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NEW POWERFUL STANDALONE:  The History in Us by L.B. Dunbar (NOW LIVE)

6/1/2017

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The History in Us is the newest release from L.B. Dunbar.  This powerful, emotional standalone might be just what you are looking for.  Read an excerpt and download your copy! 

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The History in Us excerpt  ©2017 L.B. Dunbar
 
“History is his story.” He paused to raise a hand. “And before you feminists go crazy, I do believe there should be a her-story, and feel free to continue the tradition of writing them.”
The class chuckled again.
“On the note of women and emotion…” He paused to wiggle his brows over his rimmed glasses to show he meant no offense. “Emotion needs to be in your writing. I want you to learn something about this amazing city, but don’t just spew facts at me. Make a story of the history.”
He paused again for effect and Nate raised his hand.
“Are you saying to make something up?”
“No,” Wayne clarified. “I’m saying take a journey, make a discovery, add emotion. Someone help me here.” His eyes roamed the classroom, and to my surprise, Katie volunteered.
“You need to write from your head and your heart.” She tapped her chest as she spoke passionately. She seemed too young to know of anything heartfelt—disappointment, death, drama—but then I was reminded of her comments about feeling caged, and not for the first time, I wondered what she meant. She was still a kid in my head, but as my eyes roamed over her body—supple curves, firm, handful breasts, and a dip to her waist—I saw before me someone too sensual to be a child. Then my eyes flicked to her lips. Remembering our kiss, I no longer had thoughts of her as innocent. Her mouth responding to mine the other night told me without words that she was all woman.
I tapped a pencil against my thigh, shifting side to side in the rotating chair. It was a nervous habit. I needed to stay in motion. Keep moving or you’re dead, General told us. The words echoed in my head at the most inopportune time.
“Emotions are linked to feelings,” Katie continued, nearly taking over the class. “In our hearts. It’s not a sensation, like one of the five senses, but something inside us. Invisible. Imaginative.” Her hand flattened on her chest, covering her heart and I envisioned the beat under her skin. My own raced in response to her words. “We feel emotions. We touch things. There is a difference, but we easily mix the two. Touch is a sensation. However, touch can be confused for emotion as well.”
Her face pinked as she rambled, but she’d captivated our small classroom. I noticed several guys sit forward, shifting their feet under their desks. Bastards. I sensed what the sound of her words did to their bodies. It was having the same effect on me. Her lashes lowered, embarrassed she’d said too much, revealed something of herself.
“Can you give me an example?” Wayne asked.
“I was touched by his thoughtfulness,” Katie said, her eyes shooting to mine. An awkward silence filled the classroom.
“Get in touch with your emotions,” another student interjected.
“Exactly,” Katie smiled shyly, twisting in her desk to face the attractive, bobbed-blonde, and pleased that another person understood her. Katie nodded, her forehead wrinkling. “It's like when someone says I'll be in touch. What does that mean?” Her voice growing in exasperation “Touch what?” she blurted. Her sweet voice grew husky, without realizing the sexual innuendo. Or maybe it was just me, and a growing imagination of things I wished to do to Katie. Either way, I couldn’t look at her again, sensing her eyes questioning me. I nodded my head as if I agreed with her example and then I re-considered. Did she want me to touch her again? Does she know what she said? A shaky hand came to my forehead and I rubbed at the wrinkled skin, pressing in a growing headache. It wasn’t only the head on my shoulders that ached, and I sat up straighter at her question.
“Let's keep in touch. Does that mean keep touching me?” A male student mumbled, and a few students tittered like middle schoolers. Katie smiled weakly at the boy, and something happened to me. I didn’t like it, not one bit. Without warrant or reason, my gut clenched. Katie's face pinked and my dick flinched firmer in my jeans. Whoa, settle there, big guy. My lower region read too much into the word play, and my fist wanted to connect with the jerk egging Katie on. His eyes glazed as he looked at her.
“Exactly,” Katie said. “It's confusing, so don’t be cliché.” She placed her palms flat on the student desk. For some reason, I noticed her short, pink finger nails. I sensed Wayne was about to speak when Katie continued.
“I palmed the smoothness of the hard surface.”
Fuck me. My fingers dug deeper at my forehead. The tapping pencil halted. Her palm slid over the solid, flat top of the desk before dragging to the edge, curling around the tip.
“My hand cupped the ridged curve.”
I swallowed hard and wiped a drop of sweat forming on my brow. Another student coughed, sitting forward to disguise his own growing boner. Putz. Wayne gasped beside me. Easy old man.
Pink-painted fingernails reached for the support, holding up the writing surface. My heart raced in anticipation of what she might say next.
“My fingers stroked the pole.”
I heard someone groan and noticed Nate slip lower in his seat in the back corner. Visions of her touching me, clawing me tenderly with those pink nails, made my skin prickle. I angled my elbow to rest on my thigh, struggling to contain the pressure in my jeans.
“This is touch.” She paused. “It’s sensation. It’s sensual. What we, as writers, need to do is to get in touch”—she narrowed her eyes at the student next to her—“with our emotions. How does the experience feel? In here.” Her fist beat above her left breast.
“That felt good to me,” Nate commented and another student choke-coughed. The desire to pummel each of the males suddenly dreaming of her naked struck me, but I couldn't move because two blue eyes pinned me to my seat. Innocent and embarrassed by Nate’s remarks, she closed her eyes and clenched her fist again.
“Yes, well that was an enlightening explanation of emotion separate from sensation.” Wayne coughed. “And the point is to try to get in touch”—he winced—“with the emotion of the past. Remember history defined people, their attitudes and their actions. But history can shift. One choice can change everything.”
Katie’s eyes avoided mine. I spun the chair and wheeled myself to the front of the room, needing the moment to block the class from my thoughts and settle my dick. I was not in touch with my own emotions, let alone interpreting those of others. My emotions left when Alicia left. They exited my life when Trent did. They said goodbye when my mother said those words, but the sapphire stare burning a hole in my back told me otherwise. My emotions warned me I'd feel something for Katie, and it would involve more than touching her skin.

