★ Blog Tour ★ HOUSE OF THE HANGING JADE by Amy M. Reade — Guest Post + Excerpt + Giveaway!

We're happy to share the upcoming release of HOUSE OF THE HANGING JADE with a special guest post by bestselling author Amy M. Reade! (Organized by Tasty Book Tours)

*Don't miss the exclusive excerpt and special giveaway featured below!

by Amy M. Reade
Release Date: April 26, 2016
Publisher: Lyrical Press


Tired of the cold winters in Washington, D.C. and disturbed by her increasingly obsessive boyfriend, Kailani Kanaka savors her move back to her native Big Island of Hawaii. She also finds a new job as personal chef for the Jorgensen family. 

The gentle caress of the Hawaiian trade winds, the soft sigh of the swaying palm trees, and the stunning blue waters of the Pacific lull her into a sense of calm at the House of Hanging Jade--an idyll that quickly fades as it becomes apparent that dark secrets lurk within her new home. 

Furtive whispers in the night, a terrifying shark attack, and the discovery of a dead body leave Kailani shaken and afraid. But it's the unexpected appearance of her ex-boyfriend, tracking her every move and demanding she return to him, that has her fearing for her life . . .


by Amy M. Reade

A Thrilling and Glamorous Day in the Life of an Author…try not to be jealous

I don’t know how J.K. Rowling spends her days, but I have to assume her schedule is a bit different from mine. I spend my days more like most of the authors whose books you see in the stores and on the library bookshelves and online…in a frenzy of work and household responsibilities that leaves little time for things like exercise, eating, and on the really hectic days, getting a shower. 
A typical day for me starts at 5:30 a.m., when I get up and make breakfast for my husband. He eats it in the car on his way to work. Three days a week I also make him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which he takes with him for lunch. Then it’s time to get my three kids off to school. During those 110 minutes, you’ll hear things like, “I told you a thousand times to get up!” “I’m exhausted too, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to lay in bed all day.” “You’re going to be late.” “What do you want for breakfast?” “Potato chips don’t count as breakfast food.” “Don’t forget your gym clothes.” “Have you brushed your teeth?” “Mints are not a substitute for brushing your teeth.” 
By the time all three of them are out the door, I feel like I’ve been awake for six months. But that’s when my day really starts- I have breakfast, walk the dog if it’s not terrible outside, start the laundry, and clean up the kitchen. Finally, I’m able to sit down at my computer and begin working. Please note, I am usually wearing a bathrobe or the same thing I wore the previous day. Saves money on clothes. 
My morning is spent answering emails, doing my work as the VP for Membership for a non-profit organization called Women Who Write, and promoting on social media. The social media management takes quite a while, as I have accounts on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Pinterest, and Instagram, as well as Amazon, Goodreads, and Bookbub author pages. In addition to these, I have a website and a blog. I post on the blog once a week (on Tuesdays) and I update my website as needed. 
This time of year, when I’m heavily promoting my upcoming release, House of the Hanging Jade, I also spend part of each day writing guest posts and providing interview responses to bloggers who are hosting me both independently and on two blog tours. And finally, I try to find at least one new place every day where I can submit a guest blog or request an interview. 
I try to get away from work for a few minutes while I eat lunch. I usually read a book or a cooking magazine while I scarf down leftovers from the previous night’s dinner. 
After lunch it’s time to work on whatever book I’m writing at the time. Currently, I’m working on the first book in a series set in the United Kingdom. I’ve finished the first draft and the first round of revisions, and this afternoon I’ll begin work on Round Two (alas, not Book Two).
I work until it’s time to make dinner. We eat dinner pretty late at my house, so I don’t start cooking until at least six o’clock. Usually closer to seven, unless there’s somewhere I have to be that evening, then we eat earlier and reheat the food as people trickle in for dinner later on. 
After dinner I try to work again, but that doesn’t always happen.
So here are the things I didn’t include, many of which happen on a daily/weekly basis: 
1. Folding and putting away laundry
2. Cleaning
3. Helping kids with homework
4. Grocery shopping
5. Car service appointments
6. Doctor appointments
7. Exercise- I’m partial to spinning
8. Chauffeuring kids- everywhere. All the time.
9. Choir practice
10. Bell choir practice
11. Boy Scout meetings
12. Other meetings
13. School functions
14. High school crew functions and races
15. General errands and chores (“Mom, I need a shirt for crew.” “Mom, I need new sneakers.” “Mom, can you pick up index cards for me?” “Mom, I need a haircut.” “Mom, I promised my teacher I’d send in a pie. Tomorrow.” “Mom, don’t forget I need a ride home after school today.” “Can you iron for me?” “I just tripped over a dust bunny.” “We need gas for the lawn mower.” “I don’t know how to clean the fish tank. Can you help?” “We need a birthday gift for Joe Schmoe.” And so on. And on.)
16. Reading- this is what I do before I slam my eyes shut for the night. Sometimes I’m actually able to read more than a couple pages before I nod off. 
Titillating, huh? 
It’s a miracle I get any writing done, but I wouldn’t change the ordinariness of my life for anything. And as I mentioned earlier, I don’t think I’m that different from many other writers or many other moms, for that matter. And I’m so lucky that I get to spend my working time doing something I love so very much- writing. I hope you’ll check out House of the Hanging Jade and let me know what you think of it at one of the places below: 
Website | BlogFacebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon Pinterest | Tumblr

