Let the battle of the sexes begin! WELL ENDOWED by @TinaDonahue #RomCom #PNR #Dominance

Ever wonder what it would be like to have your own jinn? Great, huh? The wishes. The riches. The problems.

Yep. That's what Cari faces when she inherits Jez. As an alpha jinn, he refuses to serve anyone but a man. As far as he's concerned, she's shit out of luck.

Hmm. She believes otherwise and shows him just who has the upper hand.

Let the battle of the sexes begin...

Buy Link

https://www.extasybooks.com/product/product/?product_id=6470

Blurb

Where there’s a will, there’s wicked fun… 

Drowning in bad luck, Cari doesn’t know where to turn when the unexpected happens. A loyal customer at her Key West café has left her an inheritance. She hopes for cash to save her restaurant but receives an old brass bottle that looks like a sex toy…and has Jez inside. 

At six-four, he’s built like a gladiator, has looks to die for, and oozes sexuality. He’s also a jinn. 

Color her enthralled and excited. Besides being one hot dude, he grants wishes, right? 

Not for her. Ironclad tradition demands he serve men, not women. Of course, if she wants to get down and dirty with him, he’ll gladly oblige. 

Let the battle of the sexes begin. Before long, their differences fall away as they indulge in every lusty desire, while falling hard and fast. Ah, paradise. Until trouble arrives, threatening to pull them apart forever…

Excerpt

She couldn’t wait a second longer and twisted the knob to open the container.

The top didn’t budge.

She tried repeatedly until she was breathless and sweating.

The fucking thing wouldn’t turn. The nicks and dents she’d noticed earlier proved to be pry marks around the top that resembled the crown on a man’s cock.

“Crap.” She wasn’t equipped to break this thing or saw it open.

After searching her kitchen for something to use, she settled on rubber gloves to add traction to her grip. With her thighs holding the bottle, she wrenched the top as hard as her strength allowed.

The knob not only loosened, but flew off—similar to a cork on a champagne bottle—and hit her wall, denting the plaster.

There goes my security deposit.

Hold on.

By itself, the bottle trembled between her thighs, the metal growing warmer. Not an unpleasant feeling, but fucking weird. 

Appalled, she flung the container on her table.

It thudded dully against her purse and shook violently.

“Shit, shit, shit!” The damn thing was going to blow. Her spicy, rich cooking must have pushed Ethyl into an earlier grave than she wanted, and this was payback. Terrified, Cari dropped to her knees, desperate to crawl to the door and outside. Frozen in horror, she hunkered behind a chair for protection.

Thunder roared.

Gold-and-black smoke poured from the bottle.

I’m going to die.

Hard rain struck the windows, but they didn’t blow out from an explosion.

Rather than the smoke rising to the ceiling, it curled in a slow spiral then drifted away from the table to her side.

Shuddering, she crab-walked away from it.

The smoke followed and took form.

Feet appeared first, at least a size fifteen, the toes well-formed and long. Muscular calves and thighs materialized next, dark hairs hugging them, the complexion olive.

She stopped edging back and leaned forward instead.

Upper thighs and narrow hips emerged, a startling-white fabric tied around the groin area, the ends hiding the good stuff. Not a loincloth exactly, more like a scarf exposing a rock-hard ass. 

The abs and chest were no different, each sculpted, the small nipples a dark brown shade, similar in color to refried beans. The pecs quivered on each new breath. However, there was no navel.

This can’t be happening.

She raised her face.

The smoke broke apart, floated to the ceiling, and disappeared.

Leaving a thirty-something man standing before her.

He opened his lushly lashed eyes.

Her breath caught. His irises were closer to gold than hazel, his shoulder-length brown hair thick and wavy, stubble outrageously sexy, mouth sensuous, one dark eyebrow arched at her.

He planted his hands on his lean hips.

Holy fuck. A gladiator couldn’t have owned more muscles, though they weren’t overdone like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s, but totally male.

Her pussy creamed.

An odd reaction since this couldn’t be real.

When the knob flew off the bottle, it must have ricocheted off the wall and hit her head, causing her to hallucinate this, or rather, him.

Only one way to find out. She grabbed his calf. Its brawn and heat made her ears buzz.

Grinning lewdly, he flexed his muscles and pressed into her touch.

This was no dream. She snatched back her hand. “Who-who-who-who—” She shivered so badly, she couldn’t speak, but had to. “Who are you? What are you?”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He lifted his chin. “You, a mere woman, dare to question or demand anything from me?”

