laugh - it was an amazing story and I can't wait to read the next book in the series!

Black Sheep is the second book in the Dark Desires series and can be read as a standalone, although I recommend reading Beautiful Liar first. It's told from Axel and Cleo's POV and they do have a happy-ever-after ending.

~ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Stars 

About the Author: 
Zara Cox has been writing for almost twenty-five years but it wasn't until nine years ago that she decided to share her love of writing sexy, gritty stories with anyone outside her close family (the over 18s anyway!). This series is Zara's next step in her erotic romance-writing journey, and she would love to hear your thoughts. Visit her at

Author Links: 

Sunday, August 20, 2017

RELEASE REVIEW: Wicked S.O.B. by Zara Cox

Title: Wicked S.O.B. 
Author: Zara Cox 
Series: Dark Desires, #2.5 
Publisher: Forever Yours 
Publication Date: August 8, 2017

For so long, I lived for revenge. Now I live for her.
Ask anyone and they'll tell you that Quinn Blackwood is not someone you mess with. I see. I want. I take. And you better not get in my way. That's how I built my billion-dollar empire. That's how I made my enemies pay. That's how I won the one good, pure thing in my life, Elyse "Lucky" Gilbert. But after what I've done, my luck may have run out.

There is a fine line between love and obsession.
I'm not a fool. I didn't think coming back to Quinn would be easy. That we would fall into a happy future and the darkness inside him would just disappear. Still, after everything we've been through, I couldn't leave him to fight his demons alone. I've tried to convince myself nothing else matters as long as we're together. But if I give him what he needs, will there be anything left of me?

Buy Links: 
Google Play:

Chapter One
Fade In

I’ve lost control.
I’m beginning to think I never had it in the first place. For almost half my life, revenge was my only anchor. I lived, breathed, slept, and dreamed it. With that satisfied, I’ve lost my rudder. I’m swimming in a sea of uselessness without a compass.
I go through the motions of running a multibillion-dollar empire, now completely under my control, with the same ruthless efficiency I used to take down my father and stepmother. But making money brings me no joy. It never did, if I’m completely honest. Sure, I like the nice things and security my wealth has brought me. Anyone who claims money and power are completely evil is a fucking liar.
But craving them the way my father did, to the extent that he destroyed the one person I loved the most in the world? Yeah, that needed answering.
He’s paying for it now. I wanted him to get a life sentence. I wanted his life taken away completely the way he denied my mother hers. He got twenty-five years without parole. It’s one of the many things that has the power to unbalance my day. I’ve been told I should learn to live with it. Accept it and move on.
Fuck that.
He’s breathing. She’s not.
A little over a year ago, I thought I wouldn’t make it to my thirtieth birthday. I’m twenty-nine now, and that belief still lingers. Months of therapy and two psychologists later, I’ve barely made a dent in plugging the churning black hole that is my mind. The first shrink rapidly concluded after four consultations that he couldn’t help me. I wholeheartedly concurred with that assessment.
The second shrink persevered for a little longer before he, too, wrote me off. To his credit, he didn’t come out and say the words, but I could see it in his eyes. When your shrink stops taking notes and stares at you with barely concealed horror, you know it’s time to move on. Or give up.
I was all for giving up after that. I’m too fucked up. Too broken. Hell, I was the guy who fucked his shrink for years just so he could deliver the justice she ultimately deserved. That probably gives me a lifelong immunity against being helped by those who practice that profession. Maybe I would be better off with an exorcist. Or in a fucking straitjacket. Electroshock therapy?
Fuck if I know.
What I do know is I’m beyond redemption. I would’ve gone as far as to embrace that hopelessness had it not been for her.
Elyse “Lucky” Gilbert.
A five-foot-six, curvy blonde with an hourglass figure and eyes that see too fucking much. A hazel-eyed siren whose sole purpose, possibly oblivious to her, is to keep me from tipping over the edge into my abyss.
Where the need for absolute retribution held me together for the better part of a decade and a half, now it’s her. She’s the reason I live and breathe and make it through my day.
But for how much longer?
I don’t know when I finally accepted that our time together would be shorter than I’d hoped. It was a truth I didn’t want to accept before. And why should I have? I am the selfish, jealous asshole who doesn’t take defeat lightly. But even I have come to realize there are some lines I can’t cross. And dragging Elyse down with me to my ninth circle of hell is one of them. I’m not selfless enough to have released her, though. Not just yet.
Maybe I’m waiting for her to wise up to how broken I am and take the decision out of my hands. Even then a part of me hasn’t ruled out taking her with me anyway.
Something inside me, perhaps the heart she believes I have, mourns the fast-approaching time when that decision will have to be made one way or the other. It would be nice if that mourning were only internalized, though. But no. I don’t fucking take things lying down, remember?
Take tonight for instance. All is quiet around me now. But it wasn’t half an hour ago. Hell no. I focus on the view in front of me, refusing to stare at what is behind me.
The whiskey glass in my hand trembles as I lift it to my lips and gulp a mouthful of amber nectar. The Macallan goes down smooth as ever, but it comes nowhere near soothing my ravaged insides. I drain the glass and wait for a hint of a buzz.
Jesus. Do I have a drinking problem on top of everything else? Who knows? Who the fuck cares?
What was it the latest therapist had recommended?
That I need to find myself. What a fucking joke.
I’m Quinn Blackwood. Billionaire? Yes. Lover? Yes. Useless asshole? Unfortunately, hell yes.
Finding myself isn’t the problem. I know exactly who I am. My problem is never being good enough for her.
I raise my glass again, and I spot the bloody gash on the back of my hand. I didn’t feel it before, but as I stare at it, it begins to sting.
How exactly did that get there? At the beginning or at the end of my loss of control?
My mind weaves in and out as I try to remember. Okay, so I’m wasted. The alcohol is working. So how come I don’t recall getting drunk?
I stop thinking altogether when the buzzer sounds to alert me that my private elevator is on its way up.
She’s here.
I don’t move. I can’t. The thought of her reaches deep inside and paralyzes me. It has from the first moment I saw her through my camera lens. The moment she raised those gorgeous, defiant eyes at me and dared me to resist. Dared me to fall.
Two days she’s been away. I glance down at my watch, and my mouth compresses. More than two days. Fifty-four and a half hellish hours.
For each second the express elevator takes to race up ninety-two floors, my heartbeat accelerates faster. My stomach hollows, and my knees turn to water. My breathing grows noisy and heavy in the silent chaos of the living room.