Exclusive Excerpt of—

I knew I should have stayed home. 
I bent my head as the wind whipped down Massachusetts Avenue, hurling snowflakes at my face, stinging my cheeks with hard, frosty pellets. The icy sidewalks were treacherous, making my walk to work precarious and slow. There were very few others brave or foolish enough to be out in this weather. I passed one man out walking his dog and silently praised him for being so devoted. 
I finally arrived at the restaurant. I stamped on the snow that had piled up against the front door and slipped my key into the lock with fingers stiff and clumsy from the cold. Once inside, it only took me a second to realize that no one else was there. On a normal day, one without a blizzard, my assistant Nunzio would already have come in through the back and flipped on the kitchen lights before I arrived. I groaned. Even Nunzio, whom I could always count on, had stayed home. I moved through the darkened dining room and turned on the lights in the kitchen. As they blinked to life, I heard a heavy knock at the front door. 
Hurrying to open it, I recognized the face of Geoffrey, the restaurant’s owner and my current boyfriend, bundled up in a thick scarf and hat. 
“Kailani, what are you doing here?” he exclaimed, brushing snow off his boots in the vestibule. 
“Someone has to be here to get things started,” I answered testily. “I don’t think we can open today,” Geoffrey said. “There’s no way the delivery trucks can get through, and I don’t think we’d have any customers even if they could.” 
“You mean I came all this way for nothing?” I whined. Geoffrey smiled down at me. “Sorry. I just assumed you’d know not to come in on a day like this.” 
“Why did you come in, then?” 
“To catch up on paperwork. Plus, snowstorms don’t bother me.” “Ugh. They bother me. Well, I guess if you don’t need me here, I’ll head back home.” 
“Want me to stop by later?” 
I didn’t, but I nodded. Geoffrey and I hadn’t been dating for long. He was already becoming a little too clingy. 
He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Be safe getting home. I’d call you a cab, but there isn’t a single one on the streets.” “Believe me, I know.” 
I trudged home the same way I had come, the snow falling even harder now and blowing sideways, making it difficult for me to see. When I finally made it to my apartment building, I clumped up the stairs in my heavy boots and stood inside my apartment, leaning against the door for several moments to catch my breath. It took me a while to peel off all my layers. I left them lying on the floor while I heated up milk on the stove for hot chocolate. As the milk warmed, I gazed at a canvas photo that hung in my front hall. It was a faraway view of the beach, taken from my parents’ backyard, overlooking the black sand and the curling waves of the azure Pacific Ocean. 
“We’ve got to go home,” I said aloud to my cat, Meli, as she stepped daintily around me. This wasn’t the first time I had expressed this sentiment to Meli, but this time she stopped and looked up at me. She blinked and twitched her ears. 
It was the sign I needed. 
I watched the snow continue to fall for several hours from the warmth and safety of my apartment. Meli and I curled up on the couch while I tried to read a book, but I couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts returned again and again to palm trees and warm, caressing trade winds, to the faces of my mother and father, of my sister and her little girl. Geoffrey eventually stopped by, bringing with him an icy blast of air as I opened the door to the hallway. 
He laughed. “Looks like this storm may never end.” 
I invited him into the warmth of the apartment. “Take off your stuff. Want some hot chocolate?” I called over my shoulder as I walked into the kitchen. 
“Sure,” he answered, struggling with one of his boots. I joined him in the living room a few minutes later. He was trying to stroke Meli’s chin, but she apparently wanted none of that. Her ears flattened back and she squirmed out of his reach. 
I handed him the mug of hot chocolate and sat down opposite him. “Geoffrey, I have news,” I told him warily, knowing he probably wouldn’t be as happy as I was. 
“What is it?” 
“I’m going back to Hawaii.” I waited for his reaction. 
“That’s nice. It’ll do you good to get out of this weather for a while.” 
He obviously wasn’t getting it. “No, not for a while. I’m moving back. For good.” 
I was right. He was not happy. In fact, he looked stricken, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. “What do you mean, for good?” he asked, choking on his hot chocolate.


