Rockin' the Heart release day blast!
Yaay! It's here!
Gracen Miller's Rockin' the Heart is out today!
If music nourishes the soul…Loved by millions, but shunned by blood, Heath “Fang” Fangor has led his band, Hot Wired, to the top while others have fallen by the wayside. He devoted his life to music, and from that devotion harvested a new family—his band mates and fans.
A man can desire nothing else…or can he?Living in the shadow of her brother’s fame sucks! Sam Collins is desperate to have what she wants—a simple and uncomplicated life. She’s no stranger to scandals and how they work. Now that she’s inadvertently dragged Fang into the center of her latest gossip, could the scandal she created in her quest for freedom have gone too far?
Amid stardom the heart stages a new melody…Fang has more fame and fortune than he will ever need, but none of that matters if he can’t have the woman of his dreams. Years have been wasted waiting for the right moment to approach the woman his heart desires above all others. There’s just one major problem...she’s his best friend’s sister. To have her, he will have to risk it all.One that might be responsible for Rockin the Heart!
GET IT HERE:
Here's some teaser pics to tempt you:
I've already had the amazing opportunity to read this myself and loved every minute of it, definitely worth a read!
Remember to enter the giveaway at the end of the post!
I also have an experpt for y'all (as Sam would say):
EXCERPT:
Chapter
One
Heath was a rock star god. The tight lines
fanning outward from his silver eyes classified him as a pissed off rock star
god.
“Wanna tell me what you did this time to get
the platinum treatment?” He indicated the jail cell, while ramming his fingers
through his shaggy, jet-black hair.
Preferring to shrink into the shadows and avoid
a confrontation with him, Sam took a deep breath and rose from the bench. She
stepped away from the metal seat to draw closer to the bars dividing them.
She’d expected her brother, Jason—Jase—to ride
to her rescue. Like always. Her foundation. Predictable. Dependable. Rattled by
her sibling’s abandonment, she ogled the skull on Heath’s shirt, mortification
overwhelming her.
If Heath was Jase’s replacement, then he’d been
serious when he said ‘don’t call me the next time you’re arrested.’ She’d
assumed he yelled that in anger. She was surprised he’d bothered to offer aid
at all.
Gut hollow at her brother’s desertion, she
cleared the ache out of her throat and asked, “Can’t you just bail me out and
we’ll forget this ever happened?”
Knowing he wouldn’t go for that suggestion, Sam
swallowed hard and shuffled her feet. Disappointing Jase was one thing, but
letting Heath down was an entirely different matter. She’d crushed on the man
since her tenth birthday when he’d given her a heart-shaped jewelry box. Didn’t
matter he’d been too old for her at a mature fourteen. That infatuation hadn’t
waned with age either, but only grown stronger. Not that he showed her a stitch
of interest. To him, she was nothing more complicated than a kid sister.
His digits curled around one of the bars. The
tattoo lettering on his left knuckles fit his current disposition—ired. On the other hand the letters
H-O-T-W graced his knuckles. If read together, they spelled out the name of his
band: Hot Wired.
“Not this time, Samantha.”
She cringed. The only time he broke out her
full name was when he was upset or disappointed with her.
“You been drinking?”
“You know I haven’t.” Just shy of twenty-one,
in her world getting liquor wasn’t an issue. Neither was alcohol her preferred
drug of choice.
“Drugs?”
She rolled her eyes, the question too stupid to
warrant a response.
“This type of publicity is bad news for the
band.” She’d heard that one before. None of her recklessness damaged Hot
Wired’s career. Not that she sought to hinder their mega stardom. She wasn’t
that selfish, she just struggled with controlling her impulses on occasion.
Therapy failed to help. Yelling spawned further
rebellion.
Living under the umbrella of the band’s fame
grew tiresome. Her life should be her own, to live however she pleased. Weary
of the media hounding her, she craved going back to a time when nobody knew her
name. A normal life like when she’d been a kid.
She’d grown up on daydreams of the band making
it to the big times. They won the lottery of recording deals, while Sam
discovered stardom came at a high price. Along with that knowledge came the
freebie of all lessons…fantasies were often better than reality. The last time
she’d visited the mall without a trail of vipers eager to report her purchases
she’d been fifteen.
Sheesh!
Was it too much to ask to have a date the world
didn’t scrutinize? Even the loss of her virginity made headline news. That act
should’ve come with the expectation of privacy. Thanks to the tabloids, Jase
almost burst a blood vessel over that exploitation.
Once she’d picked her nose in public on purpose
because a rag-reporter stalked her. Scratched her butt on another occasion.
Gave them something to write. Those were the photographs and articles that gave
her incentive to laugh.
“The only reason they’re not pressing charges
is because of Jase.”
“Thanks for the reminder.” Along with it came
the reminder that her brother sent Heath instead of coming himself.
Despite the news-hounds, she got out of a lot
of shit thanks to her brother’s identity. This incident would be all over the
rags and Internet before morning.
‘Hot
Wired’s drummer’s sister is at it again!’ They’d go on to paint her wild and immoral
comportment.