In front of me, the unparalleled view of New York City she loves so much—the hundred-million-dollar view that made her cry when she first saw it—ceases to exist for me. My every sense is poised for the sound of the front doors opening. For the sound of her. For the sight and smell of my everything.
At some point I brace my free hand on the solid glass wall when my knees threaten to give way. I shake my head at the fatalistic simplicity of it all.
This is why I can’t have her.
This is why I can’t let go.
The door opens. Shuts. She walks into our apartment. Into my life once again.
A raw, savage joy fills me at the sight of her reflection in the window. But that joy is in fierce battle with the unrelenting anarchy that tells me I won’t survive this war raging within me.
Her gaze finds mine for a long, solid second I’m here, it says. I’ve come back to you. Still, I remain where I am. Desperate. Watching. Craving. Her stare slides over me, sizzling between my shoulder blades and over my back, over the ass she loves to sink her nails into when I’m balls deep inside her. My weak-as-fuck legs. My bare feet.
Back up again.
Her fingers twitch at her sides, and she inhales greedily. Her eyes attempt to tell me she’s missed me as much I’ve missed her. But I know that’s not true. She will never know the true depth of what I feel for her. How can she when I’ve been afraid to plumb the depths of it myself?
She inhales audibly. The sound transmits straight to my cock. I’m hard as steel before she exhales.
Then her gaze moves away from me.
Through the glass’s reflection, I watch her take it all in, the carnage that is an outward reflection of the churning inside me—the smashed lamp, the cracked bust of some sculpture I’m sure I paid an insane amount of money for. The shattered screen of the high-definition TV on the wall, and the Tang Dynasty vase that caused that carnage. The spike sticking out of the coffee table.
I have no recollection of how that particular one got there but I remember the sting of its sharp edges when I threw it. That’s why my hand is bloody, I recall now. Breath locked, I wait for her reaction.
Condemn me. Rip me to pieces.
Her eyes return to mine as she steps over broken glass. She doesn’t make an effort to right anything in the room. Instead she drags the strap of her purse over her shoulder and drops it on top of the shattered furniture along with her overnight bag. The black velvet blazer she’s wearing comes off, and I get an eyeful of the red crop top she’s wearing with figure-hugging jeans.
Without stopping, she heads across the room for me. I ball my fist against the window, the glass in my other hand shaking like a fucking baby’s as I watch her.
She stops when she’s inches behind me. In the reflection, I see her exhale again. Her breath washes over my bare skin, attempting to breathe life into me.  
“Quinn.” Her voice is low, husky. Unflappable.
I shudder at the strength in it. At the strength of her. At times I envy it. Her life hasn’t been easy. She’s been through so much, lived for years in a nightmare that would break most people. She even risked her life multiple times for her baby sister. And yet she stands tall. Proud. Strong.
I look at her and want to weep. She’s a fucking mountain. She’s too fucking good for me.
“Quinn, look at me,” she says. Only then do I realize my head is bowed, my forehead pressed to the glass. I lift it, and our gazes connect again.
She’s so breathtaking. Jesus, her beauty is beyond any words I can find.
“Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not fucking all right.” I turn around on noodle-weak legs. My back crashes against the glass wall as I point a finger at her. “I’m the same as I was when you left on Friday morning. A goddamn fucking mess, Elyse.”
Her caramel-blond hair slides over her shoulders as she shakes her head. “No, you’re not.”
I growl and toss the whiskey glass away. It cracks on impact with the floor. I catch her wince, and I’m not even sorry. The need to fill my hands with something else, with her, is so strong that I jerk back around and brace both hands on the wall.
She steps up to me and lays one hand on my back. My whole body shudders at the power of her touch. It’s a potent flame that fires me back to life, charges every dead thing inside me. My addiction to it, to her, roars into an unquenchable inferno.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she ventures.
“Why would I want to do that? It’s your fucking fault. You shouldn’t have let me go. You had the power to stop me from going to see Dr. Freeman. Instead what did you do? You sent me to that quack. And for what? To heal?”
“Quinn, that’s not fair—”
“Fuck fair. I told you I don’t need another shrink. Especially one who only wants to talk about Maxwell Fucking Blackwood. I only need you! Why can’t you get that through your head?”
Her hand drops from my back. “Okay, you need me? I’m right here,” she murmurs.
My gaze snaps to hers in the glass. She’s holding her arms away from her body. It’s not a full come-get-me stance, but there’s a challenge in there, enough to draw my attention from the fight I’m itching to have.
Slowly, I turn around, my cock tenting my sweatpants. My hungry gaze roves over her face. A few drops of the brief April shower outside must have caught her between the street and the foyer. Droplets of moisture cling to her long lashes, a few resting on her cheeks. My tongue thickens with the need to lick them off her. My eyes dip lower to linger on her luscious mouth.