USA Today bestselling author Amy M. Reade is also the author of Secrets of Hallstead House and The Ghosts of Peppernell Manor. She grew up in northern New York, just south of the Canadian border, and spent her weekends and summers on the St. Lawrence River. She graduated from Cornell University and then went on to law school at Indiana University in Bloomington. 

She practiced law in New York City before moving to southern New Jersey, where, in addition to writing, she is a wife, a full-time mom and a volunteer in school, church and community groups. She lives just a stone’s throw from the Atlantic Ocean with her husband and three children as well as a dog and two cats. She loves cooking and all things Hawaii and is currently at work on her next novel. 

Visit her website or blog.

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★ Book Blitz ★ LA VIE EN ROSE {Life in Pink} by Lydia Michaels—Excerpt + Giveaway!

by Lydia Michaels

Publication Date: April 12, 2016
Genres: Adult, Romance

Emma Sanders has always dreamt of being a bride, wearing fancy gowns, pretty pearls, and—of course—falling madly in love. Then life happened. Finding herself one fiancé short of her happily ever after, she leaves the fairytales behind. Some days are simply too perilous for pink gowns and pearls. 
Riley Lockhart is the sort of man who can make a woman lower her gaze with only a smile. That he doesn’t realize his charm makes him all the more enchanting. Determined to save Emma the pain of her breakup, he steps in as a friend, but soon finds himself wanting more.
She was just a girl, but she somehow winds up being the strongest woman he’s ever known. Losing her is not an option and when life can’t be tied neatly in a pretty little bow, he holds tight to all that he loves—his Emma. His hero. 
Sometimes the greatest scars are worn on the inside.

LA VIE EN ROSE by Lydia Michaels!