Have at
it you fucks. Can’t hurt me any more than you already have, but what about the
band?
Distance from Hot Wired would aid all of them.
She’d get her peace of mind back, and they’d be devoid of the rebel-rouser in
their group.
She’d mentioned changing her last name and
moving back to their Southern roots in the small Alabama town where she’d been
born. Jase had gone bat-shit crazy at the suggestion and went on and on about
how their parents would be rolling over in their grave at her abandoning the
family name.
The name-change idea had been discarded. Swept
under the rug like a dust bunny never to be spoken of again.
Torn between two worlds, Sam was suffocating.
Living with someone she couldn’t have in a world where she didn’t belong.
She sank back down onto the bench and lay down
on the uncomfortable metal, staring at the ceiling. “Go away, Heath. I’m not in
the mood for a lecture.”
A sigh came from him, followed by a long pause.
She anticipated he’d argue, but she focused on the water spot marring the tiled
ceiling and prepared herself to fight back.
The sound of his retreating boots hitting
concrete echoed in the room. His exit surprised her, but relieved her too.
Faced with his disappointment, she vowed again
she’d terminate her criminal behavior.
She settled the backside of her wrist against
her forehead. She made that promise to herself often and botched the good
intentions each time.
After a moment, a new set of footsteps
approached the cell. Even with her eyes closed she determined the intruder
wasn’t Heath. In a room full of guests, she could identify his gait. Heath’s
solid steps and long stride made for a unique swagger that bespoke his
self-confidence. Celebrated his rocker status. Watching him walk compared to
admiring art. Ogling his ass as he strode away…eye-gasms.
This individual’s fast-paced walk reminded her
of the peppered rounds of gunfire. She waited for the person to speak. The
clink of metal striking metal and locks disengaging snagged her attention. She
turned her head. The thirty-something deputy swung the cell-door open. “You’re
free to go, Ms. Collins.”
Sam rolled off the bench and grinned at the
officer as she sidled past him. She’d bragged as they booked her that they
wouldn’t hold her long and the charges wouldn’t stick.
In the lobby, Heath waited for her with his
hands shoved in his jeans pocket. His shaggy-butchered hair shadowed his eyes,
doing a good job of hiding his expression, but the hard line of his jaw
indicated he’d married his irritation. Lectures were sure to come.
Looking at him, no one would guess he rocked
the panties off chicks worldwide. With his long-sleeved, pull-over black shirt,
sporting a white skull, his snug well-worn jeans and scuffed boots, he appeared
as average as any hard American worker.
That’s
what I need to warm my cold bed. Average. Not my brother’s
best friend and rock star god.
There was nothing average about Heath Fangor—Fang
to his band mates and the world. Neither would he seduce her. Not even as a
one-time gig. The man and his fucked up principals…or maybe they were her fucked up principals because she
couldn’t say for sure if she’d enter into a one-night-stand with him if he
begged for one. She wanted more, and a one-nighter would be difficult to live
with.
“Thanks for the bail out, Fang.” She breezed past him with all intention of snubbing him, but
he caught her arm. He held on tight, giving her a warning glare when she tried
to jerk free.
“Don’t be ungrateful, brat.” He towed her
toward the elevator.
“Thanks for the autograph, Fang!” She glanced
back at the deputy who’d released her from the cell. He waved a piece of paper
at them, grinning ear-to-ear.
Heath shoved her into the lift. The moment the
doors shut, he slammed his palms down on either side of her head. Sam sucked in
a breath, her eyes frozen on his sexy-ass mouth. The bottom lip was slightly
puffier than the top, nice and pink, and wet. He’d probably licked them, which
explained the sheen. She had naughty fantasies with them as the star of the
show navigating her body. The damage she suspected they could accomplish
created a slippery situation in her panties.
A slight tilt of his lips before he said, “Eyes
on mine.”
She refocused and locked onto his silver gaze.
The accusations she saw there struck her like a blow to the gut. Looking away
would be easier, but Heath had a way of holding her to a higher level with just
a penetrating stare. His expectations were tall, and she despised him for
having such grand aspirations for her.
“What’s gotten into you? Base diving—”
“That was fun. You should try it.”
“—bar brawls, knifing chicks in Miami—”
“Hey! I was found innocent of that allegation!”
Elevating his eyebrows, he called her statement
a lie without uttering a word.
“—and
now you’re adding grand theft auto to
your long list of offenses.”
About the author:
Gracen
is a hopeless daydreamer masquerading as a “normal” person in southern
society. When not writing, she’s a
full-time basketball/football/guitar mom for her two sons and a devoted wife to
her real-life hero-husband. She’s addicted to writing, paranormal romance
novels, movies, Alabama football and coffee…addictions are not necessarily in
order of priority. She’s convinced coffee is nectar from the gods and blending
coffee and writing together generates the perfect creative merger. Many of her
creative worlds are spawned from coffee highs. To learn more about Gracen and
her writing or to leave her a comment, visit her at the following sites:
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