Fuck, her mouth.
Those gorgeous lips have done every depraved sexual act I can think to demand of them, and she’s more than delivered. And yet the craving has never dimmed by even a fraction. It never will. I know that now.
Now fully caught in her spell, my slavish eyes drop farther down her body to her chest. Her full breasts are molded perfectly by the soft cotton, her delicious nipples standing to glorious, defiant attention.
No bra. She probably took it off in the elevator. She knows how much I love her breasts. She also knows just what these past two days without her has done to me.
Sadly, it’s not the first time I’ve allowed my loss of control to manifest itself like this. Good thing I own a lot of real estate and have a few dozen apartments to choose from when the need arises.
Still, I wonder if this is it. Will this latest exhibition of my insanity be the last straw?
My gaze flits past her for a tense second to the chaos behind her. Shit, the baby grand piano she loves is sitting lopsided. One of its graceful, spindly legs is broken.
I return to gauge her reaction. I open my mouth to say fuck-knows-what but she tilts her head, one eyebrow hiked. “I guess you don’t need me that much, huh? Maybe I’ll go take a shower.”
She takes a single backward step.
I lunge, grab her by the waist, and lift her clean off her feet. “Fuck you,” I snarl at her, even as my hands get busy exploring the smooth, warm, naked flesh that is the mere tip of my obsession-iceberg.
She responds with a gratifying, full-body shudder as she wraps her long legs around my waist. “Yes,” she breathes fervently against my mouth.
My hands slide beneath the waistband of her jeans, beneath the straps of her thong to grip her ass. Even as I pull her against me, she’s tightening the vise of her legs, grinding her sweet pussy against my desperate cock.
“Fuck you,” I say again, this time with less venom, more begging.
Her fingers pull at my scalp as her own desperation rages. “Yes. Please. Now, Quinn,” she whispers in my ear.
I give her plump ass another squeeze before I travel upward to attack the zipper of her top. It’s one of those full-length ones that hold the back together. When it parts, I glide my hand down her spine, the feel of her skin like the first hit of a Class A drug.
Her hands release me long enough to lean back and rip the top down her arms, fling it away, and grant me the first glimpse of her tits.
Holy Christ. I fill my hands with the magnificent weight of them. Since the first time I took her, the feel of her pussy around my cock has had the power to render me speechless and turn me into an utter mess, but Elyse’s breasts come a very close second in the addiction stakes.
I pass my thumbs over the erect, dark pink tips, my thick tongue already salivating in anticipation of a taste. I squeeze them between my fingers and am rewarded with a long, sweet moan that draws a spurt of precum from my cock.
I swing us around and brace her high against the wall until her breasts are level with my mouth. Her fingers frame my jaw, the tips tunneling into my hair. Her grip is strong enough to get my attention. My gaze flicks up to hers, my nostrils flaring at the fire in her eyes.
“Two fucking days,” I snap. The storm of my rage is far from dulled. I don’t want her to attempt to soothe it. Not with talking at least.
Her gaze drops to my mouth. She licks hers. The sight of her pink tongue dragging across her plump lower lip, leaving a wet trail, achieves the inevitable rabid response. A feral growl rips from my throat at the need reflected in her eyes.
She wants to kiss me as much as I want to devour her mouth. But our kisses don’t belong in this moment. From the first time I tasted her lips, we’ve both acknowledged our kisses are special. Sacred, even. I don’t take them for granted, and I don’t take them in anger.
It’s not easy to deny myself any part of her, albeit temporarily. But I drag my gaze from her mouth, back down to her breasts. Her grip tightens for a charged second, her eagerness for the taste of my mouth on hers a temptation she fights, too, before she’s arching her back, offering me what I crave.
I wrap my lips around one perfect nipple. One taste of her and sublime bliss shoots into my bloodstream. Saliva fills my mouth and washes over the nub that is the center of my joy.
God, how is it possible that she tastes even better than the last time I had her?
I suckle harder, lashing my tongue over her responsive flesh, and glory in the sexy little whimpers that jump from her throat.
She punctuates the exquisite sounds with jerky rolls of her hips and an ever-tightening grip around my waist. My cock is fully lodged against her cunt, every movement against the underside of my stiff dick an electric zap to my senses.
I feast on her breasts until pleasure saturates my every cell. Waves of electricity flow through me, and I’m stunned by how alive I feel. But I know this isn’t me. This is all Elyse. Her life force. Without which I’m a useless husk.
When I’m in danger of suffocating from the intensity of it—or, hell, coming in my pants just from suckling her breasts—I trail a long line of kisses up to her throat, along her jaw to her ear. I bite the lobe none too gently and absorb her shuddering.
“Fuck you,” I plead in hoarse desperation.
“Fuck me.” She gives me permission.

