Friday, August 7, 2020
(A Dysfunctional Family of Witches Prequel)
Date Published: October 1, 2019
Publisher: Spellbound Books
The illegitimate granddaughter of Catherine the Great finds a shapeshifting stone and discovers the magic to be young and live forever. Years later, Dima's teenage daughter resents a mother who is 112 years old but shifts into a woman young enough to be her sister. Medea loathes a mother who loves her 17 cats more than she does her daughter. Medea despises a mother who claims all witchcraft as her magic and treats her daughter like a slave. In secret, Medea develops her own sorcery.
About the Author
B. Austin grew up in the Land of Enchantment, New Mexico. She was told true tales of witches by her superstitious family. Before writing full time, she toiled in tech as a software engineer. She currently lives in Florida. She, also, writes under the name of Belinda Austin.
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Awakened by Him
(Zinklaus Duet, #1)
Publication date: August 6th 2020
Genres: Adult, Romance, Suspense
Falling into him was a dance with destiny; little did she know it would be her unravelling.
Zina at 24 and fresh out of the academic world, arrives in London for a new paralegal job. She is thrown for a loop when her chance at something new and uncomplicated is threatened from the moment she meets business magnate, Niklaus Clarke.
He wants more from her than she’s willing to give, because giving him more means undoing her past which she’s been running from. Unable to resist the undeniable attraction she feels or the allure of the unyielding billionaire who didn’t get to where he is by giving up, Zina surrenders.
What should have been a mere awakening turns into blurred lines and shattering of boundaries. Until their secrets, lies and half-truths threaten the gravity that pulls them toward each other.
Bridges will be crossed, bridges will be burnt. But, will bridges be rebuilt?
“Open,” Niklaus said.
So bossy, I thought.
We were on his couch, facing each other as he attempted to feed me comfort food. A.K.A. Haagen-Dazs caramel cone.
“Why do you have to feed me?” I argued, finding solace in a possible banter to distract me from my solemn mood.
He heaved a sigh, looking at me intently without lowering the spoon of ice cream from where it was—in front of my mouth. “My sweet baby, you are sad and won’t tell me why.” His lips spread in a thin, but small sad smile. “But, this I can do for you. Let me take care of you. Let me feed you.”
Tears stung my eyes as I struggled with my emotions. Such simple words evoked powerful feelings in me. All he wanted was to do something nice for me, and yet I remained difficult. So I opened for him, letting him feed me to his satisfaction. I watched his eyes lit up every time I opened for another spoon.
The fact that he took so much pleasure in doing something so mundane was everything—the simple things. My heart was in trouble and at that moment, I didn’t care.
When he was done pleasuring me with the taste of rich caramel swirl that only Haagen-Dazs could deliver, he sprawled into the arm of the sofa.
“Come.” He said, opening his arms to welcome me. And, like a dog hungry for affection, I turned, reclining into him and laying my body on his chest.
His arms wrapped around me instantly, and I closed my eyes.
I felt safe and at home in his arms. Ashraf and his parents had taken me in when I was homeless; my brother had come into my life around when the well, awkward night with Ashraf happened, and we grew apart for a few months. He’d come in and filled a hole created by temporary emotional separation from Ashraf.
But the feeling of safety I felt in the arms of Niklaus was different. He wasn’t filling any vacant space. It was like he’d always had a place in my heart, waiting for him to step in and take his place. I’d never felt more at peace, so wanted, so cherished, and all he had to do was feed me ice cream and wrap his arms around me.
Am I falling for him? I wondered. I physically shook my head, wading off the idea, but not before he noticed.
“What?” he asked.
I couldn’t very well tell him my heart was wondering if I was falling for him, but that same heart was convinced the answer was negative.
So, I said instead, ‘tell me something about you.”
He chuckled, the slight shaking of his body as he did so warming me all over. “Am I supposed to believe you haven’t used the school of Google to do your private investigation on me?”
“Would most of what I find there tell me anything real about you?” I challenged.
“No,” he confirmed with a certain resentment.
