About the Book: Truth is more dangerous than fiction…in this exhilarating upper YA fantasy that will capture fans of Shadow and Bone and Dark Water Daughter In ancient times, the Elder Wrights breathed their magic into the fabric of the seven seas. Now what was once an ocean of plenty is slowly becoming a sea of death, and the Talin—a race of hidden mages—are beginning to starve. And for the first time ever, one of their own has no magic. Ostracized by her own people, Nieve is certain that the old stories hide a missing piece of the puzzle. It’s just a matter of unlocking the secret. But when a stranger comes sailing into their harbor, Nieve’s world is suddenly blown wide open. Now she’s sailing on the seven seas—with a too-charming, swashbuckling pirate, a group of strange misfits, and a woman who claims to be one of the Elder Wrights. It’s like Nieve is living one of the stories she’s always loved…only now, she’s weaving a legend of her own. Except that the ol...
THE HUNT
Monica James
THE HUNT
Order Now:
Kindle: bit.ly/TheHuntKindle
Amazon Paperback: bit.ly/TheHuntAmazon
iBooks: bit.ly/TheHuntiBooks
Nook: bit.ly/TheHuntNook
Kobo: bit.ly/TheHuntKobo
Kindle: bit.ly/TheHuntKindle
Amazon Paperback: bit.ly/TheHuntAmazon
iBooks: bit.ly/TheHuntiBooks
Nook: bit.ly/TheHuntNook
Kobo: bit.ly/TheHuntKobo
Series: A Hard Love Romance
Genre: Rom-Com, Erotica
Release Date: October 30th 2017
BLURB:
My name is Hunter O’Shea and I have a confession to make…I’ve met a girl who consumes me. I know that makes me sound completely whipped, but Mary “Lamb” Mitts has the power to bring me to my knees…it’s just too bad she hates my guts. But that’s okay, because I hate hers, too. The fiery redhead stirs something in me that I can’t explain.
This temporary insanity could be due to the fact my best friend, who used to be a bigger player than me, is getting married. That must be it. I’m caught up in an Oprah moment.
The only solution is to get back in the game and forget she exists. That theory is great—too bad I don’t want anyone else.
I…just…want…her.
I’m so screwed.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Monica James spent her youth devouring the works of Anne Rice, William Shakespeare, and Emily Dickinson.
When she is not writing, Monica is busy running her own business, but she always finds a balance between the two. She enjoys writing honest, heartfelt, and turbulent stories, hoping to leave an imprint on her readers. She draws her inspiration from life.
She is a bestselling author in the U.S., Australia, Canada, France, Germany, Israel, and the U.K.
Monica James resides in Melbourne, Australia, with her wonderful family, and menagerie of animals. She is slightly obsessed with cats, chucks, and lip gloss, and secretly wishes she was a ninja on the weekends.
AUTHOR LINKS:
Facebook: facebook.com/authormonicajames
Twitter: twitter.com/monicajames81
Goodreads: goodreads.com/MonicaJames
Instagram: @MonicaJames
Website: monicajamesbooks.blogspot.com.au
Pinterest: pinterest.com/monicajames81
EXCERPT:
Something is happening and I have no idea what. Mary’s eyes drop to my lips before she uneasily licks hers. Her flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, and heavy breathing all point to one thing—but that’s not possible. This woman hates me, all delicious, lithe five-foot-four of her wants me dead.
So why is she not slapping my cheeks and calling me a dirty manwhore when I inch closer to her lips? And why am I not slamming on the brakes because I don’t kiss—ever, but that rule seems to be obsolete when the supplest pair of lips are a hairs breadth away?
I’m rolling in her perfume. Slathering it all over my body and inhaling it like a new drug. She is all goddess, and if I don’t touch her, I’m going to explode.
Placing my palm to her cheek, we both moan at the contact, and when she parts those lips, I’m as good as gone. “Hunter, wh-what are you doing?”
My name has never sounded sweeter. “Shortcake, I don’t know…you tell me.” The ball is in her court. I’m liquefying and my brain turned to mush about fifteen minutes ago, so I’m in no state to be the one calling the shots.
“I…I…” she fumbles, never breaking eye contact.
“You what?” I ask, tugging at the lobe of her ear, before tracing my pointer down her throat. Her pulse is hammering, a sure sign she’s about to either surrender, or flee.
“I…oh god,” she whimpers, biting her lip when I work my finger back up and paint over her jawline in a slow sweep.
“You have three seconds…three seconds to stop me before I part those lips with my tongue, and I won’t be gentle about it.”
