Gone Wild Review Tour @karenmbryson @GoddessFish

Gone Wild

by Dakota Madison

 

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ROOM WITH BOOKS encourages our readers to follow the tour and please leave comments!

 

GENRE: Romantic Comedy

 

About the Book

Tenured English professor Bly Daniels believes the short walk from her campus office to the university library is too much exposure to the harsh elements of the outdoors. She would prefer to spend her days (and nights) comfortably seated indoors reading classic literature.

When Bly is arrested for reading one of the great books while driving home, a judge sentences her to thirty days of community service with The Wild Way, a therapeutic wilderness program for troubled teens.

There she meets Turner Wild, the owner and operate of the wilderness program. Turner is everything Bly despises: rugged, unrefined and outdoorsy. For Bly a trip to hell sounds more desirable than spending an entire month with Turner and his band of hooligans as they traverse the woods of rural northwest New Jersey communing with nature.

Bly certainly never expects to form a bond with the troubled teens she’s been assigned to mentor and forge an unlikely relationship with their fearless leader, Turner Wild.

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Excerpt

“Would you like a lift?” She raises an eyebrow.

“That would be greatly appreciated. Thank you.”

She lets down the tailgate of the pickup, presumably for me to place my luggage in the empty truck bed.

I do my best to drag the suitcase over to the truck, but I feel like my muscles are on fire. There is no way I’m going to be able to lift the suitcase into the back of the vehicle.

The woman and I both stare at the suitcase for several moments.

“You can’t lift it, can you?” she asks finally.

I shake my head.

“Unbelievable.” She grabs the suitcase like it’s no heavier than a rag doll and tosses it into the back of her truck. Then she slams the tailgate of the truck closed.

She glares at me for several seconds. “I have some advice for you. Never pack more than you can carry.”

Before I have a chance to respond she marches over to the driver’s side of the truck and hops in.

I hurry over to the passenger side of the vehicle and stare at it for a few moments. I’m five feet seven inches tall. The woman is easily five inches shorter than me and she got into the truck with very little effort. I have no idea how I’m going to climb into this thing, particularly in my dress and heels.

“Are you coming?” She glares at me again. She’s very good at glaring. Despite her small stature she’s quite intimidating.

“If you’ll give me just a few seconds I need to figure out how to get inside of this truck.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

She jumps back out of the vehicle, makes her way around to my side then gives me an extremely hard shove right on my buttocks which propels me enough that I’m able to climb into the seat.

She stomps back over to her side of the truck, leaps into her seat with the ease of a rabbit then slams her door shut.

“Your truck is very high off the ground,” I observe.

Book ReviewMy book review will be shared later this evening. Thank you for your patience!

Patricia, Room With Books

 

Meet the Author

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USA TODAY Bestselling author Dakota Madison is known for writing new adult, love in midlife, and contemporary romance with a little spice and lots of heart. Dakota is a winner of the prestigious RONE Award for Excellence in the Indie and Small Publishing Industry. When she’s not at her computer creating spicy stories Dakota likes to spend time with her husband and their bloodhounds. Dakota also writes under the pen names SAVANNAH YOUNG, SIERRA AVALON and REN MONTERREY.

Where to find DAKOTA…

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Giveaway

Dakota Madison will be awarding three eCopies of her book, Still Fine at Forty, to a randomly drawn winner via Rafflecopter during the tour.

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(Not So) Good in a Room Release Blitz @karenmbryson @MTWPromotions

Title: (Not So) Good in a Room

Series: California Dreamers #1

Author: Dakota Madison

Genre: Adult, Romantic Comedy

Published: April 1, 2016

Published by: Short on Time Books

She’s not the kind of girl he can take home to daddy.

(NOT SO) GOOD IN A ROOM, a romantic comedy novella by USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Dakota Madison, is a modern reimagining of Cyrano de Bergerac.

Awkward screenwriter Nellie Berg is great with words, as long as she can write them down. She’s written over thirty action scripts, but has been unable to sell a single one to Hollywood. Instead of working the room, every time Nellie tries to pitch her scripts to producers she becomes overcome with anxiety and completely blanks out.

When Nellie meets another aspiring screenwriter, Roscoe Rhodes, at Pitchfestapalooza they form an unlikely friendship. Roscoe is everything Nellie is not: outgoing, witty, charming…and good in a room. Roscoe suggests that Nellie hire his cousin, Chris, an unemployed actor to pitch her scripts to producers.

Things get complicated when Nellie falls for Chris and she seeks Roscoe’s help to seal the deal. Roscoe realizes he actually has feelings for Nellie. And Hollywood falls in love with the hot the new pretend screenwriter, who has never even read an entire script let alone written one.

WARNING: This book contains foul language, sexual innuendo and a little bit of hanky panky.

Buyer beware.

CALIFORNIA DREAMERS is a series of interconnecting romantic comedy stories that can be read as STAND ALONE NOVELLAS or as part of the SERIES.

The CALIFORNIA DREAMERS SERIES:

(Not So) Good in a Room (Nellie’s Story)

Beautiful Abyss (Chris’s Story)

So Far Away (Maddie’s Story)

Rookie Mistake (Cody & Maya’s Story)

 

 

 

(Not So) Good in a Room Excerpt © Dakota Madison 2016

 

When I finally make it out of the ballroom and into the hotel lobby I do my best to compose myself, but to no avail. I’m definitely going to throw up.

I hurry into the ladies room and just make it to the toilet before I begin to dry heave. My stomach was so twisted with nerves I couldn’t eat anything all day so there’s nothing of any significance to come up.

Tears begin to stream down my face and within moments I’m a sobbing heap of hopelessness on the bathroom floor. I allow myself to release all of the tension I’ve been holding in and wail for several minutes. When I finally feel like I’ve cried the well dry I take in what I hope will be a deep, calming breath.

Will I ever be able to pitch without experiencing complete and utter terror? How will I ever make it in the business if I can’t?

You have to pull yourself together, Nellie.

A knock on the stall I’m occupying startles me.

Then I hear a female voice say, “Is everything okay in there?”

“Fuck off.” The harsh words pop out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them. I don’t mean to be rude, but it seems to happen a lot.

I hear the sound of footsteps as whoever I just swore at scurries out of the bathroom.

As I pull myself up from the floor I hike up the white tights that have gathered at my knees. I do my best to smooth out the wrinkles in the black and white polka dot dress I’m wearing.

I slowly step out of the stall and glance around the bathroom just to make sure it’s empty.

I would glance at myself in the mirror, but I know it would just make me feel worse than I already do. Not only would I be a failure, I’d be a hideous looking one as well. I’d like to at least be able to function under the illusion that I’m not completely repulsive looking.

Unfortunately my body isn’t quick enough for my brain. I catch a glance at my reflection in the mirror as I pass by. It’s even worse than I imagined it would be. Calling me frightening looking would be a compliment.

I give my reflection the middle finger as I walk out of the bathroom.

I must still be in a post-anxiety-attack fog because I don’t even see the young producer I attempted to pitch to until I plow right into him.

“I’m so sorry.” I’m surprised when coherent words actually come out of my mouth this time.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“No,” I sputter as I hurry away before I embarrass myself even further.

I scan the large lobby. It’s packed with lines of screenwriters waiting to pitch to producers. There’s one dark corner on the opposite side of the crowded area that looks like a safe zone where I can hide and catch my breath.

I close my eyes for a moment and rub my temples. I’m probably ten minutes away from a major headache on top of everything else.

When I open my eyes I see a very tall guy headed in my direction. Of course I’m only five feet tall, so nearly everyone on the planet over the age of ten is taller than me, but this guy is like a giant. His hair and eyes are as dark as mine, but his are on a much more attractive package.

For some reason the guy is waving a pack of gum at me.

“Want a piece?” he asks.

In a room filled with hundreds of people why on Earth has he singled me out? And why would he think I want gum?

He waits for several moments and stares at me. When I don’t reply he says, “No gum I guess.”

“Please go somewhere that isn’t here.”

He frowns. “Like you own Pitchfestapalooza.”

“Find your own corner,” I hiss.

I wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t budge. He continues to stare at me, like he’s examining a specimen.

I shoot daggers at him hoping he’ll take the hint.

“Fine, I’ll go. Sorry for invading your personal space.”

When he takes off into the sea of emerging screenwriters I breathe a small sigh of relief.

Don’t you just love that term? Emerging screenwriter. It’s a nice way to say wannabe.

That’s what we are. Wannabes. Every person here is scrounging for that one break that will finally get him or her into the business.

I can’t waste my one shot at finally making my dream come true.

I remove my one-sheet from my handbag and stare at it. I’ve gone over my logline and story synopsis thousands of times. I’ve got every word on the page memorized. I have no idea why I can’t just say the words when I actually sit down to pitch.

I have to do this. I have to at least try again. I’d never be able to live with myself if I gave up so easily.

I shove my one-sheet back into my handbag as I make my way over to one of the lines of writers waiting for the opportunity to meet with an action film producer.

Pitchfestapalooza is run like a well-oiled machine. I have to give credit where credit is due. Screenwriters line up to meet with producers by genre and lines keep moving at a fairly brisk pace. It’s set up a little like speed dating, but we’re pitching producers for deals, not trying to score with the opposite sex.

Luckily the line I’ve selected isn’t that long. It’s about half as long as the lines for the screenwriters pitching horror scripts or comedy projects. I’m not surprised that I’m the only female in line. It’s pretty well known that there’s sexism in the film industry, but it seems to be even worse when it comes to action movies.

But I love the genre, and even though I have a vagina, I can’t see myself writing anything else.

I don’t realize until he turns around that I’m standing right behind the tall guy who offered me the gum.

He flashes me a charismatic smile. The type of grin you might see on a used car salesman or politician.

Why do I get the feeling this guy could sell dirt to a farmer?