“Huh?” Not liking his sexist attitude, she scrambled to her feet. At five-seven, she couldn’t match his height. By her guestimate, he topped out at six-four and was the most perfect man she’d ever seen, except for his patronizing gaze. Precisely what she didn’t need. “Again, who or what are you? This is my place. My kitchen. Not yours. Answer me.”

“I answer only to my master. Go on.” He gestured her away as Antonini had. “Fetch the man in charge.”

As if. Before she could slug him, he pivoted and regarded her kitchen warily, as a one-percenter would, seeing only how small and simple it was.

She couldn’t have cared less if he found her digs lacking.

He next focused on her buñuelos.

If he gave them a pissy look or said one unkind thing about her cooking, he wasn’t long for this world, even if she didn’t know how to off him.

Bent at the waist, he sniffed the treats and licked his lips.

Growling sounded.

His stomach?

Holding one buñuelo between his thumb and forefinger, he examined the fried dough carefully, licked the contours, then popped the treat into his mouth. As he chewed, his lids slid down and he moaned the way guys do during orgasms.

About Tina

 

Tina is an Amazon and international bestselling novelist who writes romance for every taste – ‘heat with heart’ – for traditional publishers and indie. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. Three of her erotic novels were Readers' Choice Award winners. Another three were named finalists in the EPIC competition. One of her erotic contemporary romances was chosen Book of the Year at the French review site Blue Moon reviews. The Golden Nib Award at Miz Love Loves Books was created specifically for one of her erotic romances. Two of her titles received an Award of Merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competition. Another two won second place in the NEC RWA contest (different years). Tina is featured in the Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Before penning romances, she worked at a major Hollywood production company in Story Direction.

Website  –  FB  – FB Fanpage  – Twitter  –  Amazon Author Page – BookBub - Instagram

A wildly creative urban fantasy by @Cristelle Comby -- #Review #Giveaway #Detective

Blurb

There’s “hard to kill”—and then there’s Bellamy Vale.

After narrowly preventing the destruction of Cold City, PI Bellamy Vale needs a rest. Or rather, he needs a plain and simple vanilla case—no monsters or otherworldly creatures involved! When foreign businessman Eli Smith shows up at his doorstep with a thick wallet and a request to find his missing sister, Vale doesn’t think twice before agreeing. If he’d known body-hopping demons and smoke monsters came attached to this job, however, he might have.

Review by Lisabet Sarai

Private investigator Bellamy Vale is a man who knows too much – specifically too much about the dark supernatural forces that exist in parallel with our ordinary world, and which occasionally spill over the boundaries into the light of day. He has just finished mopping up after an apocalyptic rift in the fabric of reality that released incalculable evil – and incidentally leveled the entire downtown area of Cold City in the process. Now all that Bell wants is a shower to wash off the ectoplasmic goo, two aspirin for his painful bruises, and some sleep.

Instead he gets a new client, a cadaverous gentleman with an unusually acute sense of smell who wants Bell’s help to find his missing sister. The PI is pretty sure there’s something weird about this guy, but the client has cold cash, and his story stirs Bell’s sympathy. As the two pursue the slender leads they have available, Bellamy learns that Eli Smith and his sister Sarit are both djinn, and that the hot shot fashion designer who has kidnapped her is the vessel for an ifrit, an ageless evil being whom the djinn have been battling for eons.

This is definitely not what Bell signed on for, but what can he do? It’s his destiny to fight creatures of darkness – and to hide the fact that such creatures exist from the mortals around him, including his girlfriend, Police Sergeant Melanie Ramirez.

Evil Embers is a lively, surprising urban fantasy with an engaging hero. I really appreciated Cristelle Comby’s creativity. She brings all sorts of supernatural elements into the mix: Middle Eastern demons, Greek gods, Cherokee shamans, ghosts, poltergeist, zombies... honestly, you never know what you’re going to run into in Cold City!

Superficially Vale is modeled after the classic cynical and hard-boiled PI of noir detective novels, but in fact he’s got a soft heart and a strong moral compass. He hates the fact that he has to lie to his girlfriend. He hates even more the way this destroys his relationship. However, he has no choice For one thing, his soul is more or less owned by Lady Death, who has promised him he won’t die as long as he does her errands. This enigmatic femme fatale (quite literally!) only shows up twice in the book, but those were my favorite scenes. I also greatly enjoyed the character of Zian, the computer whiz who’s the estranged son of Hermes, Messenger of the Gods.

