Showing posts with label Exclusive Short Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Exclusive Short Story. Show all posts

Blog Tour: The Summer of Broken Things by Margaret Peterson Haddix | Giveaway




Welcome to Day #9 of The Summer of Broken Things Blog Tour!

To celebrate the release of The Summer of Broken Things on April 10th, blogs across the web are featuring exclusive content from Margaret Peterson Haddix and 10 chances to win a copy of the book!


Secrets

Before my first book was published, I worked as a newspaper reporter—for a while I was even an investigative reporter, where my job was specifically to dig out secrets that officials wanted to keep hidden.

This was long enough ago that several of my co-workers had been around during the Watergate era, and some of them were fond of quoting a journalistic lesson of that event: “It’s not the crime; it’s the coverup.”  In other words, what gets people into the worst trouble often isn’t their original mistake or bad behavior; it’s the other crimes and lies they’re driven to commit and tell as they try to hide what they’ve done.

I think this can be just as true with private family secrets as with public ones: Sometimes secrets fester.

And that can be true even when the original secret is perfectly innocent.

My newest book, THE SUMMER OF BROKEN THINGS, revolves around two teenaged girls whose families have kept a rather large secret their entire lives. When Avery and Kayla accidentally find out the secret during a summer in Spain, both of them are forced to re-evaluate what they know about their parents—and themselves.

The saddest thing about the secret in Avery’s and Kayla’s families is that only one of their four parents actually wanted to keep the girls from knowing it. Avery’s mother is ashamed—though she shouldn’t be—and all the other adults involved keep the secret because of her. What could it hurt?

But secrets have a way of showing themselves even when they aren’t completely revealed. Avery and Kayla both see mysteries in their childhoods that make no sense until they know the family secrets. It’s a little like trying to make sense of the unequal status of women and people of color in twenty-first century America without knowing anything about the suffrage movement, the civil rights era, slavery, the internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II, who was or wasn’t considered a citizen when the country was founded, etc.

Or, for Kayla and Avery, like trying to understand Spain without knowing anything of its history except the connection to Christopher Columbus.

Typically when I am writing a book, I talk very little about what I am working on; I prefer to put all my energy and excitement into the writing itself. But with THE SUMMER OF BROKEN THINGS, in the interest of research, I talked to a few friends and family members about how much of the family history they would tell Avery or Kayla if it were their family.

I was a little surprised to sometimes hear the response, “Why would you tell a kid that? I can totally see why parents would keep that secret.”

I also talked to psychologists who deal with families and kids in similar situations to Avery’s family (and to a lesser degree, Kayla’s) and they told me about the betrayal kids can feel when they find out a family secret like that—when they find out that some basic assumption they’ve always had about their family and themselves is totally wrong. The, psychologists told me about how kids could begin equating the secrecy with shame—and not just shame about the secret, but shame about the kids.
It’s ironic: Parents keep secrets thinking they’re protecting the kids, but sometimes it’s the secrecy itself that can be most damaging.

In another context, I once had a conversation with a group of kids about secrets, and about what ages kids should be when they find out certain scary facts about the world—when they learn about “adult” topics. I talked about how pretty much everyone would agree that, say, five-year-olds should be protected from certain information. But what, I asked, should kids their age be allowed to know?

One of the girls in the group had an instant answer: “Everything.”

That did not surprise me.

*****

Blog Tour Schedule:

April 16th — BookhoundsYA
April 17th — The Book Rat
April 18th — Book Briefs
April 19thParajunkee
April 20th — A Dream Within a Dream

April 23rd — Crossroad Reviews
April 24th — I Am a Reader
April 25th — Page Turners
April 26th — Once Upon a Twilight
April 27th — Tales of the Ravenous Reader
Follow Margaret: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram
From New York Times bestselling author Margaret Peterson Haddix comes a haunting novel about friendship and what it really means to be a family in the face of lies and betrayal.
Fourteen-year-old Avery Armisted is athletic, rich, and pretty. Sixteen-year-old Kayla Butts is known as “butt-girl” at school. The two girls were friends as little kids, but that’s ancient history now. So it’s a huge surprise when Avery’s father offers to bring Kayla along on a summer trip to Spain. Avery is horrified that her father thinks he can choose her friends—and make her miss soccer camp. Kayla struggles just to imagine leaving the confines of her small town.

But in Spain, the two uncover a secret their families had hidden from both of them their entire lives. Maybe the girls can put aside their differences and work through it together. Or maybe the lies and betrayal will only push them—and their families—farther apart.

Margaret Peterson Haddix weaves together two completely separate lives in this engaging novel that explores what it really means to be a family—and what to do when it’s all falling apart.