“So what do you have against gum?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“Then it’s me you don’t like.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Then let’s remedy that situation right now.” He extends a hand for me to shake. “I’m Roscoe Rhodes.”

I’m sure he’s wondering why I’m not returning the gesture. I don’t like touching people I don’t know. It’s one of my numerous obsessions.

He waits for a long moment. When it’s obvious I’m not going to shake his hand he says, “You know, Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“My name’s not Dorothy.”

“At least I got you to say something.”

“Nellie Berg,” I tell him. “And how did you know I’m from Kansas?”

“I didn’t. You’re dressed like Dorothy Gale. What’s up with that outfit?”

I look down at my black patent leather shoes, white tights, black and white polka dot skirt. Then I glance around me. Everyone else is wearing dress jeans and button-down shirts with their sleeves rolled up to their elbows. Somehow I must have missed the screenwriters’ attire memo.

So in addition to being a bundle of nerves I look completely and totally out of place. Isn’t that just great for my self-esteem?

“You know this producer only makes action films,” Roscoe says.

I don’t even try to hide my scowl. “I know that.”

He points to another line directly across the lobby from us. “The line for romantic comedy is over there.”

“So?” I glare at him.

“Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable over there?”

“You mean somewhere where there isn’t a misogynistic jerk standing in front of me?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ve written a script for an action movie?”

As I shake my head defiantly I wonder why I’m even talking to this asshole.

“Then what are you doing in this line?” His condescending tone is really starting to piss me off.

“I’ve written scripts for thirty action movies.” Choke on that you prick.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You don’t strike me as the type who would be interested in writing action scripts.”

“And why is that? Because I’m female? Have you bought into the sexist notion that women can’t write action scripts?”

I cross my arms over my chest and stare at him. As much as I’d like him to crawl into a hole somewhere he stares right back at me.

“Maybe it’s the pink polka dot purse you’re holding. That just screams action film. Or the outfit you’re wearing. If Shirley Temple and Dorothy Gale had a love child she would dress like you. Except you look more like a Munchkin with your little round face and tiny body.”

I can feel my face heat with embarrassment. This guy just says whatever he thinks, doesn’t he. “You know that’s really insulting.”

“Munchkin,” he repeats.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, Munch. You look like one of the dolls from the cabbage patch. I just want to put you on a shelf.”

“I consider that a micro-aggression.”

“Boo-hoo. What are you going to do? Call the PC police because I hurt your feelings?”

“You’re kind of a jerk.”

“Everyone says I’m charming.”

This guy is definitely no prince. “I guess everyone is wrong.”

USA TODAY Bestselling author Dakota Madison is known for writing new adult, love in midlife, and contemporary romance with a little spice and lots of heart. Dakota is a winner of the prestigious RONE Award for Excellence in the Indie and Small Publishing Industry. When she’s not at her computer creating spicy stories Dakota likes to spend time with her husband and their bloodhounds. Dakota also writes under the pen names SAVANNAH YOUNG, SIERRA AVALON and REN MONTERREY.

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Rye Must Die Release Day Blitz

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Release Day Blitz

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Book Title: Rye Must Die (An Izy & Max Paranormal Comedy)
Author: Dakota Madison & Savannah Young
Genre: Paranormal Romantic Comedy
Release Date: July 24, 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Book Blurb

There’s a fine line between sexy alpha and creepy stalker…and Rye has crossed it.

RYE MUST DIE is a SHORT NOVELLA by USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Dakota Madison and Savannah Young. It can be read as a STANDALONE or as part of the ongoing series.

Izzy Grant is supposed to be dead, suicide by hanging. But when she regains consciousness, she’s still alive and still the crazy girl voted Most Likely to Kill Herself in high school. She’s still the girl who everyone in Old Town loves to hate.

But one thing had changed. He saved her life, a man wearing all black and riding a motorcycle. He pulled her down from the tree and made sure she was still breathing.

Now he’s following her. Izzy doesn’t know why, but she’s eager to find out.

excerpt

Prologue

I gasp for breath. Then I cough. The brisk air stings my lungs.

I’m on the cold, hard ground, not hanging from the tree like I’m supposed to be, and I’m definitely not dead.

When I open my eyes I’m glad it’s dusk. I don’t think I could take the glare of the sun right now. Dusk was always my favorite time of day, when nature’s light is fading away.

My neck feels raw, but there’s no rope on it. I search around me, but the rope seems to have vanished.

I spot a guy dressed in all black. He’s sitting on a black H-D Iron 883, very similar to the motorcycle I ride.

A shiver runs through me when I realize the guy is watching me.

He must have been the one who did it. He cut me down from the tree. I have a vague memory of a struggle. Of strong arms grabbing me and holding me tight. I fought against him, but I was hopelessly outmatched.

I wanted to die but I realized he wasn’t going to let me.

Then I blacked out, and woke up on the ground.

I wonder how long he’s going to sit there. It’s almost like he’s guarding me. Then he opens a black satchel on his bike and removes a rope—my rope—and holds it up for me to see.

I feel like he’s taunting me with it. Why does this asshole care if I live or die?

When I give him the finger he doesn’t respond. He just puts on his dark helmet and speeds away, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

I think about some of the other ways I could kill myself, but those methods leave a margin of error that I’m not comfortable with. I don’t want to jump in front of a moving truck only to be paralyzed for life and still not dead.

Besides, I’m suddenly hungry and craving a burger and fries in the worst way. I guess today is not the day for me to die.

Six Weeks Later

Another exciting day at the Old Town Antique Shop. I’ve had only two customers and only one who actually bought something. It’s a good thing the building is completely paid for, I live right upstairs, and my grandmother was extremely generous to me in her will. I certainly couldn’t afford to run a real business on the pittance the store makes on a weekly basis.

I would have been out of Old Town by now if my grandmother didn’t croak. And she didn’t stipulate in her will that I had to keep the antique shop running in order to get the money she entrusted to me. I’m the last living member of the Grant family and I now have the honor of running the business that’s been in our family for generations.

I glance down at the stash of romance novels I keep hidden under the counter. I know they’re cheesy, but right now they’re the only things that are keeping me from slashing my wrists when I’m in the bathtub. They give me the slightest bit of hope that maybe someday; someone will love the town pariah. Even the meanest girls in romance novels always get the guy.

I’m deep in a very hot sex scene when I’m startled by the little bell that chimes when the front door opens.

I’m even more surprised by the guy who walks into my shop. Or more like strolls in. He’s wearing a wild flowered Hawaiian shirt over a red Green Day T-shirt, faded cargo pants and red converse high tops. He runs his hands through his mop of sun-bleached blond hair, but it doesn’t help. Old Town is always windy, but his hair isn’t just windblown. It’s a little too long and looks shaggy.

He’s definitely not from Old Town.

After giving me a quick once over he grins. His grin is too wide and his teeth are too perfect and too white. I already hate him.

“You know we’re nowhere near the shore?” I try not to sound as disgusted as this guy is making me.

He laughs. He seems like the kind of guy who laughs easily. I hate him even more.

“I’m not here to surf.”

I give him a once over. “You could have fooled me.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a shiny business card. He wiggles it in my face so the light overhead reflects off of it.

I rip the card out of his hand just to make the glare stop. “What’s wrong with you?”

He laughs again, which makes me even more perturbed. Not that it’s difficult to do. Most people are able to get on my bad side pretty quickly.

“Do you want a list?” He raises an eyebrow at me.

I shake my head and examine his card:

Old Town Ghost Tours. Max Elliot, Paranormal Investigator.

Great. Not only is he starting to be the most annoying person on the planet, he’s also one of those ghost hunting freaks.

I try to hand the card back to him, but he puts his hands up and shakes them at me. “The card is yours to keep.”

If I had a trash can close I’d make a point of throwing the thing inside of it, but the trash can is on the other side of this weirdo and I don’t feel like walking past him to get to it.

“You didn’t answer my question.” I glare at him.

“What’s wrong with me?” He looks down at his watch, which I now notice has Mickey Mouse on it. “How much time do you have?”

I give an exasperated sigh. “What can I help you with?”

He grins again. Boy does this guy like to smile a lot. He must think it’s charming, and maybe some girls are into that, but I’m definitely not one of them. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve smiled so far this year.

And I don’t go for blonds and definitely not beach boy blonds with big smiles. I prefer the dark and dangerous type, all in black leather, preferably riding a motorcycle.

“I’d love for you to go out with me, but we can negotiate that later. I’m here to see Alberta Grant. Something tells me that you’re not Alberta.”

“I’m Izzy Grant,” I reply, but I’m not sure why. I don’t really want anything to do with this guy.

“What’s Izzy short for?”

I frown. “Izzy.”

No one calls me by my given name, and definitely not this guy. I only give it out on a need-to-know basis.

“Okay, Izzy. How can I find Alberta?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re obviously not from around here.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Well, you’re not wearing jeans and cowboy boots for starters.” And you have no idea my grandmother is dead. Everyone in town knows that.

He points to his business card lying on the counter. “Just moved here. I’m trying to start a business.”

“In Old Town?”

He nods. “I’m going to capitalize on the popularity of the Tawnee Mountain Resort. The guests need some nighttime entertainment and ghost hunting is really popular right now.”

I don’t feel like stating the obvious. That there’s no such thing as ghosts.

I decide to play with the guy because he’s annoying and it’s not like I have anything better to do.

“Alberta isn’t here right now, but I can take you to her.”

He grins again. Oh how I wish I could just slap that big grin right off of his perfect, beach boy face. Then he looks around the place. “Are you sure you aren’t too busy?”

I narrow my gaze at him. “I’ll make time for you.”

“See, you already like me.”

If he only knew.

I lock up the store and hang up my OUT TO LUNCH sign. Max follows me to the small parking lot on the side of the store.

I stop in front of my old Harley H-D Iron 883. “Do you want a ride? I’ve got an extra helmet.”