Sonja's Review

I, Porn Star, now known as Beautiful Liar, was one of the few books that I rated six stars last year, it was just an outstanding read and I wholeheartedly loved it. So when I saw that we were going to get more of Quinn and Elyse in Wicked S.O.B., I was beyond excited to see them again! I'm always a little nervous to read books that take place after the couple has had their happily-ever-after, though, and this time was no exception, but once I started reading, my worries went away because it's so obvious how much Quinn and Elyse love each other that I knew they would do whatever it took to make it work. Wicked S.O.B. was utterly wonderful and I positively adored it!

I love Quinn and Elyse just as much as I did before. Elyse is still just as strong and even though Quinn could make life easier for her money and career-wise, she's determined to make her own way and be her own person. She's with Quinn because she loves him and she'd do anything to make sure he's okay. And Quinn, I just fell even more in love with him, but how could I not? He's so devoted to Elyse, there's no question that's she's his world and means everything to him. Quinn is dark and fierce and passionate, especially when it comes to Elyse and it's just impossible not to get caught up in him. Quinn and Elyse are fantastic together - I just completely love them.

Wicked S.O.B. is raw and gritty and full of love, fire, need, and obsession - but it in the best way. When I first started reading Wicked S.O.B., there were a lot of details from Beautiful Liar that I couldn't remember because it's been well over a year since I've read it, but the more I read on, the more the details and the way it made me feel came back to me. I think sometimes we'll read a book and it will be so incredible, but as time goes on and you pick up another book that's a follow-up or next in the series and you wonder if the way you felt was real or if you were just caught up in the moment. I can say without any doubt though from reading Wicked S.O.B. that my thoughts of Beautiful Liar were true because I absolutely loved Wicked S.O.B. I felt the magic of the words, of Quinn and Elyse, in particularly their love - it was just amazing and I enjoyed every minute of this book!

Wicked S.O.B. must be read after Beautiful Liar. It's told from Quinn and Elyse's POV, they are still living out their happily-ever-after, and the ending will leave you with a smile on your face!

~ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Stars

About the Author: 
Zara Cox has been writing for almost twenty-five years but it wasn't until nine years ago that she decided to share her love of writing sexy, gritty stories with anyone outside her close family (the over 18s anyway!). This series is Zara's next step in her erotic romance-writing journey, and she would love to hear your thoughts. Visit her at

Author Links: 

Thursday, August 17, 2017

RELEASE BLITZ: The Meat Market Anthology by Multiple Authors

Title: The Meat Market Anthology
Authors: S. Van Horne, Riann C. Miller, Winter Travers, Trinity Rose, Mary B. Moore, Tracie Douglas, Gwyn McNamee, ML Rodriguez, Sarah O'Rourke, and Mayra Statham 
Genre: Romance
Release Date: August 15, 2017 Cover Design: SK Designs 

When Jason Somers inherited the family butcher shop, he had no idea he was taking the helm of a sinking ship. With the help of his younger brother Jaxson, a plan emerged to save The Meat Market. What better way to earn some extra cash than to target one of their biggest customer group’s most basic needs.

All they needed were some willing men and some clever marketing.
The Meat Market is now the go-to place to order prime cuts of meat, both for human consumption and companionship.
The women of Chicago know where the best cuts can be found.
Come into The Meat Market and order whatever looks appetizing.


S. Van Horne was born and raised in the small town of Belton, Missouri, which is a part of the Kansas City metropolitan area. She’s from a very large family and is the oldest of six. Growing up, she didn’t have the easiest life. She learned quickly that family means everything, even if it’s the type that you get to pick for yourself. She met the love of her life at the early age of twenty and was married just after nine months of meeting him. Shortly after marriage, her husband rejoined the U.S. Navy and they moved from Kansas City and started their journey together. Currently they have two amazing children, a boy and a girl, and are still enjoying the Navy life. She spends her days being a wife, mom, reading books, writing her latest novel, watching her beloved Kansas City Chiefs or Kansas City Royals, watching movies, hanging out with family and friends and having girls’ day at least once a month.

Riann C. Miller lives in southeast Kansas and writes steamy contemporary romance stories. When she’s not reading or writing, she spends time with her friends and family or you might catch her watching a baseball game with a beer in her hand.

Winter Travers is a devoted wife, mother, and aunt turned author who was born and raised in Wisconsin. After a brief stint in South Carolina following her heart to chase the man who is now her hubby, they retreated back up North to the changing seasons, and to the place they now call home. Winter spends her days writing happily ever afters, and her nights zipping around on her forklift at work. She also has an addiction to anything MC related, her dog Thunder, and Mexican food! (Tamales!)

Surviving on caffeine most days, Tracie Douglas lives in Southern California with her husband, two children, two dogs and one really fat cat. She spends her days chasing children and fur babies, all while maintaining the illusion of sanity. Her nights are spent toiling away at the keyboard, creating a world filled with hot men and strong women. She loves to read and write all types of book but tends to lean on the darker side of the spectrum. She’s pretty handy with a crochet hook too. Tracie loves to hear from her readers!