​☆☆☆☆☆☆

MORE ABOUT THE HISTORY IN US

​Are you a hero yet? 
Her words rang in my head.
I wanted to be. 
For you, I want to be, I told her in my dream, the dream where she kissed me again.

A hero-worthy kiss.

Stay safe, she had said. Come back to me.
My lips tingled. 
The brush of hers over mine 
a memory held in the blackest of nights, 
the hottest of desert days, 
and the cold-evil hell of war against hidden enemies.

I wanted another chance to taste those lips, 
melt them against mine, 
and mold her body to me.
I wanted to live.
For Katie.

The History in Us is NOW LIVE!
Download your copy today! 

Amazon UK | iBooks | Nook | Kobo 


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Avid drinker of Coca-Cola, L.B. Dunbar loves the sweet things in life. Her affair with all things romantic began with her first book at the tender age of six: Goldilocks and the Three Bears. One can never forget her first! From there, the reading journey includes a deep love of fairy tales, medieval knights, regency debauchery, and alpha males. She loves a deep belly laugh and a strong hug. Occasionally, she has the energy of a Jack Russell terrier. Accused, yes, that’s the correct word, of having an over active imagination; to her benefit, such an imagination works well. Author of over a dozen novels, she’s created small town worlds, rock star mayhem, and MMA chaos. Her other duties in life include: mother to four growing children and wife to the one and only.

Follow L.B. Dunbar on Amazon

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Sneak Peek: Wounded By Abby Brooks

3/15/2017

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Abby Brooks brings us Wounded on March 22nd.  
​Meet Bailey & Liam in a sneak peek of this upcoming release! 
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BAILEY