He laughs. “There is no way I’m riding on the back of a chick’s motorcycle.”

I point a finger in his face. “I’m not a chick. And if you ever call me that again, I’ll rip your dick off.”

He puts his hands up. “Okay, chill. It’s just an expression. Can we take my car instead?”

I glance at the bright red Mini Cooper parked at the other end of the parking lot. “That’s not a real vehicle. That’s a clown car.”

“This isn’t just any Mini Cooper. It’s a special limited edition.”

I frown. “Just an FYI. If you plan on living in Old Town you’ll attract a lot less attention if you’re driving a pickup, preferably a Ford or a Dodge Ram.”

He grins. Another one of those huge grins that irritate every nerve in my body. “Who says I don’t want attention?”

I shake my head. “Never mind.”

I’m short, only about five feet two inches, and I’m worried about fitting inside that car. I have no idea how Max, who’s easily a foot taller than me, fits inside of it.

“Okay, we can take your car,” I agree, but only because I want to see how he squeezes inside that thing.

He pulls his keys from his pocket and starts throwing them in the air like he’s juggling with them. The guy has no shortage of ways to completely annoy me.

To my surprise Max fits into his car better than I imaged he would. He’s got the seat pushed back as far as it will go, so his legs aren’t cramped.

“You could buy a bigger car,” I say as I snap on my seat belt. “Being such a big guy.”

He laughs. “Are you kidding? This car is a chick magnet. I’ve known you less than fifteen minutes and I’ve already got you inside of it.”

When he winks at me I feel a little bile rise in my throat like I want to vomit. “Just so we’re clear. You’re not my type.”

He waves the comment off like a mosquito. “I’m everyone’s type.”

“Not mine,” I repeat.

“You won’t know for sure until you’ve had a chance to test the goods.” Then he winks at me.

Now I’m really going to be sick. “I’m not interested in testing any of your goods. Do you want to see my grandmother or not?”

He heaves a sigh. “Tell me where to drive.”

Five minutes later we pull up to the Old Town Cemetery. As soon as Max parks the car he turns and looks at me. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

“You’re the ghost hunter. Isn’t this like your Valhalla or something?”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Most graveyards aren’t haunted. Spirits like to stay close to loved ones, or places they were most familiar with before they died.”

“Whatever you say.” I open the door and hop out of his clown car.

I’m surprised when he follows. Part of me thought he’d just turn the engine back on and speed away.

As I open the cemetery gate I’m overwhelmed with sadness…again. It’s been happening a lot lately…ever since my grandmother died. She was the last of my relatives, and now I’m alone in the world. Not that I’m not used to being a loner. I’m known for it. But being alone, without any family to anchor me, makes me feel truly lost.

Alberta Grant wasn’t the nicest person in the world, but she was my rock. She lived to be ninety, and from what I’ve heard around town, spent at least forty of those years being a cantankerous old broad, who was both feared and admired.

I seem to be following in her footsteps. Except for the ad-mired part. People in Old Town say I’m freak and a bitch and tend to steer clear.

And I’m okay with that.

When I find my grandmother’s headstone I clear away the leaves that have fallen on it.

“How did she die?” Max asks. His tone is actually sincere. He’s finally dropped the overdone surfer-boy salesman act.

“She was old. Ninety.”

He nods. “Do you miss her?”

“More than I ever thought I would.”

He’s actually quiet as he stands there with me. He’s slightly attractive when he’s not talking. It’s when he opens his pie hole that he’s a complete turn off.

As we drive back toward the antique shop I have a brief moment of panic when Max passes right by it.

“You missed my stop.”

“I know,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Let me out. Now.” I can feel my pulse start to race. I briefly consider jumping out of the car, but I’m not wearing my leather today so the pavement would definitely hurt as I slid across it.

“It’s okay.” When Max glances over at me, I can see concern in his eyes. “I’m just going to take you to lunch. My treat.”

I take in a deep breath and try to calm my frayed nerves. “Lunch?”

“You put an OUT TO LUNCH sign on your door,” he reminds me. “So I’m taking you to lunch.”

“You’ll do anything for a date, won’t you?”

“So you’re actually going on a date with me?” He grins. “And here I thought you were a tough girl.”

I huff. “Do I have a choice? You kind of have me trapped in your clown car.”

When he glances over at me his eyes have turned serious. “You always have a choice. Don’t ever forget that.”

I nod, but we’re both quiet as we head back into the center of Old Town.

If only all guys thought the way he does, my life wouldn’t be a complete and total mess.

Teaser

Rye Must Die Teaser

Meet the Author

USA TODAY Bestselling author Dakota Madison is known for writing New Adult and contemporary romance with a little spice and lots of heart. She likes to explore current social issues in her work. Dakota is a winner of the prestigious RONE Award for Excellence in the Indie and Small Publishing Industry. When she’s not at her computer creating spicy stories Dakota likes to spend time with her husband and their bloodhounds at their home outside Phoenix, Arizona.

Romance novelist SAVANNAH YOUNG grew up in rural northwest New Jersey in a place very similar to the fictional Old Town, which is featured in her books. When she’s not at her computer creating spicy stories, Savannah is traveling to exotic locales or spending time with her husband and their bloodhounds.

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The Nines Book Blitz

The Nines Review Blitz

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Book Title: The Nines
Author: Dakota Madison & Sierra Avalon
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: April 12, 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Book BlurbUSA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Dakota Madison and Sierra Avalon team up to bring readers a new breed of antiheroes…THE NINES.

Vengeance is mine not the Lord’s. It’s what I breathe for. It’s what I’m still living for. I live for the moment when I will literally have his eye for mine. It’s been two years. Two long and difficult years, but my plan is nearly complete. When I’m not in a hospital having doctors try to repair my ravaged body I spend my time on the computer, doing hacking jobs for large corporations and governments who don’t want to get their hands dirty or be associated with a job if things go sideways. But they don’t have any reason to worry. I’m meticulous, so I’ll never get caught. Just one thing stands in my way: The mysterious young woman without a past who desperately wants to be part of my future. I just need to figure out why…

THE NINES is an ongoing romantic suspense series. Each book can be read as a STAND ALONE NOVEL or as PART OF THE SERIES.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: THE NINES is meant for mature readers. The novel contains graphic violence and sexual situations. If an avenger comic book and a romance novel got married and had a child it would be THE NINES.

excerpt

Vengeance is mine not the Lord’s. It’s what I breathe for. It’s what I’m still living for. I live for the moment when I will literally have his eye for mine. It’s been two years. Two long and difficult years, but my plan is nearly complete. When I’m not in a hospital having doctors try to repair my ravaged body I spend my time on the computer, doing hacking jobs for large corporations and governments who don’t want to get their hands dirty, or be associated with a job if things go sideways. But they don’t have any reason to worry. I’m meticulous, so I’ll never get caught.

I have the one thing that most people don’t.

Time.

After I was burned it was difficult for people to look at me and when they did, it was with pity or disgust, often both.

Even my own mother.

I don’t want anyone’s pity. And I have enough disgust towards myself to last five lifetimes.

So I left everything I’ve ever known and started over on my own.

Now I spend my days and nights in the small home I inherited from my aunt when she died. I would never have chosen to live next door to a large state university. It’s often loud and there are young people everywhere. It’s a constant reminder of everything I lost. I don’t feel young anymore. I feel like an old man trapped in a twenty-year-old body. If wisdom is the gift of tragedy I’d rather be ignorant.

I rarely leave home. It’s amazing what you can have delivered to your door these days. When I do need to go outside, it’s always at night and I always wear a mask. Not like the ones kids wear on Halloween. It’s more like the one that the Phantom of the Opera wore, but my mask is black and was specially designed to cover the burn scars on the left side of my face.

My latest job is for an Eastern European mob family. Modern day computer espionage has given a whole new meaning to the term “mob hit.” There’s no blood, no violence, just five million dollars vanished from several off-shore accounts in the blink of an eye. And I get fifteen percent. Not bad for a few weeks’ work.

Is it wrong to steal from criminals? I call it karmic justice. I don’t take jobs that could hurt innocent people. I only wrong people who have wronged others.

I have the luxury of a hefty bank account and very few needs. I don’t need to work another day my entire life and I wouldn’t want for a thing. But I need to keep my mind occupied. So I take hacking jobs that interest me and I take university classes online.

Having online discussions with my virtual classmates gives me the illusion of having friends and a social life. I realize it’s a poor substitute, but it’s the best I can do given my situation.

I try not to dwell on the past. The person I was, Mr. Popularity, the Class President, the Homecoming King, died the day my body burned like a barbeque on the Fourth of July.

My life now is in the shadows. Living with the fringe dwellers on the edge of humanity. I often feel like a man whose body has died, but his mind hasn’t caught up to that fact yet.

When my computer roars I know I have an incoming message. It’s from one of my contacts in China. I get a lot of work from the Chinese. I don’t speak Chinese and don’t have the patience to learn, so I use an intermediary to broker the deals. He gets fifteen percent of every deal he mediates.

I hear the familiar buzz of SKYPE and when I click on the icon Xiang Yuan appears on the screen. He’s young, probably just a few years older than me, but much better dressed. He always wears five hundred dollar suits and I’ve never seen him wear the same one twice.

“I can get you eight hundred thousand,” he says.

I don’t reply right away. I like to play things cool.

He continues. “With your skills this job won’t take more than one week. Who else will pay close to a million for one week’s work?”

“The Russians immediately come to mind,” I reply.

“And they’ll slit your throat if you don’t deliver on time. We have much more patience than that.”

I give a hearty laugh. “You guys are saints. You’d never slit a hacker’s throat. Maybe I should tell that to Jenks. Oh, wait. I can’t. You killed him.”

“Jenks got sloppy. That’s one concern I never have with you. You’re too meticulous.”

I shake my head. “You’re just saying that because you need me to take the job.”