Riley’s lips twitched as soft ebony curls ghosted over his bare stomach, lower and lower, tickling his hips and teasing that tight strip of flesh just below his bellybutton. A deep, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest like distant thunder as anticipation teetered on impatience—but it was a good, burning sort of anticipation. Holy fuck, was it good. Stretching, he gave Curls the access she needed and— 
“So I’m thinking we’re going to settle on coral with deep navy blue accents for the main theme. That should compliment the nautical look Becket wants.” 
Why was his roommate’s voice in his dream? 
Shaking off the distraction, his palm lowered, fingers gently knotting in the satin ringlets to better direct the ebony waves going down on him. His body hardened as soft kisses teased his happy trail and she got to work. Yes… 
Rolling his shoulders, he stretched his hips and drew in a slow breath. Heaven. The first true sensation of tongue-to-tip had his toes pointing as the heat of her pouty lips— 
“Whatever you want, toots. It’s your day.” 
Oh God, no! What the hell was his sister doing in his dream? Get out, Rarity! Get out! 
The ethereal weight of the dark haired woman’s touch faded. No, no, no! 
There was a soft girlie sigh. “I can’t believe it’s actually happening. I’m going to be Mrs. Becket Grayson.” 
Emma, his roommate, was definitely there too. Damn it! They were ruining everything. This was his time. Not their time. Dream blowjob time! The anticipation of sin and sex paled, as Emma’s voice carried on about champagne toasts and processionals. His roommate’s incessant wedding planning was officially intruding on everything
The loft used to be a sanctuary. The day Emma got engaged their living situation took a turn for the worse as girlie crap slowly corroded every square inch of his life—even his fantasies. Passing out on the couch was a dangerous gamble, leaving him widely susceptible to wedding babble bullshit when he could’ve been enjoying some nice fantasy head. 
“Will I be wearing coral or navy?” his sister asked then mumbled, “Say navy. Say navy.” 
Emma did that tiny chirp she claimed was a laugh. “You can wear navy, but there’s nothing wrong with coral.” 
“You know how I feel about pink,” Rarity reminded. 
“Coral’s not pink.” 
“It’s in the family.” 
“Fine. You’ll wear navy, but you’re wearing a dress.” 
Rarity groaned with resignation. She’d always be the brother he never had. “Fine, but Lexi’s wearing a tux.” 
“Look at these carnation balls I found in this issue of I Do. My florist can make them in the coral.” 
It was as if he were invisible. They just kept yapping and yapping. 
“They look pink to me,” Rarity said. 
He growled obnoxiously. “That’s it! Do you two mind? I’m trying to sleep!” And I lost fantasy girl! 
A throw pillow smacked him in the face. “Then don’t use the couch as your bed, dumbass. It’s noon. Go to your own room if you want quiet,” his sister snapped. 
“Sorry, Riley. We’ll be more quiet,” Emma apologized then whispered, “We could use navy ribbons to hang the balls off the white chairs we’re renting for the ceremony.” 
Their loft was spacious. Did they have to stage these womanly talks right on top of him? They could have at least moved to the kitchen ten feet away—or better yet, parked this prenuptial symposium all the way down the hall in Emma’s freaking room. 
The wedding plans carried on ceaselessly, as they had since Becket proposed to Emma six months ago, and Riley once again considered how much happier he’d be renting his own place. Sharing a loft with two girls, one being his sister, hadn’t been a bad setup until that damn ring and all those girlie magazines came along. Before the dawn of the bridal apocalypse everything was kosher. 
They lived in the hipster section on the posh Upper West Side of New York. He liked his home, loved the industrial feel and the exposed brick walls. The raw space, exposed ductwork and battered moldings were just aged enough to qualify as vintage. Splitting the rent three ways afforded them some square footage, but things were getting a little cramped lately, with Emma’s new obsessions. 
His sister, Rarity, exhibited a tolerance for girlie crap that surprised him. Rarity was seriously chill, like a pretty guy that peed sitting down. She didn’t cry or squeal like a valley girl or do that needy drama shit girls tended to do. She was easily the coolest chick he’d ever met. And being that she was a lesbian, they had plenty of shared interests. 