Gwyn McNamee is an attorney, writer, wife, and mother (to one human baby and two fur babies). Originally from the Midwest, Gwyn relocated to her husband’s home town of Las Vegas in 2015 and is enjoying her respite from the cold and snow. Gwyn has been writing down her crazy stories and ideas for years and finally decided to share them with the world. She loves to write stories with a bit of suspense and action mingled with romance and heat. When she isn’t either writing or voraciously devouring any books she can get her hands on, Gwyn is busy adding to her tattoo collection, golfing, and stirring up trouble with her perfect mix of sweetness and sarcasm (usually while wearing heels). An admitted shoe whore, Gwyn’s closet rivals Carrie Bradshaw’s and is constantly expanding. Gwyn loves to hear from her readers!

Trinity Rose (AKA Jamie Cercone) was born and raised in southwestern New York. Never in her wildest dreams did she see herself become an writer, but with one sentence you read that shit some much you should just write it!” from her hubby the rest is history. Now this devoted wife, mother of two awesome kids and RN writes about alphas, strong willed women and badassery. When she’s not writing, playing mom, performing her wifey duties or saving lives you can find her surviving on Nutella, Halloween, purses and reading. Go and stalk Trinity Rose at the follow social media and drop her a line:

I've always been an avid reader and writer, so when my best friends (three males who drive me closer to insanity daily) dared me to publish, in fact triple dared with no returnseys, I couldn't say no - the forfeits are always painful. Deciding to shelve all of the work I'd ever done and to start with a new project was my best idea though, at least I think so. After being on the brink of insanity many times, I'm delighted to confirm that I came out of it with my dignity still intact...just! I'm the daughter of diplomats who has lived all over the world and you'd be hard placed to figure out where my accent was from - it's a Heinz 57 variety accent. My poor child has also picked up my accent and vocabulary, which is predominantly American I guess. We should really be classed as having United Nations accents. My projects so far are a contemporary romance series called the Providence Series, an MC series which I love called Luther’s Vengeance and also a paranormal series. In Luther's Vengeance, I'll be using my background to make it as 'real life' as possible, never let it be said my childhood was boring. For now though, it's going to mainly be about the romance...lots of romance!!

A proud Texan, ML Rodriguez resides in Bavaria, Germany with her husband, two children, and their dog--Bolt. When she’s not writing, she loves to drive her husband crazy, laugh at the hilarious things her children come up with, or enjoys curling up on her couch with her Kindle.

Sarah O'Rourke is actually TWO besties who live three states apart and write at all hours of the day and night! Born and raised in the Southern United States, they are overly attached to their one-click accounts, can’t make it through the day without copious doses of caffeine, and spend way too much time on the phone with each other. Between them, they have four children and eighteen years of to a super soldier and the other to egomaniac engineer. They hate empty chocolate wrappers and writer’s block, love to talk to readers...and oh, by the way, they write about strong, kick-ass women and hot alpha heroes!

Mayra Statham resides in southern California with her three kids and husband. When she isn't writing or hanging with family, you can probably find her hidden behind a romance novel while having a highly caffeinated iced drink.


Sonja's Review

Sarah O'Rourke is one of my favorite authors and I'll admit that was the main draw to me wanting to read this anthology. I have to say now, though, that I've read most of the stories in here and I'm so glad that I didn't decide to just read their "Italian Sausage" because I would seriously be missing out on the rest of these excellent tales! The Meat Market Anthology is definitely a home run and I wholeheartedly love it! 

I honestly can't tell you which are my favorite stories because I just love them all! You seriously cannot go wrong with any "meat" that you choose. They have all been wonderful and they have been all been exactly what I like in my books. The Meat Market Anthology is full of alpha heroes who talk dirty, love their heroines, and are completely lovable and the heroines are sweet and strong with good hearts. It's an anthology brimming with passion, fun, love, and heartwarming, huge grin-worthy moments. I just couldn't and can't get enough! 

The Meat Market Anthology has happy-for-now endings for each novella and you can bet that I will be following these authors not only for their work in here, but in general - I can't wait for more to come!

~ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Stars