I had two complaints about the book. First, I had a hard time following the (many) fight scenes. Maybe I wasn’t paying close enough attention, or maybe they weren’t described clearly, but I found myself becoming confused.

Second, the book needed better editing. I noted multiple grammar errors (mostly related to verb tense) as well as some incorrect word usage. It’s possible these problems might not catch the attention of the average reader, but since I’m also an editor, I couldn’t help but notice.

Neither of these issues spoiled what was for the most part a very entertaining read. If you like magic in myriad forms, you’ll likely enjoy Evil Embers.

Excerpt

So what if it was mid-February? The way I was feeling that morning, I planned to sleep until New Year came around again. Hells, as far as I was concerned, I earned it ten times over. I put an end to a string of gruesome killings, prevented the apocalypse our former mayor intended for us, and I’d stuck around long enough to clean up the mess she and her minions left behind. All that thinking took out the last bit of energy I had. I closed my eyes, found a way to lie down that didn’t hurt too much, and let sleep throw its soothing blanket over me.

And then someone knocked at the door.

I groaned at the wrong timing but kept my eyes shut. There was no way in Tartarus that I was getting back up again so soon. Whoever it was could get lost.

The knocking came again.

It was more insistent this time. I could hear a sense of urgency to the motion. I forced one eye open and frowned. The sunlight streaming in from the window was too bright for it to be morning and the angle it bounced off the floorboards was all wrong. I opened my second eye and glanced at the clock on the bedside table…Three in the afternoon.

“The hells?” I muttered, wondering where the day went while I shook my head to clear out the cobwebs.

The knock came a third time and I got up, grumbling all the way to the door. I didn’t bother to put clothes on or to tidy myself up before opening it. I was clad only in an old pair of sweatpants with a variety of cuts, bruises, and bandages on full display throughout my upper body. I hadn’t shaved in a week, and I was sure my hair was a sweaty mess of brown locks and dried blood.

Who knows, I thought, maybe the sight of me will convince my uninvited guest to let me get back to my coma.

If the man in the hallway took notice of my state, he didn’t let it show. He was tall and sickly thin under his rumbled three-piece suit. His pale skin provided some severe contrast with the purple bags under his brown eyes. He was somewhere between forty and forty-five. His angular face wasn’t familiar, and my frown deepened.

He looked like a potential client, the I-want-to-know-who- my-wife-is-banging type, but they rarely showed up to my private address unannounced. I made a lot of enemies in my professional career, not all of them on this side of the border, so my business card only listed my cell number.

The suit he wore appeared brand new, but I frowned more as I realized something didn’t add up. I was no fashion expert, but the matching of colors between the vest and shirt was off, brownish orange shirt covered by a purple jacket. Oh, and he wore a tie that matched his jacket…ugh. The light brown shoes were also at odds with the indigo blue pants. And there was the smell on the guy. It wasn’t a garbage smell—I’d been around enough of that over the last month to know it at first whiff—but there was a smoky quality about it that stood out.

I filed the information away for later and looked the man squarely in the eye. “What?” I croaked, my tongue feeling too thick and my mouth too dry.

“Bellamy Vale?” he asked, with an accent that wasn’t from around here…Middle Eastern, maybe?

I jerked my thumb at the bell next to the door. It had my name on it.

The man peered down at it perplexed, then pressed the round button. A shrill ringing shot out of the tiny plastic box above the door, and the sound sent sharp needles dancing through my brain. I winced in pain.

“Yeah—yeah, that’s me.” I rushed the words out, eager to make the noise stop. Damn, but my head was killing me. My odd gentleman caller took his finger off the button to look at me again.

“I need your help,” he said, “to find my sister.”

I needed help too, preferably in the form of another round of painkillers. But that was going to have to wait. I waved my potential new client inside.

About the Author

Cristelle Comby was born and raised in the French-speaking area of Switzerland, on the shores of Lake Geneva, where she still resides.

She attributes to her origins her ever-peaceful nature and her undying love for chocolate. She has a passion for art, which also includes an interest in drawing and acting.

She is the author of the Neve & Egan Cases series, which features an unlikely duo of private detectives in London: Ashford Egan, a blind History professor, and Alexandra Neve, one of his students.

Currently, she is hard at work on her Urban Fantasy series Vale Investigation which chronicles the exploits of Death’s only envoy on Earth, PI Bellamy Vale, in the fictitious town of Cold City, USA.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/cristelle

Website: www.cristelle-comby.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/CristelleComby

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Evil-Embers-Vale-Investigation-Book-ebook/dp/B07MD2Z7ZV/

Cristelle Comby will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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