Never giving a damn about clothes or purses, Rarity appreciated the finer things in life, like good beer, decent music, a nice set of tits, and red meat. Her unarguable beauty and confidence pulled men in from miles away. And for years he enjoyed watching his little sister turn every last one down. She was his best friend and Emma was hers. 
The only girlie thing Rarity couldn’t live without, apparently, was Emma. 
Rarity was uniquely striking, with dark shorn hair and high arched brows, but it was her dry wit and endless sarcasm that could make any man second-guess his worth—a neat parlor trick to watch. Emma, on the other hand, was compassionate with soft blonde curls, dimpled cheeks, and eyes that pathologically betrayed her, eyes too full of innocence to hide her inexperience. 
Emma was the quiet, sweet type that never got in the way. But lately she’d really cranked up the fem-meter and was driving him insane—which made him a horrible person, because he was going to shoot her if she didn’t shut the hell up. 
All this wedding talk had to be getting to his sister. Riley was ready to duct tape Emma’s mouth shut. How in depth could a discussion about linen be? The texture, the hues in natural light versus candlelight, the thread count—bullshit conversations like that went on for days. He was amazed Rarity hadn’t reached her limit and freaked yet. 
“I can’t wait until my dress gets here!” Emma announced, clapping like an excited child. “I’m dying to try it on.” 
Riley groaned. It was as though no one could see him at all. Screwing his eyes shut and jamming a pillow over his ear did nothing to drown out her voice. So much for dream sex. 
“You already tried it on,” Rarity said. 
“That was in the store. Once I get it to the loft, I’ll be able to really appreciate it. Then, when you get your dress, we can try them on together. It’ll be so much fun!” 
“Sounds mind-blowing.” Rarity’s sarcasm was so expected it didn’t phase Emma. 
The doorbell buzzed and Emma screeched—literally screeched. “It’s here!” The chair skidded against the hardwood floors as she catapulted out of her seat. 
Yeah, he wasn’t going back to sleep. 
Groaning, he twisted and cracked open his lids as she sprinted down the hall toward the main entrance. Craning his neck in the direction of the chair, he peeked at Rarity, who wore a disinterested expression as she paged through a wedding magazine. 
“There’s something wrong with her,” he grumbled. 
“Yup,” she agreed. 
“This isn’t going to stop until she gets married, is it?” 
“When’s the wedding again?” 
“We have nine more months of this and the closer we get the worse she’s going to be.” 
Shifting, he sat up and frowned at his sister. “You’re surprisingly calm.” 
“She’s my closest friend and she really wants me to be a part of this. I can do the maid of honor thing as long as she doesn’t expect me to throw her some hideously pink party where girls drink cosmos and act like prissy hyenas, while being the pole for some male stripper to rub his scabies all over.” 
She sighed and turned the page. “Plus, I smoked a fat joint the second she pulled out the wedding binder. You could probably cut my leg off right now and I wouldn’t put up much of a fight.” 
“Nice.” He stared at the front door waiting for Emma to come racing inside at any second carrying the legendary dress. “She’s not gonna walk around in a wedding dress for the next nine months, is she?”
Rarity shut the magazine and tossed it on the table. “Don’t let her hear you call it a dress. It’s a gown. I’ve been corrected twice. And I have no idea. I wasn’t born with the bride gene. None of this shit makes sense to me.” 
At least he wasn’t alone. Rubbing a hand over his jaw he yawned. “You’re bringing Lexi to the wedding?” 
He chuckled. 
“You realize Mom and Dad will probably be invited.” 
“They won’t go,” Rarity said, matter-of-factly. 
“What makes you so sure?”

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About the Author: 
Lydia Michaels is the award winning author of 23 romance novels. Her novels from the darkly compelling Surrender Trilogy were iBooks Bestsellers and her work has been featured in USA Today. 
In 2015 she was the winner of The Best of Bucks Award and she has been nominated as Best Author in the Happenings Magazine two years running [2015 & 2016]. She is a four time nominee for the prestigious RONE Award. Her books are intellectual, emotional, haunting, always centered around love. Lydia Michaels loves to hear from readers! She can be contacted by email at Lydia@LydiaMichaelsBooks.com