“You’re the best person for the job,” he corrects.

“I’m the only guy you’ve got left.”

“Nine hundred thousand. But that is the final offer. Do we have a deal?”

I nod. “We have a deal.”

“Good. Let me know when the job is completed.”

“Don’t I always?”

Xiang Yuan doesn’t bother with a reply. He simply disappears from the screen.

I don’t need the money, but it’s an easy job that will probably only take a few days’ work. They’re offering close to a million for it. It’s not something I can refuse.

I rise and take a stretch away from my laptop. Sometimes it starts to feel like an appendage and that’s when I know I need a little time away from it. I step into the kitchen and make a fresh pot of coffee. While it’s brewing I glance out my kitchen window. My aunt liked to garden and the backyard is like a small sanctuary. I like to look at the plants and flowers, but I can’t be bothered with the maintenance. I have a gardener who comes by once a week to trim and weed and do whatever else needs to be done to keep it looking nice. I’ve never actually met the man, but I leave a check in an envelope for him under a mat on the back porch.

From my kitchen window I also have a slightly obstructed view of the small street I live on. The fact that it’s Macedonia Boulevard and my name is Alexander is a coincidence that is not lost on me.

The house is one block removed from one of the major thoroughfares the students frequent, so it’s not as noisy as it could be for being so close to campus. I’m still just a few blocks away from some of the dorms and much of the off-campus housing.

I’m surprised to see a beautiful girl, carrying a backpack, stop right next to my house. I have no idea who she is, or why she’s stopped there, but she looks lost.

Her long, dark hair moves slightly in the breeze and when it finally blows away from her face I can see her magnificent brown eyes and perfect pink lips. If my wishes came true and I was finally dead I know I’d be looking at the face of an angel.

I shouldn’t be standing in front of my window in the daylight staring at her. If she turned at just the right angle she could see me, and that wouldn’t be pretty. It would probably traumatize her. I need to move away from the window, but I can’t. I’m completely mesmerized by her.

When she looks at the street sign then looks up and down the block again there’s little doubt in my mind that she’s lost. I want to tell her that she’s just a block from campus. She hasn’t wandered too far afield. But I can’t leave the house, especially not in the daylight. I know as soon as she took one good look at me she’d probably run away screaming before I even had a chance to utter a word.

As she heaves a large sigh my gaze is immediately drawn to her chest. She’s wearing a pale pink sundress that fits like a glove and accentuates all of the lovely curves of her petite body. For a few moments I think about what it would be like to have my hands on her body. To touch her in the most intimate of ways. To run my fingers along her perfect, unblemished skin.

Then I chide myself for even giving in to those thoughts. There’s no use in imagining what I can never have again. Access to a woman’s body is something I lost forever. No woman would ever consider being with someone as damaged and disfigured as I am.

I considered my life over the day that half of my flesh was burned off of my body. The doctors working on me didn’t think I would live. They called it a miracle that I didn’t die. I call it a life sentence with no chance of parole.

I realized pretty quickly that my life had irrevocably changed. What I didn’t really understand until much later was the impact my injuries would have on the other people in my life.

It wasn’t until my high school girlfriend, Sara, was finally allowed to visit me that reality punched me in the face and knocked my teeth out. Sara and I had been together for over a year when it happened. She would have been burned just like me if she didn’t have a doctor’s appointment that morning and arrived late to school.

Her allergy shots kept her from dying in the blaze, or even worse, surviving it like I did.

She told me that she loved me nearly every day we were together. She was supposed to be my soul mate. We were supposed to spend our lives together.

But when she saw me in the hospital for the first time after the school bombing it was like she didn’t know me. When she looked at me all the love vanished from her beautiful brown eyes. It was like she was looking at a complete stranger.

That was the moment I knew my life as I had known it was over. Sara never came back to visit me and I never saw her again.

I spent my senior year of high school being homeschooled because I was in and out of the hospital so much. I’m smart and was always a good student so I finished all of my work early and started taking college classes in January of what was supposed to be my senior year of high school.

I traded in my high school prom and senior graduation parties for a life of worldwide hacking jobs and built my reputation as one of the best in the field of cyber espionage.

For a brief moment I panic because the girl standing outside my house turns to face me and for a second it’s almost like she can see inside of my house and she’s watching me.

But I know it’s not possible. If she really had caught a glimpse of me she would have already backed away in horror, wouldn’t she?

The girl just looks puzzled. Her head is cocked like she’s trying to figure something out. Then I see her walk towards the front of my house.

I hurry out of the kitchen and into the living room. I move the curtains on the front windows the slightest bit so that I can just make out what she’s doing. She’s standing right outside on the front walk way, staring at my front entrance.

What in the world could she possibly want with me?

Then it occurs to me. Maybe it’s not me she wants at all. Maybe she’s one of my aunt’s former students.

She looks down at a small piece of paper in her hands and then looks back up at the house. It’s almost as if she’s trying to decide whether or not she should walk up to the front door and knock.

I’m not sure what I’ll do if she does decide to knock on the door. It’s broad daylight. I only have deliveries come at night, when it’s difficult to see me, and I always leave the lights off, obscuring their view of me even further.

I hold my breath waiting to see what the girl will do. Just when I think she might make her way up to the door she takes off down the road instead.

I breathe a small sigh of relief that I don’t have to deal with her at the door. But in a small way I also feel a twinge of disappointment.

The Nines Teaser Final Banner

Meet the Author

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Dakota Madison and Sierra Avalon team up to bring readers a new breed of antiheroes…THE NINES.

Vengeance is mine not the Lord’s. It’s what I breathe for. It’s what I’m still living for. I live for the moment when I will literally have his eye for mine. It’s been two years. Two long and difficult years, but my plan is nearly complete. When I’m not in a hospital having doctors try to repair my ravaged body I spend my time on the computer, doing hacking jobs for large corporations and governments who don’t want to get their hands dirty or be associated with a job if things go sideways. But they don’t have any reason to worry. I’m meticulous, so I’ll never get caught. Just one thing stands in my way: The mysterious young woman without a past who desperately wants to be part of my future. I just need to figure out why…

THE NINES is an ongoing romantic suspense series. Each book can be read as a STAND ALONE NOVEL or as PART OF THE SERIES.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: THE NINES is meant for mature readers. The novel contains graphic violence and sexual situations. If an avenger comic book and a romance novel got married and had a child it would be THE NINES.

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The Nines Large

Book Title: The Nines
Author: Dakota Madison & Sierra Avalon
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: April 12, 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Book Blurb

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Dakota Madison and Sierra Avalon team up to bring readers a new breed of antiheroes…THE NINES.

Vengeance is mine not the Lord’s. It’s what I breathe for. It’s what I’m still living for. I live for the moment when I will literally have his eye for mine. It’s been two years. Two long and difficult years, but my plan is nearly complete. When I’m not in a hospital having doctors try to repair my ravaged body I spend my time on the computer, doing hacking jobs for large corporations and governments who don’t want to get their hands dirty or be associated with a job if things go sideways. But they don’t have any reason to worry. I’m meticulous, so I’ll never get caught. Just one thing stands in my way: The mysterious young woman without a past who desperately wants to be part of my future. I just need to figure out why…

THE NINES is an ongoing romantic suspense series. Each book can be read as a STAND ALONE NOVEL or as PART OF THE SERIES.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: THE NINES is meant for mature readers. The novel contains graphic violence and sexual situations. If an avenger comic book and a romance novel got married and had a child it would be THE NINES.

excerpt

Vengeance is mine not the Lord’s. It’s what I breathe for. It’s what I’m still living for. I live for the moment when I will literally have his eye for mine. It’s been two years. Two long and difficult years, but my plan is nearly complete. When I’m not in a hospital having doctors try to repair my ravaged body I spend my time on the computer, doing hacking jobs for large corporations and governments who don’t want to get their hands dirty, or be associated with a job if things go sideways. But they don’t have any reason to worry. I’m meticulous, so I’ll never get caught.

I have the one thing that most people don’t.

Time.

After I was burned it was difficult for people to look at me and when they did, it was with pity or disgust, often both.

Even my own mother.

I don’t want anyone’s pity. And I have enough disgust towards myself to last five lifetimes.

So I left everything I’ve ever known and started over on my own.

Now I spend my days and nights in the small home I inherited from my aunt when she died. I would never have chosen to live next door to a large state university. It’s often loud and there are young people everywhere. It’s a constant reminder of everything I lost. I don’t feel young anymore. I feel like an old man trapped in a twenty-year-old body. If wisdom is the gift of tragedy I’d rather be ignorant.

I rarely leave home. It’s amazing what you can have delivered to your door these days. When I do need to go outside, it’s always at night and I always wear a mask. Not like the ones kids wear on Halloween. It’s more like the one that the Phantom of the Opera wore, but my mask is black and was specially designed to cover the burn scars on the left side of my face.

My latest job is for an Eastern European mob family. Modern day computer espionage has given a whole new meaning to the term “mob hit.” There’s no blood, no violence, just five million dollars vanished from several off-shore accounts in the blink of an eye. And I get fifteen percent. Not bad for a few weeks’ work.

Is it wrong to steal from criminals? I call it karmic justice. I don’t take jobs that could hurt innocent people. I only wrong people who have wronged others.

I have the luxury of a hefty bank account and very few needs. I don’t need to work another day my entire life and I wouldn’t want for a thing. But I need to keep my mind occupied. So I take hacking jobs that interest me and I take university classes online.

Having online discussions with my virtual classmates gives me the illusion of having friends and a social life. I realize it’s a poor substitute, but it’s the best I can do given my situation.

I try not to dwell on the past. The person I was, Mr. Popularity, the Class President, the Homecoming King, died the day my body burned like a barbeque on the Fourth of July.

My life now is in the shadows. Living with the fringe dwellers on the edge of humanity. I often feel like a man whose body has died, but his mind hasn’t caught up to that fact yet.