About the Author: Margaret Peterson Haddix is the author of many critically and popularlyChildren of Exile series, The Missing series, the Under Their Skin series, and the Shadow Children series. A graduate of Miami University (of Ohio), she worked for several years as a reporter for The Indianapolis News. She also taught at the Danville (Illinois) Area Community College. She lives with her family in Columbus, Ohio.
acclaimed YA and middle grade novels, including the






GIVEAWAY


  • One (1) winner will receive a finished copy of The Summer of Broken Things
  • US only


EXCLUSIVE: 'Ache For You" Archer' Short Story | Monica Murphy | Torn | Billionaire Bachelors Club Series





We are thrilled to share with you today an exclusive short story written by the New York Times bestselling author Monica Murphy. The second novel in Murphy's BILLIONAIRE BACHELORS CLUB series will release tomorrow (11/19). Murphy has written a sexy piece of our favorite bachelors, ARCHER, MATT and GAGE that has been divided into 3 parts (one for each bachelor). This short story is them hanging out one fateful night between CRAVE (Book 1) and TORN (Book 2).

Yesterday Happy Ever After (USA Today) shared the first part in the short story. They featured GAGE. You can read Gage's piece by clicking here. Then head over to Heroes and Heartbreakers for the third part that features MATT.

With that being said now you know that we will be sharing part 2 which is ARCHER's piece. ENJOY!

Marina Knight came to this party for one thing only: to slap Gage Emerson in the face. Poised to snatch up her family's real estate empire, the sexy tycoon is on the verge of making an enemy for life—even if he can make her melt with a single kiss …

When Gage discovers that the alluring woman before him is the key to his latest acquisition, claiming her as his suddenly doesn't seem quite so cut-and-dried. To get what he wants, he must get to know the fierce woman willing to face him down—as she steadily steals his heart.

Gage's persistence and intense passion war with Marina's determination to protect her family. As they delve deeper into an affair they didn't see coming, Marina's torn: Will she lose her heart to Gage—or everything she holds dear?


 
Find out more at monicamurphyauthor.com.


WARNING: The material below is only suitable for adults (18 years or older). It contains strong material depicting sexual activities and explicit language.