“Have you seen him naked yet?” Lexi Stills, my best friend since the first grade, leans forward, resting her elbows on the table in the crowded hospital cafeteria.
“Seen who naked yet?” I ask, feigning confusion. 
Lexi purses her cherry-colored lips. “Liam McGuire, you ass.” She picks at the crust of her sandwich and pops a bite into her mouth. “You know, the super-famous singer who just happens to have been admitted here at Grayson Memorial.”
“Oh yeah. Him.” I shrug, playing it cool just to drive her crazy.
“Yeah, him.” Lexi stops chewing and lifts her eyebrows. “So?”
“So, what?”
“Have you seen him naked?”
Laughing, I sit back in my chair and scrape my spoon around the sides of my yogurt cup. “Nope. No hot nude scenes with famous musicians for me,” I say, even though it’s kind of a lie. 
Liam has a habit of leaving his hospital gown open and I’ve seen his ass more times than I can count. I just don’t feel like opening that particular can of worms with Lexi right now. Of all the fangirls in the world, she might be the fangirliest and I'm not in the mood for the slew of questions that will follow the admission that yes, I have seen his ass, and yes, it really is as magnificent as she thinks it is.
“Don’t give up hope.” Lexi looks so crushed I almost tell her the truth. Almost. “I think he’s staying here one more day,” she says. “After that, I bet they ship him right back to Los Angeles for some kind of plastic surgery miracle only someone that rich and famous could afford.” She rakes a hand through her honey-blond hair, pulling little wisps back off her face. “It’s such a shame. The accident and all that. I wonder what will happen now that he’s all scarred up.”
“Maybe he’ll learn some humility. That man is every bit as bad as the tabloids make him out to be.”
Lexi rolls her eyes. “Only you would be immune to the awesomeness that is Liam McGuire.” She balls up her napkin and throws it onto the table next to her mostly eaten sandwich.
“So, how’s Gabe?” I ask, carefully enunciating my words so she knows I’m changing the topic now and have no intention of letting her change it back. Being Liam McGuire’s nurse is bad enough. He doesn’t need to become the sole topic of every conversation on top of it.
“That boy is going to be the death of me.” She’s trying to sound exasperated, but the look of sheer adoration gleaming in her eyes ruins the effect. “He’s as hard-headed as he is sweet. Do you know what he said to me yesterday?”
“I haven’t the foggiest.” Lexi’s stories about her five-year-old son Gabe never disappoint.
“He was playing with his truck on the table and then he looks at me, as serious as can be, and says he’s going to need me to talk to him before I find a husband because he wants to make sure the guy’s truck is good enough for me.”
I laugh as we stand and gather our trash. “Sounds like he’s already on his way to being more man than boy. A little bossy, a little protective, and interested in his truck above all things.”
Lexi lets out a long sigh. “Lord help me,” she says, looking towards the ceiling as if expecting an answer.
The hospital cafeteria is busier than I’ve ever seen it. Ever since word got out that Liam McGuire is holed up here, we’ve had an influx of oddly difficult to diagnose illnesses and injuries. Phantom pains and coughs that seem way more serious at home than they do once the patients arrive here. There’s even paparazzi hanging out at the front doors. 
Paparazzi. 
In Grayson, Ohio. 
They scurry forward like a swarm of ants every time the doors open, cameras flashing madly, calling out Liam McGuire’s name like a battle cry. When they discover the infamous pop star isn’t coming out to show off his new badass scar and flash his so-charming-it-should-be-patented smile, they collectively groan and retreat as if to lick their wounds and prepare for the next time those doors swing open.
Lexi widens her eyes at me as she throws her trash in the bin. “Can you imagine how much attention you’d get if these people knew you’re one of his nurses?”
A little strum of panic tangles up with my lunch and bounces around my stomach. “You keep your mouth shut, you hear me?” Lexi loves the spotlight. Me? No thank you.
“Fine,” she says, pouting. “But you’re throwing away an opportunity here. This could be your fifteen minutes of fame.”
I link arms with my best friend and we saunter out of the cafeteria. “Nah. I’m saving my fifteen minutes for something way better than this.”
“You say that now, but I bet when you’re old and gray you’ll realize you squandered an opportunity here.”
“I’m glad to see you have so much faith in me. That you think the best I’m ever going to be is a nurse to some spoiled brat of a pop star.”
“I have more faith in you than you have in yourself, you dingbat,” Lexi replies as we arrive at the nurse’s station.
“Of course, his call light is on.” I let out a little growl of frustration. “When isn’t it on?”
Lexi shakes her head. “You are the only female between the ages of fifteen and one hundred to be upset because she has to spend too much time with Liam McGuire.”
“I doubt that,” I say before I head down to his room at the end of the hall. 
I don’t know if it’s because he’s been famous since he was fourteen and all the attention spoiled him, or if he’s just got asshole in his genes, but it only takes a minute or two of being around the guy to get my hackles up. I don’t care how good looking he is or how well he can sing, if you’re ugly on the inside, you’re ugly on the outside.
Although, for as much as I can’t stand the guy, there is a small part of me that does feel a little bit sorry for him. A very small part. And just a tiny little bit. I mean, the guy survived an accident that may or may not alter the course of his life. His tour bus swerved off the road just outside of Grayson and rolled over a few times. Everyone survived, although after seeing pictures of the bus, I don’t know how. The thing was just a garbled piece of twisted metal and broken glass. 
Liam suffered a concussion and a wicked gash that runs from his hairline to his chin that should have taken his eye but didn’t. All the doctors keep muttering about how lucky he is, but I don’t know if they’ve really thought it through. For a guy who makes his living off his looks, an injury like that is probably devastating. I don’t think I could be human and not feel a tiny bit bad
for him. 
But like I said, just a tiny bit.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

MORE About Wounded 

For every wound, there is a scar.
Raised on fame and fortune, Liam McGuire is a spoiled man-child. His handsome face blinds the world, but I see through it to what he is inside.
Ugly.
When his tour bus rolls off the road, Liam’s rushed to the hospital where I work. A jagged scar runs the length of his face, ruining his good looks and jeopardizing his career. As his nurse, I’m around him more than I’d like, but the more I get to know him, the more I realize the world wasn’t blind to him.
I was.
Liam McGuire feels deeply and loves wildly, throwing himself into everything he does with more passion than I ever dreamed possible. With that intensity aimed at me, the scars slashed across my own heart start to heal. He is fire and I’ve been cold my whole life.
Am I ready to thaw? Or is life better—safer—when I’m cold and numb?

Preorder on iBooks TODAY!
Amazon, Nook, & Kobo, COMING SOON!

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Abby Brooks is a romance author who lives with the love her life and their three kids in a small town in Ohio. She loves dancing in the kitchen, laughing with people she loves, and reading way too late into the night. She also loves hearing from her readers! 



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