When my computer roars I know I have an incoming message. It’s from one of my contacts in China. I get a lot of work from the Chinese. I don’t speak Chinese and don’t have the patience to learn, so I use an intermediary to broker the deals. He gets fifteen percent of every deal he mediates.

I hear the familiar buzz of SKYPE and when I click on the icon Xiang Yuan appears on the screen. He’s young, probably just a few years older than me, but much better dressed. He always wears five hundred dollar suits and I’ve never seen him wear the same one twice.

“I can get you eight hundred thousand,” he says.

I don’t reply right away. I like to play things cool.

He continues. “With your skills this job won’t take more than one week. Who else will pay close to a million for one week’s work?”

“The Russians immediately come to mind,” I reply.

“And they’ll slit your throat if you don’t deliver on time. We have much more patience than that.”

I give a hearty laugh. “You guys are saints. You’d never slit a hacker’s throat. Maybe I should tell that to Jenks. Oh, wait. I can’t. You killed him.”

“Jenks got sloppy. That’s one concern I never have with you. You’re too meticulous.”

I shake my head. “You’re just saying that because you need me to take the job.”

“You’re the best person for the job,” he corrects.

“I’m the only guy you’ve got left.”

“Nine hundred thousand. But that is the final offer. Do we have a deal?”

I nod. “We have a deal.”

“Good. Let me know when the job is completed.”

“Don’t I always?”

Xiang Yuan doesn’t bother with a reply. He simply disappears from the screen.

I don’t need the money, but it’s an easy job that will probably only take a few days’ work. They’re offering close to a million for it. It’s not something I can refuse.

I rise and take a stretch away from my laptop. Sometimes it starts to feel like an appendage and that’s when I know I need a little time away from it. I step into the kitchen and make a fresh pot of coffee. While it’s brewing I glance out my kitchen window. My aunt liked to garden and the backyard is like a small sanctuary. I like to look at the plants and flowers, but I can’t be bothered with the maintenance. I have a gardener who comes by once a week to trim and weed and do whatever else needs to be done to keep it looking nice. I’ve never actually met the man, but I leave a check in an envelope for him under a mat on the back porch.

From my kitchen window I also have a slightly obstructed view of the small street I live on. The fact that it’s Macedonia Boulevard and my name is Alexander is a coincidence that is not lost on me.

The house is one block removed from one of the major thoroughfares the students frequent, so it’s not as noisy as it could be for being so close to campus. I’m still just a few blocks away from some of the dorms and much of the off-campus housing.

I’m surprised to see a beautiful girl, carrying a backpack, stop right next to my house. I have no idea who she is, or why she’s stopped there, but she looks lost.

Her long, dark hair moves slightly in the breeze and when it finally blows away from her face I can see her magnificent brown eyes and perfect pink lips. If my wishes came true and I was finally dead I know I’d be looking at the face of an angel.

I shouldn’t be standing in front of my window in the daylight staring at her. If she turned at just the right angle she could see me, and that wouldn’t be pretty. It would probably traumatize her. I need to move away from the window, but I can’t. I’m completely mesmerized by her.

When she looks at the street sign then looks up and down the block again there’s little doubt in my mind that she’s lost. I want to tell her that she’s just a block from campus. She hasn’t wandered too far afield. But I can’t leave the house, especially not in the daylight. I know as soon as she took one good look at me she’d probably run away screaming before I even had a chance to utter a word.

As she heaves a large sigh my gaze is immediately drawn to her chest. She’s wearing a pale pink sundress that fits like a glove and accentuates all of the lovely curves of her petite body. For a few moments I think about what it would be like to have my hands on her body. To touch her in the most intimate of ways. To run my fingers along her perfect, unblemished skin.

Then I chide myself for even giving in to those thoughts. There’s no use in imagining what I can never have again. Access to a woman’s body is something I lost forever. No woman would ever consider being with someone as damaged and disfigured as I am.

I considered my life over the day that half of my flesh was burned off of my body. The doctors working on me didn’t think I would live. They called it a miracle that I didn’t die. I call it a life sentence with no chance of parole.

I realized pretty quickly that my life had irrevocably changed. What I didn’t really understand until much later was the impact my injuries would have on the other people in my life.

It wasn’t until my high school girlfriend, Sara, was finally allowed to visit me that reality punched me in the face and knocked my teeth out. Sara and I had been together for over a year when it happened. She would have been burned just like me if she didn’t have a doctor’s appointment that morning and arrived late to school.

Her allergy shots kept her from dying in the blaze, or even worse, surviving it like I did.

She told me that she loved me nearly every day we were together. She was supposed to be my soul mate. We were supposed to spend our lives together.

But when she saw me in the hospital for the first time after the school bombing it was like she didn’t know me. When she looked at me all the love vanished from her beautiful brown eyes. It was like she was looking at a complete stranger.

That was the moment I knew my life as I had known it was over. Sara never came back to visit me and I never saw her again.

I spent my senior year of high school being homeschooled because I was in and out of the hospital so much. I’m smart and was always a good student so I finished all of my work early and started taking college classes in January of what was supposed to be my senior year of high school.

I traded in my high school prom and senior graduation parties for a life of worldwide hacking jobs and built my reputation as one of the best in the field of cyber espionage.

For a brief moment I panic because the girl standing outside my house turns to face me and for a second it’s almost like she can see inside of my house and she’s watching me.

But I know it’s not possible. If she really had caught a glimpse of me she would have already backed away in horror, wouldn’t she?

The girl just looks puzzled. Her head is cocked like she’s trying to figure something out. Then I see her walk towards the front of my house.

I hurry out of the kitchen and into the living room. I move the curtains on the front windows the slightest bit so that I can just make out what she’s doing. She’s standing right outside on the front walk way, staring at my front entrance.

What in the world could she possibly want with me?

Then it occurs to me. Maybe it’s not me she wants at all. Maybe she’s one of my aunt’s former students.

She looks down at a small piece of paper in her hands and then looks back up at the house. It’s almost as if she’s trying to decide whether or not she should walk up to the front door and knock.

I’m not sure what I’ll do if she does decide to knock on the door. It’s broad daylight. I only have deliveries come at night, when it’s difficult to see me, and I always leave the lights off, obscuring their view of me even further.

I hold my breath waiting to see what the girl will do. Just when I think she might make her way up to the door she takes off down the road instead.

I breathe a small sigh of relief that I don’t have to deal with her at the door. But in a small way I also feel a twinge of disappointment.

The Nines Teaser Final Banner

Meet the Author

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR Dakota Madison and Sierra Avalon team up to bring readers a new breed of antiheroes…THE NINES.

Vengeance is mine not the Lord’s. It’s what I breathe for. It’s what I’m still living for. I live for the moment when I will literally have his eye for mine. It’s been two years. Two long and difficult years, but my plan is nearly complete. When I’m not in a hospital having doctors try to repair my ravaged body I spend my time on the computer, doing hacking jobs for large corporations and governments who don’t want to get their hands dirty or be associated with a job if things go sideways. But they don’t have any reason to worry. I’m meticulous, so I’ll never get caught. Just one thing stands in my way: The mysterious young woman without a past who desperately wants to be part of my future. I just need to figure out why…

THE NINES is an ongoing romantic suspense series. Each book can be read as a STAND ALONE NOVEL or as PART OF THE SERIES.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: THE NINES is meant for mature readers. The novel contains graphic violence and sexual situations. If an avenger comic book and a romance novel got married and had a child it would be THE NINES.

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Interference by  Dakota Madison
 
Audience: New Adult – Genre: Sports Romance – Formats: E-book and Paperback- Publisher: Short on Time Books – Cover by: No Sweat Graphics – Editor: Shirley Pearson – Pages: 215 pages – ASIN: B00STMCY00 – Date Published: February 9, 2015

blurb

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Dakota Madison returns with another spicy sports romance. This story set in the world of college basketball.

Neuroscience student SEDONA MILLER is perfectly imperfect. She’s slightly nerdy and slightly eccentric, but completely brilliant.

When an unfortunate accident leaves Sedona with an injured arm and she’s fired from her part-time job shelving books at the university library she has to find a new gig fast.

The only job available mid-semester is working as a tutor for the athletic academic center. And the notorious bad boy of the university’s basketball team, JESSE WALKER, is the one and only guy on the new tutor’s roster.

But when SEDONA discovers a secret that could ruin the school’s winning basketball team doing the right thing could mean destroying the only guy she’s ever loved.