I shrugged. “Moreover, I haven’t stalked you. I don’t do social media or track people on the internet.” I explained.
There was the exception of the night at his parents, but those were for professional reasons directed at his father, and didn’t count.
His arms tightened around me like he couldn’t get enough of me. “You, doux bebe are one of a kind.”
I smiled. It was nice to hear that someone saw me as a unique being. But, the gag was—he was truly the special one.
He’d awakened me, and he apparently had the power to make me feel safe and distract me.
“I’ll start. I’ve always wanted a dog, and I will get one soon.”
“Hmmm…I think when I was young, I did too. But, somewhere along the way, I forgot.”
I laughed. “Your turn.”
“I just told you I wanted a dog too. That was my something.”
I laughed some more at his manipulative and creative way of deflecting.
If I was terrible at revealing things about myself, he was impossible.
We were a match made in heaven. But what would that mean for us in the long term?
The fact that I was thinking of the future, despite insisting that we were just fuck buddies told me one thing—even if I was unable to admit that I might have been falling for him, what I knew for sure was that I was in trouble. My heart was in trouble.
When Eyta Jade read Danielle Steele’s full circle, a dream was born. A dream to evoke the kind of emotions that reading Full Circle did for her.
Eyta knew that no matter what or how long it took, she would always find her way to becoming an author.
When Eyta isn’t penning down tastefully written steamy romance stories, you’d find her reading one instead.
Lest we forget, she obsesses over wine, soul and RnB music.
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Thursday, August 6, 2020
“How much do I have to pay you to not speak a word of this?” he asks.
“Wh—” The word lodges in my throat, my chest suddenly feeling as if I haven’t taken a breath in what feels like hours. I shake my head and blink several times, not understanding his question. “What?”
“Come on.” He rolls his eyes and glances at his phone, turning it over and inspecting it. With half-closed eyes, he shoves it back into his pocket when he sees it isn’t damaged. “I know you took a picture and I know you’re ready to run to the nearest news station or tabloid you can find.” He straightens his back, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, and stares into my eyes. “Like I said, how much do I need to pay you to keep this quiet?”
Is this some kind of joke? I look around the hallway, glancing over my shoulder for anyone who might be on this floor with us. No one. Nothing.
This has to be a prank or something. After the day I’ve had, I don’t necessarily trust my surroundings or the situations I seem to be putting myself in.
“I’m sorry.” I stare back at him, my confusion written all over my face. “I don’t quite know what you mean. Why would I take a picture of you? I don’t even know you.”
His eyebrows slowly unknit, resting back in their natural place on his gorgeous, sculpted face. His eyes soften once again, and this time they’re no longer begging. They’re more relieved, if anything. His ocean eyes inject me with an electricity I can’t quite figure out. They’re filled with a sweetness yet laced with poison, a silent poison…the kind that sneaks up on you when you least expect it and then the next thing you know, you’re done for.
The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk and he releases a small breath of air. The smirk doesn’t fade as his eyes land on the bottle still clutched in my hand. My grip tightens around the neck, suddenly feeling the need to be protective over my only source of escape from the sad, shitty excuse for a day I’ve had.
His hand reaches out and his fingers graze mine. Don’t ask me why, but I let him continue. I let him take my wine. No, I let him steal my wine.
Once he has full possession of my bottle of merlot, he holds it between us, his eyes flitting between me and the bottle. His expression transforms into a full-on smile. “Well,” he practically sings, “it’s a good thing you got the kind that doesn’t need a corkscrew.”
My jaw drops open as I watch him grip the cap of the bottle and twist it open in one move. The sound of the seal cracking and breaking causes my stomach to flutter. I don’t know who this man is or what his name is, but I’m completely caught up in his spell.
Maybe it isn’t quite his spell. Maybe it’s the confidence he carries with him as he lifts the open bottle of wine and presses it to his smooth, completely kissable lips. Whatever it is that has me completely entranced, I know it’s bad news. I’m sure Tori could testify to that.
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