Ache For You: Archer 

       “Your brother is a miserable jackass,” I say the minute I walk into the bedroom. 
      Ivy’s curled up in my bed, looking rumpled and sexy as she flips through a magazine. “Why do you say that?” She doesn’t bother glancing up, too engrossed in whatever she’s looking at.
      Which is fine because I’m too engrossed with what I’m looking at too. She’s so damn beautiful she makes my heart ache. She’s wearing her black reading glasses that make her look like an adorable hipster nerd, her face is scrubbed clean of makeup, cheeks rosy. Lips pursed as she tilts her head, examining the photograph that dominates both pages of the open magazine—an interior design magazine, I’m sure. 
      She’s always pouring over them for ideas. She loves her career, and I love her for being so ambitious, so talented, so… 
      Ivy. 
      Hell. I am completely pussy-whipped when it comes to her and I could give a good goddamn. I own it. I love this woman. 
      And she loves me. 
      “He’s grouchy as hell. Claims he met a woman who hated him pretty much on sight.” I take my wallet out of the back pocket and set it on my dresser, right next to my keys. Undo my belt buckle and slowly pull the leather out of the loops of my jeans, letting it drop on the floor with a solid thud. 
      She still doesn’t look up. 
      “Don’t all the women Gage meets eventually hate him sooner or later?” She flips the page, glances up quickly to take me in but doesn’t seem impressed. Her gaze drops back to the magazine and she purses her lips again, makes a soft little noise like she approves of what she sees and she folds the corner of the page down. 
      “Yeah. Women used to feel the same way about me too you know.” Why the hell did I just say that? Am I butt hurt because she’s not paying attention to me? Have we already progressed to the next stage in our relationship? The boring, we-don’t-give-a-crap-if-we’re-naked-in-each-other’s-presence stage? God, I hope not. We haven’t been together long enough to already act like that. 
      “I’m sure they had good reason, Archer,” she murmurs, a little smile curling her lips though she’s still not looking at me, damn it. “You were quite the man whore once upon a time. Before I came along, rocked your world and changed your wicked ways for good.” 
      “Ha, modest much?” Everything she says is the truth though. I unbutton my shirt and shrug out of it, letting it fall on top of my discarded belt. Then I kick off my shoes, peel off my socks. “Does that bother you? That I used to be a man whore?” 
      “It is what it is.” She shrugs, flipping another page. The sound of the magazine crinkling is starting to irritate me. “Besides, we’re together now and I’m confident in knowing that you’re not going anywhere.” 
      “You really think so, huh?” I undo the button fly of my jeans and shove them off, until I’m standing there in my boxer briefs and nothing else. And my woman still hasn’t lifted her head to check me out beyond a quick glance. 
      I need to rectify this problem, stat. 
      “Oh, I know so.” She glances up, her eyes widening the slightest bit when she sees me. “Archer. Where are your clothes?” 
      “I still have some on.” I point at my underwear. “Though I can change that, if you prefer.” 
      A smile blooms and she slaps the magazine shut, setting it on the bedside table. “Are you coming to bed?” 
      “That was the plan. Though it’s not even nine yet.” Hell, I thought it was later. We are turning into the old couple that goes to bed too freaking early. 
      Though I don’t plan on getting any sleep just yet. I have other things in mind to occupy our time for a bit. 
      “I was tired.” She feigns yawning. “You can keep me warm though. Maybe even keep me awake for a bit.” 
      I flick off the lamp that sits on my dresser and walk over to the bed, tugging the comforter back so I can crawl beneath it. “I’m the one who’s only in my underwear. I think you need to keep me warm.” 
      “All right. Sounds like a deal.” She scoots across the mattress and snuggles close, her arm slung over my chest, her face in my neck. Her warm breath caresses my skin, making it tingle and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her as close as I can get her. Just like that, I’m hard. Aching for her. Wanting her. 
      Always. 
      “You smell good,” I murmur against her hair, just before I kiss her forehead. “Feel good too.” 
      “Mmm.” She presses her face closer, her lips moving over my neck. “So do you.” 
      Those little sounds of pleasure she makes are my undoing. I hear them and I instantly want to tear her clothes off and bury myself inside her. Even when she’s eating and makes one of those noises—which she does quite often and I sometimes wonder if she does it on purpose just to drive me crazy—I’m filled with this insane urge to take her in the hopes I’ll hear her make a noise just like it again. 
      And then again. Only those noises are because of me and the way I touch her. Kiss her. Lick her. Stroke deep inside her… 
      “We’re not going to sleep yet are we, baby?” I ask, smoothing my hand down her back. She has on one of those thin little tanks she likes to wear to bed, no bra, and tiny shorts that make her legs look endless. Probably no panties either. I love the stuff she wears to bed. 
      Easy access is important, though I prefer complete nakedness, if I’m being truthful. 
      “Did you and Gage fight?” she asks. “Is that why you’re mad at him?” 
     My get-inside-Ivy’s-panties mood crashes and burns, just like that. “Why are you bringing up your brother now?” 
      “You said he was a miserable jackass. I’m curious why you think that,” she says, pulling away slightly so she can look up at me. “So? Did you?” 
      “Did I what?” Damn, she’s distracting. Her body is perfectly fitted to mine, her breasts against my chest, her legs entwined with mine. And here we are, talking about freaking Gage. 
      “Fight with my brother.” She shoves at my chest, her hot fingers branding me. “Please tell me you didn’t.” 
      “We didn’t,” I say automatically. “He’s just grumpy.” 
      “He needs to meet a nice woman who’ll change his life completely,” she murmurs just before she kisses me, her lips soft and damp. “Don’t you think?” 
      “Sure.” I don't want to talk about Gage anymore. My hands are wandering as if they have minds of their own, mapping Ivy’s skin. Sliding over her shoulders, down her chest, until I’m cupping her breasts and thumbing her nipples, watching them harden beneath her tank top. “Kinda like what happened to me, right?” 
      “Did I change your life?” she asks, her voice so soft I almost don’t hear her. 
      “Baby, you make my life complete. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I kiss her again, because how can I resist? She’s my everything. “I love you.” 
      With a gentle shove she pushes me onto my back and suddenly she’s on top of me. Straddling me, those long legs draped around my hips as she stares down at me with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I love you too. So much. Will you let me have my way with you tonight?”      
      Laughter escapes me but becomes a strangled sound in my throat when she starts stroking me everywhere, her nimble fingers sliding over my hard cock and giving me a firm squeeze. “Anything you want,” I say gruffly, trying to keep my shit together and having a hell of a time with it. 
      I feel ready to blow already and she’s barely touched me yet. 
      It’s her turn to laugh. “What if I wanted to tie you up and tease you until you’re begging me to let you come?” 
      “Are you serious?” It sounds kind of hot coming from Ivy. But… “I don’t like giving up control though.” 
      “I know.” The wicked grin she’s wearing says she really doesn’t care either. “Don’t you think it would be fun? Letting go like that? Letting me take over? I always let you be in command.” 
      I’m not sure. She’s right. I’m the one who’s usually in charge in the bedroom but giving in to Ivy doesn’t sound like a bad idea, especially with that lusty gleam in her eyes. 
      “I’ll tie you up but I’ll do whatever you want me to,” she whispers as she starts sliding down my body. “Touch you wherever you want…In fact, I think we need to take off your boxers so we can get right down to business.” 
      Ah, damn. The woman knows just what to say to make me sweat. 
      She’s right there, her face in front of my cock, her fingers curled around the waistband of my boxer briefs. And then she’s tugging them off and I’m helping her, kicking them off as fast as I can and hoping like hell I don’t knee her in the face in the process. 
      But then I’m not thinking about kneeing Ivy or underwear or anything like that at all. Not when she smiles at me as she curls her fingers around me, dipping her head so her mouth brushes against the very tip. I’m done thinking. Now I’m only feeling. 
      Feeling… 
      Ivy.
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