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excerpt

 

When I finally hit the last room in a long row of rooms I see a guy sitting there looking bored and staring at two fast food containers in front of him on the table.
He glances up at me when I enter. The first thing I notice is his piercing green eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that green on a human being that weren’t Photoshopped
The second thing I notice is his messy, light brown hair. It doesn’t look like it’s been combed it in a week. It makes me wonder if it’s some new hair trend or if he just doesn’t bother to style it. Not that I have too much room to talk when it comes to hair. My curly red mop has been the bane of my existence since I was a kid. About the only thing I can ever do with it is pull it back into a pony tail.
“Sedona?”
I nod.
“Have a seat.” He points to the chair right next to him.
I remember Lewis’s warning and take a seat across the table instead. I want to be as close to the door as possible. The guy is big and muscular and much more intimidating than I imagined he’d be.
My heart is thumping in my chest because his size and rough demeanor are making me nervous.
When he pushes one of the fast food containers in my direction I cringe. I rarely eat fast food and when I do it’s from Just Veggies, an organic vegetarian place near campus.
He doesn’t hesitate to open his container and take a bite of the messy burger that’s dripping some kind of white sauce all over his pile of fries.
My stomach turns in response.
“I bought you a burger.” He points to the second container he’s pushed in my direction. “Ambrose scheduled our sessions during lunch.”
I make a point of pushing the container back over to him. “No thank you.”
He frowns. “It’s from Frankie’s. Everybody loves Frankie’s burgers.”
“Clearly not everyone.”
His brows knit like he can’t believe I refused the food he bought.
“You don’t want it?” He actually sounds hurt.
“No, I don’t.”
“Why?”
I lift my book bag from the ground and point to one of the many political cause buttons I have covering the knitted tote my mom made for me.
He barely acknowledges it. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Now I’m the one who’s frowning. “Meat is murder. It’s a slogan. It means that I don’t eat animal flesh.”
“You’re one of those vegans?” He doesn’t bother hiding the condescension in his voice.
“Technically I’m a vegetarian. I eat free range, organic dairy products.”
“Fine. I’ll eat the burger.” He glares at me as he opens the second container and takes a huge bite of the burger.
I’m appalled until I notice that he slyly pushes both containers away and doesn’t take another bite of either burger.
“I guess I should have brought an apple for the teacher.”
“Only if it’s organic. And I’m not actually a teacher. I’m a tutor.”
We both stare at each other for a long moment. Awkward does not even begin to describe our pairing. We’re like two people from different planets trying to communicate when we don’t speak each other’s languages.
I remove a slip of paper from my bag. “Mr. Ambrose gave me your schedule of classes for the semester. You’re taking Film Appreciation, The History of Jazz, Advanced Yoga and Stress Management. What’s your major?”
He shrugs. “Undeclared right now. But I’ll probably go with Sports Management.”
“So these are Gen Ed classes?”
He cocks his head and looks confused.
“General Education classes,” I clarify. “Elective classes you need to take to fulfill requirements that aren’t directly related to your major.”
“I guess so.”
I’m a little disturbed by his lackadaisical attitude, but I let it go for the moment. We’re clearly not going to be able to develop much of a rapport so maybe it’s best just to get down to business.
“We’re just handed a class schedule,” he clarifies. “Assigned classes. We don’t pick them ourselves.”
“And they assigned you the History of Jazz? That’s the class that you’re having trouble with?”
“The dude who was supposed to teach the class croaked and they got this new chick who apparently doesn’t like basketball.”
There is so much wrong with his statement I don’t even know where to begin. “Might I suggest that you call your professors either professor or doctor and not chick.”
I bristle at my own use of the derogatory word, but I continue, “And what does her not liking basketball have to do with your performance in the class.”
At this he gives me a sly smile. “Let’s just say she’s not willing to play ball the way the other professors are.”
I’m not sure exactly what he means by that, but there seems to be some kind of sports reference that is lost on me.
“So you’re saying your other classes are going well and you’re just having trouble with the one class, History of Jazz?”
He leans back in his chair and eyes me for a few seconds before he nods. I don’t like when he looks at me like that. It’s like he’s examining some weird, new specimen and trying to make sense of it.
“All of my other teachers are huge basketball fans and they know I’m the in the starting lineup. I’m not sure what the jazz goddess’s problem is.”
I take in a deep breath before I say something that’s sure to get me fired. “Why don’t we start by calling her Dr. Fisher? I think that might help. And why do you think she has a problem?”
“She doesn’t like basketball. That’s not normal. Everybody loves basketball. This entire campus lives and breathes the sport.”
“I don’t love basketball. I don’t even like it. Not even a little bit.”
He actually looks stunned for a moment. Like I slapped him. Then he regains his cocky composure.
“You’re one weird chick,” he mutters almost to himself, but still loud enough that I can hear him.
“Excuse me?” I say even though I heard him. I just didn’t like having an insult hurled at me by someone I don’t even know.
“You. Are. One. Weird. Chick.” His words are slower and louder as if I didn’t hear him the first time.
“I actually heard what you said. I just didn’t like it.”
A smug smirk appears on his face that I would love to slap right off if I could.
I continue. “In case you haven’t noticed I’m not a bird I’m a human being. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to me as a chick.”
He bites his bottom lip as if he’s actually giving it some thought. Then he says, “You’re one weird woman. Is that better?”
“I’m not sure why you have to bring gender into the equation at all. Why not just call me a weird person?”
That makes him laugh. “You don’t care that I think you’re weird. You just don’t want me to call you a chick?”
“I’ve been weird my whole life. I’m used to it.”
“At least you’re willing to own it.”
“So did you bring your textbook with you or are you just going to spend the next ninety minutes taunting me?”
“I kind of like taunting you.”


soundtrack
giveaway
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about the author

clip_image012

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Karen Mueller Bryson writes romance novels under four pen names: Dakota Madison, Savannah Young, Sierra Avalon and Ren Monterrey. She lives in a small town outside of Phoenix, AZ with her husband and their bloodhounds.

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follow the tour

Tour Schedule – One Week Blog Tour for INTERFERENCE by Dakota Madison from February 23 – March 3, 2015.
February 23
3 Partners in Shopping, Nana, Mommy, & Sissy, Too! – Promo
Angels with Attitude Book Reviews – Promo, Book Soundtrack & Author Interview
Portals to New Worlds – Promo, Book Soundtrack & Top Ten
February 24
Cajun Book Lover – Promo
The Avid Reader – Promo,  Book Soundtrack & Author Interview
February 25
Rustys Reading – Promo
Booky Ramblings of a Neurotic Mom – Promo & Top Ten
Imagine a World – Promo & Review
February 26
Fictional Rendezvous Book Blog – Promo
The Idle Musings of a Writer’s Mind – Promo & Author Interview
February 27
Archaeolibrarian – I dig good books! – Promo
Room With Books – Promo & Book Soundtrack
Indy Book Fairy – Promo
A Little Bit of R&R  –  Promo & Book Soundtrack
March 2
Book Freak –Promo & Review
Books, Authors, Blogs – Promo
What Shall We Blog About Today? – Promo & Book Soundtrack
March 3
The Phantom Paragrapher –Promo & Review
Deal Sharing Aunt – Promo
Eclipse Reviews –  Promo, Book Soundtrack & Top Ten

Interference Blog Tour

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Presented by:
Sparkle Book Tours
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Interference
by Dakota Madison
 
Audience: New Adult
Genre: Sports Romance
Formats: E-book and Paperback
Publisher: Short on Time Books
Cover by: No Sweat Graphics
Editor: Shirley Pearson
Pages: 215 pages
ASIN: B00STMCY00
Date Published: February 9, 2015

blurb

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Dakota Madison returns with another spicy sports romance. This story set in the world of college basketball.

Neuroscience student SEDONA MILLER is perfectly imperfect. She’s slightly nerdy and slightly eccentric, but completely brilliant.

When an unfortunate accident leaves Sedona with an injured arm and she’s fired from her part-time job shelving books at the university library she has to find a new gig fast.

The only job available mid-semester is working as a tutor for the athletic academic center. And the notorious bad boy of the university’s basketball team, JESSE WALKER, is the one and only guy on the new tutor’s roster.

But when SEDONA discovers a secret that could ruin the school’s winning basketball team doing the right thing could mean destroying the only guy she’s ever loved.

book links
clip_image004clip_image006clip_image008clip_image010
excerpt

 

When I finally hit the last room in a long row of rooms I see a guy sitting there looking bored and staring at two fast food containers in front of him on the table.
He glances up at me when I enter. The first thing I notice is his piercing green eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that green on a human being that weren’t Photoshopped
The second thing I notice is his messy, light brown hair. It doesn’t look like it’s been combed it in a week. It makes me wonder if it’s some new hair trend or if he just doesn’t bother to style it. Not that I have too much room to talk when it comes to hair. My curly red mop has been the bane of my existence since I was a kid. About the only thing I can ever do with it is pull it back into a pony tail.
“Sedona?”
I nod.
“Have a seat.” He points to the chair right next to him.
I remember Lewis’s warning and take a seat across the table instead. I want to be as close to the door as possible. The guy is big and muscular and much more intimidating than I imagined he’d be.
My heart is thumping in my chest because his size and rough demeanor are making me nervous.
When he pushes one of the fast food containers in my direction I cringe. I rarely eat fast food and when I do it’s from Just Veggies, an organic vegetarian place near campus.
He doesn’t hesitate to open his container and take a bite of the messy burger that’s dripping some kind of white sauce all over his pile of fries.
My stomach turns in response.
“I bought you a burger.” He points to the second container he’s pushed in my direction. “Ambrose scheduled our sessions during lunch.”
I make a point of pushing the container back over to him. “No thank you.”
He frowns. “It’s from Frankie’s. Everybody loves Frankie’s burgers.”
“Clearly not everyone.”
His brows knit like he can’t believe I refused the food he bought.
“You don’t want it?” He actually sounds hurt.
“No, I don’t.”
“Why?”
I lift my book bag from the ground and point to one of the many political cause buttons I have covering the knitted tote my mom made for me.
He barely acknowledges it. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Now I’m the one who’s frowning. “Meat is murder. It’s a slogan. It means that I don’t eat animal flesh.”
“You’re one of those vegans?” He doesn’t bother hiding the condescension in his voice.
“Technically I’m a vegetarian. I eat free range, organic dairy products.”
“Fine. I’ll eat the burger.” He glares at me as he opens the second container and takes a huge bite of the burger.
I’m appalled until I notice that he slyly pushes both containers away and doesn’t take another bite of either burger.
“I guess I should have brought an apple for the teacher.”
“Only if it’s organic. And I’m not actually a teacher. I’m a tutor.”
We both stare at each other for a long moment. Awkward does not even begin to describe our pairing. We’re like two people from different planets trying to communicate when we don’t speak each other’s languages.
I remove a slip of paper from my bag. “Mr. Ambrose gave me your schedule of classes for the semester. You’re taking Film Appreciation, The History of Jazz, Advanced Yoga and Stress Management. What’s your major?”
He shrugs. “Undeclared right now. But I’ll probably go with Sports Management.”
“So these are Gen Ed classes?”
He cocks his head and looks confused.
“General Education classes,” I clarify. “Elective classes you need to take to fulfill requirements that aren’t directly related to your major.”
“I guess so.”
I’m a little disturbed by his lackadaisical attitude, but I let it go for the moment. We’re clearly not going to be able to develop much of a rapport so maybe it’s best just to get down to business.
“We’re just handed a class schedule,” he clarifies. “Assigned classes. We don’t pick them ourselves.”
“And they assigned you the History of Jazz? That’s the class that you’re having trouble with?”
“The dude who was supposed to teach the class croaked and they got this new chick who apparently doesn’t like basketball.”
There is so much wrong with his statement I don’t even know where to begin. “Might I suggest that you call your professors either professor or doctor and not chick.”
I bristle at my own use of the derogatory word, but I continue, “And what does her not liking basketball have to do with your performance in the class.”
At this he gives me a sly smile. “Let’s just say she’s not willing to play ball the way the other professors are.”
I’m not sure exactly what he means by that, but there seems to be some kind of sports reference that is lost on me.
“So you’re saying your other classes are going well and you’re just having trouble with the one class, History of Jazz?”
He leans back in his chair and eyes me for a few seconds before he nods. I don’t like when he looks at me like that. It’s like he’s examining some weird, new specimen and trying to make sense of it.
“All of my other teachers are huge basketball fans and they know I’m the in the starting lineup. I’m not sure what the jazz goddess’s problem is.”
I take in a deep breath before I say something that’s sure to get me fired. “Why don’t we start by calling her Dr. Fisher? I think that might help. And why do you think she has a problem?”
“She doesn’t like basketball. That’s not normal. Everybody loves basketball. This entire campus lives and breathes the sport.”
“I don’t love basketball. I don’t even like it. Not even a little bit.”
He actually looks stunned for a moment. Like I slapped him. Then he regains his cocky composure.
“You’re one weird chick,” he mutters almost to himself, but still loud enough that I can hear him.
“Excuse me?” I say even though I heard him. I just didn’t like having an insult hurled at me by someone I don’t even know.
“You. Are. One. Weird. Chick.” His words are slower and louder as if I didn’t hear him the first time.
“I actually heard what you said. I just didn’t like it.”
A smug smirk appears on his face that I would love to slap right off if I could.
I continue. “In case you haven’t noticed I’m not a bird I’m a human being. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to me as a chick.”
He bites his bottom lip as if he’s actually giving it some thought. Then he says, “You’re one weird woman. Is that better?”
“I’m not sure why you have to bring gender into the equation at all. Why not just call me a weird person?”
That makes him laugh. “You don’t care that I think you’re weird. You just don’t want me to call you a chick?”
“I’ve been weird my whole life. I’m used to it.”
“At least you’re willing to own it.”
“So did you bring your textbook with you or are you just going to spend the next ninety minutes taunting me?”
“I kind of like taunting you.”


soundtrack
giveaway
a Rafflecopter giveaway
about the author

clip_image012

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Karen Mueller Bryson writes romance novels under four pen names: Dakota Madison, Savannah Young, Sierra Avalon and Ren Monterrey. She lives in a small town outside of Phoenix, AZ with her husband and their bloodhounds.

media links
clip_image014clip_image016clip_image018clip_image019clip_image020clip_image022

follow the tour

INTERFERENCE
by Dakota Madison
February 23
3 Partners in Shopping, Nana, Mommy, & Sissy, Too! – Promo
Angels with Attitude Book Reviews – Promo, Book Soundtrack & Author Interview
Portals to New Worlds – Promo, Book Soundtrack & Top Ten
February 24
Cajun Book Lover – Promo
The Avid Reader – Promo,  Book Soundtrack & Author Interview
February 25
Rustys Reading – Promo
Booky Ramblings of a Neurotic Mom – Promo & Top Ten
Imagine a World – Promo & Review
February 26
Fictional Rendezvous Book Blog – Promo
The Idle Musings of a Writer’s Mind – Promo & Author Interview
February 27
Archaeolibrarian – I dig good books! – Promo
Room With Books – Promo & Book Soundtrack
Indy Book Fairy – Promo
A Little Bit of R&R  –  Promo & Book Soundtrack
March 2
Book Freak –Promo & Review
Books, Authors, Blogs – Promo
What Shall We Blog About Today? – Promo & Book Soundtrack
March 3
The Phantom Paragrapher –Promo & Review
Deal Sharing Aunt – Promo
Eclipse Reviews –  Promo, Book Soundtrack & Top Ten

Finding Fisher Cover Reveal

 

Finding Fisher

by Dakota Madison

Finding Fisher Cover

Genre: New Adult Romance
Release Date: March 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Book Blurb

Franklin Smith was the perfect fiancé. He was at the top of our class at Stanford and had been recently accepted to Harvard Law. But Spring Break our senior year of college changed everything. He went back home to New Jersey and never returned. At his funeral I discovered a guy I never knew. His secret past. And a twin brother, Fisher, I didn’t know existed.

Author’s Note: This book is dedicated to cover model, Joshua Scott Nicholson (August 30, 1990 – December 12, 2014). A portion of the profits from the sale of this book will be donated in Josh’s memory to Joining Hearts, Inc., a 501 (c)(3), all-volunteer, non-profit organization dedicated to providing housing support to people living with HIV and AIDS in Atlanta. Cover Photographer Eric McKinney of 6:12 Photography will also donating a portion of his profits to Joining Hearts in Josh’s memory.

Teaser

Finding Fisher Teaser

Meet the Author

DAKOTA MADISON is a USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR. She has been writing since she learned to read and fell in love with books. When she’s not at her computer creating spicy new romances, Dakota is traveling to exotic locales or spending time with her husband and their bloodhounds. DAKOTA also writes romance under the pen names: Savannah Young, Sierra Avalon and Ren Monterrey.

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Interference Book Blitz

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Interference

by Dakota Madison

INTERFERENCE

Genre: New Adult Sports Romance
Release Date: January 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

Goodreads Button with Shadow

About the Book

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Dakota Madison returns with another spicy sports romance. This story set in the world of college basketball.

Neuroscience student SEDONA MILLER is perfectly imperfect. She’s slightly nerdy and slightly eccentric, but completely brilliant.

When an unfortunate accident leaves Sedona with an injured arm and she’s fired from her part-time job shelving books at the university library she has to find a new gig fast.

The only job available mid-semester is working as a tutor for the athletic academic center. And the notorious bad boy of the university’s basketball team, JESSE WALKER, is the one and only guy on the new tutor’s roster

But when SEDONA discovers a secret that could ruin the school’s winning basketball team doing the right thing could mean destroying the only guy she’s ever loved.

Excerpt

When I finally hit the last room in a long row of rooms I see a guy sitting there looking bored and staring at two fast food containers in front of him on the table.

He glances up at me when I enter. The first thing I notice is his piercing green eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that green on a human being that weren’t Photoshopped

The second thing I notice is his messy, light brown hair. It doesn’t look like it’s been combed it in a week. It makes me wonder if it’s some new hair trend or if he just doesn’t bother to style it. Not that I have too much room to talk when it comes to hair. My curly red mop has been the bane of my existence since I was a kid. About the only thing I can ever do with it is pull it back into a pony tail.

“Sedona?”

I nod.

“Have a seat.” He points to the chair right next to him.

I remember Lewis’s warning and take a seat across the table instead. I want to be as close to the door as possible. The guy is big and muscular and much more intimidating than I imagined he’d be.

My heart is thumping in my chest because his size and rough demeanor are making me nervous.

When he pushes one of the fast food containers in my direction I cringe. I rarely eat fast food and when I do it’s from Just Veggies, an organic vegetarian place near campus.

He doesn’t hesitate to open his container and take a bite of the messy burger that’s dripping some kind of white sauce all over his pile of fries.

My stomach turns in response.

“I bought you a burger.” He points to the second container he’s pushed in my direction. “Ambrose scheduled our sessions during lunch.”

I make a point of pushing the container back over to him. “No thank you.”

He frowns. “It’s from Frankie’s. Everybody loves Frankie’s burgers.”

“Clearly not everyone.”

His brows knit like he can’t believe I refused the food he bought.

“You don’t want it?” He actually sounds hurt.

“No, I don’t.”

“Why?”

I lift my book bag from the ground and point to one of the many political cause buttons I have covering the knitted tote my mom made for me.

He barely acknowledges it. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Now I’m the one who’s frowning. “Meat is murder. It’s a slogan. It means that I don’t eat animal flesh.”

“You’re one of those vegans?” He doesn’t bother hiding the condescension in his voice.

“Technically I’m a vegetarian. I eat free range, organic dairy products.”

“Fine. I’ll eat the burger.” He glares at me as he opens the second container and takes a huge bite of the burger.

I’m appalled until I notice that he slyly pushes both containers away and doesn’t take another bite of either burger.

“I guess I should have brought an apple for the teacher.”

“Only if it’s organic. And I’m not actually a teacher. I’m a tutor.”

We both stare at each other for a long moment. Awkward does not even begin to describe our pairing. We’re like two people from different planets trying to communicate when we don’t speak each other’s languages.

I remove a slip of paper from my bag. “Mr. Ambrose gave me your schedule of classes for the semester. You’re taking Film Appreciation, The History of Jazz, Advanced Yoga and Stress Management. What’s your major?”

He shrugs. “Undeclared right now. But I’ll probably go with Sports Management.”

“So these are Gen Ed classes?”

He cocks his head and looks confused.

“General Education classes,” I clarify. “Elective classes you need to take to fulfill requirements that aren’t directly related to your major.”

“I guess so.”

I’m a little disturbed by his lackadaisical attitude, but I let it go for the moment. We’re clearly not going to be able to develop much of a rapport so maybe it’s best just to get down to business.

“We’re just handed a class schedule,” he clarifies. “Assigned classes. We don’t pick them ourselves.”

“And they assigned you the History of Jazz? That’s the class that you’re having trouble with?”

“The dude who was supposed to teach the class croaked and they got this new chick who apparently doesn’t like basketball.”

There is so much wrong with his statement I don’t even know where to begin. “Might I suggest that you call your professors either professor or doctor and not chick.”

I bristle at my own use of the derogatory word, but I continue, “And what does her not liking basketball have to do with your performance in the class.”

At this he gives me a sly smile. “Let’s just say she’s not willing to play ball the way the other professors are.”

I’m not sure exactly what he means by that, but there seems to be some kind of sports reference that is lost on me.

“So you’re saying your other classes are going well and you’re just having trouble with the one class, History of Jazz?”

He leans back in his chair and eyes me for a few seconds before he nods. I don’t like when he looks at me like that. It’s like he’s examining some weird, new specimen and trying to make sense of it.

“All of my other teachers are huge basketball fans and they know I’m the in the starting lineup. I’m not sure what the jazz goddess’s problem is.”
I take in a deep breath before I say something that’s sure to get me fired. “Why don’t we start by calling her Dr. Fisher? I think that might help. And why do you think she has a problem?”

“She doesn’t like basketball. That’s not normal. Everybody loves basketball. This entire campus lives and breathes the sport.”

“I don’t love basketball. I don’t even like it. Not even a little bit.”

He actually looks stunned for a moment. Like I slapped him. Then he regains his cocky composure.

“You’re one weird chick,” he mutters almost to himself, but still loud enough that I can hear him.

“Excuse me?” I say even though I heard him. I just didn’t like having an insult hurled at me by someone I don’t even know.

“You.Are.One.Weird.Chick.” His words are slower and louder as if I didn’t hear him the first time.

“I actually heard what you said. I just didn’t like it.”

A smug smirk appears on his face that I would love to slap right off if I could.

I continue. “In case you haven’t noticed I’m not a bird I’m a human being. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to me as a chick.”

He bites his bottom lip as if he’s actually giving it some thought. Then he says, “You’re one weird woman. Is that better?”

“I’m not sure why you have to bring gender into the equation at all. Why not just call me a weird person?”

That makes him laugh. “You don’t care that I think you’re weird. You just don’t want me to call you a chick?”

“I’ve been weird my whole life. I’m used to it.”

“At least you’re willing to own it.”

“So did you bring your textbook with you or are you just going to spend the next ninety minutes taunting me?”

“I kind of like taunting you.”

About the Author

DAKOTA MADISON is a USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR. She has been writing since she learned to read and fell in love with books. When she’s not at her computer creating spicy new romances, Dakota is traveling to exotic locales or spending time with her husband and their bloodhounds. DAKOTA also writes romance under the pen names: Savannah Young, Sierra Avalon and Ren Monterrey.

Social Media Links

twitterFacebooktumblrpinterestGoodreads

Purchase Links

INTERFERENCE

amazon usamazon UKamazon canadaB&Nsmashwordskobo

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted By

BEPRectangle

Interference Cover Reveal

 

Interference

by Dakota Madison

INTERFERENCE

Genre: New Adult Sports Romance
Release Date: January 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

Goodreads Button with Shadow

About the Book

USA TODAY Bestselling Author Dakota Madison returns with another spicy sports romance. This story set in the world of college basketball.

Neuroscience student SEDONA MILLER is perfectly imperfect. She’s slightly nerdy and slightly eccentric, but completely brilliant.

When an unfortunate accident leaves Sedona with an injured arm and she’s fired from her part-time job shelving books at the university library she has to find a new gig fast.

The only job available mid-semester is working as a tutor for the athletic academic center. And the notorious bad boy of the university’s basketball team, JESSE WALKER, is the one and only guy on the new tutor’s roster

But when SEDONA discovers a secret that could ruin the school’s winning basketball team doing the right thing could mean destroying the only guy she’s ever loved.

Excerpt

When I finally hit the last room in a long row of rooms I see a guy sitting there looking bored and staring at two fast food containers in front of him on the table.

He glances up at me when I enter. The first thing I notice is his piercing green eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes that green on a human being that weren’t Photoshopped

The second thing I notice is his messy, light brown hair. It doesn’t look like it’s been combed it in a week. It makes me wonder if it’s some new hair trend or if he just doesn’t bother to style it. Not that I have too much room to talk when it comes to hair. My curly red mop has been the bane of my existence since I was a kid. About the only thing I can ever do with it is pull it back into a pony tail.

“Sedona?”

I nod.

“Have a seat.” He points to the chair right next to him.

I remember Lewis’s warning and take a seat across the table instead. I want to be as close to the door as possible. The guy is big and muscular and much more intimidating than I imagined he’d be.

My heart is thumping in my chest because his size and rough demeanor are making me nervous.

When he pushes one of the fast food containers in my direction I cringe. I rarely eat fast food and when I do it’s from Just Veggies, an organic vegetarian place near campus.

He doesn’t hesitate to open his container and take a bite of the messy burger that’s dripping some kind of white sauce all over his pile of fries.

My stomach turns in response.

“I bought you a burger.” He points to the second container he’s pushed in my direction. “Ambrose scheduled our sessions during lunch.”

I make a point of pushing the container back over to him. “No thank you.”

He frowns. “It’s from Frankie’s. Everybody loves Frankie’s burgers.”

“Clearly not everyone.”

His brows knit like he can’t believe I refused the food he bought.

“You don’t want it?” He actually sounds hurt.

“No, I don’t.”

“Why?”

I lift my book bag from the ground and point to one of the many political cause buttons I have covering the knitted tote my mom made for me.

He barely acknowledges it. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Now I’m the one who’s frowning. “Meat is murder. It’s a slogan. It means that I don’t eat animal flesh.”

“You’re one of those vegans?” He doesn’t bother hiding the condescension in his voice.

“Technically I’m a vegetarian. I eat free range, organic dairy products.”

“Fine. I’ll eat the burger.” He glares at me as he opens the second container and takes a huge bite of the burger.

I’m appalled until I notice that he slyly pushes both containers away and doesn’t take another bite of either burger.

“I guess I should have brought an apple for the teacher.”

“Only if it’s organic. And I’m not actually a teacher. I’m a tutor.”

We both stare at each other for a long moment. Awkward does not even begin to describe our pairing. We’re like two people from different planets trying to communicate when we don’t speak each other’s languages.

I remove a slip of paper from my bag. “Mr. Ambrose gave me your schedule of classes for the semester. You’re taking Film Appreciation, The History of Jazz, Advanced Yoga and Stress Management. What’s your major?”

He shrugs. “Undeclared right now. But I’ll probably go with Sports Management.”

“So these are Gen Ed classes?”

He cocks his head and looks confused.

“General Education classes,” I clarify. “Elective classes you need to take to fulfill requirements that aren’t directly related to your major.”

“I guess so.”

I’m a little disturbed by his lackadaisical attitude, but I let it go for the moment. We’re clearly not going to be able to develop much of a rapport so maybe it’s best just to get down to business.

“We’re just handed a class schedule,” he clarifies. “Assigned classes. We don’t pick them ourselves.”

“And they assigned you the History of Jazz? That’s the class that you’re having trouble with?”

“The dude who was supposed to teach the class croaked and they got this new chick who apparently doesn’t like basketball.”

There is so much wrong with his statement I don’t even know where to begin. “Might I suggest that you call your professors either professor or doctor and not chick.”

I bristle at my own use of the derogatory word, but I continue, “And what does her not liking basketball have to do with your performance in the class.”

At this he gives me a sly smile. “Let’s just say she’s not willing to play ball the way the other professors are.”

I’m not sure exactly what he means by that, but there seems to be some kind of sports reference that is lost on me.

“So you’re saying your other classes are going well and you’re just having trouble with the one class, History of Jazz?”

He leans back in his chair and eyes me for a few seconds before he nods. I don’t like when he looks at me like that. It’s like he’s examining some weird, new specimen and trying to make sense of it.

“All of my other teachers are huge basketball fans and they know I’m the in the starting lineup. I’m not sure what the jazz goddess’s problem is.”

I take in a deep breath before I say something that’s sure to get me fired. “Why don’t we start by calling her Dr. Fisher? I think that might help. And why do you think she has a problem?”

“She doesn’t like basketball. That’s not normal. Everybody loves basketball. This entire campus lives and breathes the sport.”

“I don’t love basketball. I don’t even like it. Not even a little bit.”

He actually looks stunned for a moment. Like I slapped him. Then he regains his cocky composure.

“You’re one weird chick,” he mutters almost to himself, but still loud enough that I can hear him.

“Excuse me?” I say even though I heard him. I just didn’t like having an insult hurled at me by someone I don’t even know.

“You.Are.One.Weird.Chick.” His words are slower and louder as if I didn’t hear him the first time.

“I actually heard what you said. I just didn’t like it.”

A smug smirk appears on his face that I would love to slap right off if I could.

I continue. “In case you haven’t noticed I’m not a bird I’m a human being. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to me as a chick.”

He bites his bottom lip as if he’s actually giving it some thought. Then he says, “You’re one weird woman. Is that better?”

“I’m not sure why you have to bring gender into the equation at all. Why not just call me a weird person?”

That makes him laugh. “You don’t care that I think you’re weird. You just don’t want me to call you a chick?”

“I’ve been weird my whole life. I’m used to it.”

“At least you’re willing to own it.”

“So did you bring your textbook with you or are you just going to spend the next ninety minutes taunting me?”

“I kind of like taunting you.”

About the Author

DAKOTA MADISON is a USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR. She has been writing since she learned to read and fell in love with books. When she’s not at her computer creating spicy new romances, Dakota is traveling to exotic locales or spending time with her husband and their bloodhounds. DAKOTA also writes romance under the pen names: Savannah Young, Sierra Avalon and Ren Monterrey.

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