Dirty Work - Chelle Bliss,Brenda Rothert

Excellent listen. Romance wrapped with political subterfuge and hard learned life lessons. Well written and the narrators did an awesome job reading this book. There is steam, as always with these authors, but the story is not buried with it. Well done. A great addition to your “must listen list”.

Today we are celebrating the release of LUCA by Brenda Rothert. This is a contemporary romance, standalone, and it is the second title in the Chicago Blaze hockey romance series.

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Luca by Brenda Rothert

Now Available

Chicago Blaze, #2

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Book Blurb:

Abby

I only have one love now—the home furnishings business I’m building into an empire. Maybe money and success can’t love me back, but they keep what’s left of my heart safe. One-night stands are my way of scratching the occasional itch I get for something more. And no one’s better for that than a sexy as sin hockey player I’ll never see again after one very hot night together.

Luca

I used to love two things: hockey and women. But now my nieces and nephew are my top priority, because I’m raising them after tragedy stole their parents. Somehow I balance single parenthood and my career as a forward for the Chicago Blaze. There’s no time for women, until I get knocked on my ass by Abby Daniels. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted, but her devastating past may end us before we even get started.

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Excerpt:

“Hold still, Uncle Luca.”

My niece Emerson gives me her best glare, but she’s five and cute, so it makes me smile.

“I’m trying,” I tell her, checking out the dark purple polish she’s trying to brush onto my nails.

It’s not my inability to hold still that has more nail polish on my skin than my nails; it’s her technique. My “MANicure”, as my two nieces like to call it, started with my ten-year-old niece Cora and was then passed off to Emerson.

“I found yogurt!” Cora says as she breezes into my bathroom. “It’s got strawberries in the bottom, but that’s okay. This face mask will make you smell good, Uncle Luca.”

I try not to roll my eyes. It’ll be better than the last face mask they whipped up in the kitchen, which had butter in it and was a bitch to scrub off in the shower.

“I have to leave for practice in twenty-five minutes,” I remind the girls. “And I still need a shower. So you have ten more minutes to beautify me.”

“Will you paint my nails, too?” Cora asks me.

“Sure.”

I was shit at painting nails when I first became the legal guardian of my two nieces and one nephew a little over a year ago. With practice, though, I’ve gotten pretty damn good at it.

“How long ‘til Gram and Gramps will be here?” Emerson asks, still painting my thumb nail even though she’s looking at me.

“About four hours ‘til their flight lands, then maybe an hour for them to get to the house.”

Her toothless grin of excitement makes me ignore the nail polish I can feel on my knuckle.

“Emerson!” Cora yells. “You ruined it! That looks awful.”

Cora picks up the bottle of purple nail polish and Emerson’s happy expression drops away.

“Give it to me,” Cora huffs, holding out her hand for the handle to the polish. “I never should have let you do it.”

“Hey, now.” I give Cora a sharp look. “She was doing her best.”

Cora’s eyes flood with tears. Emerson edges closer to me, because she knows what happens when Cora gets upset.

“He won’t let us do spa days if you mess it up!” Cora cries, glaring at her younger sister.

“You ruined everything!”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” I tell Emerson. “And Cora, I never said we wouldn’t do this again. We can do a big spa day after my road trip, okay?”

Cora wipes her eyes and nods, still crying. It kills me to see her like this. As the oldest, she carries more of the weight from the deaths of her parents than her siblings. We’ve been in counseling for more than a year now, transitioning through the death of their mother, my sister-in-law Danielle, to the kids’ new life with me as their guardian. The clinical terms for what Cora struggles with—anxiety and controlling tendencies—are easier for me to handle than her breakdowns.

The tension leaves the room and Emerson starts my massage, which is pretty much just her karate chopping my shoulders, while Cora slathers strawberry yogurt onto my face.

“Is your shoulder better?” Cora asks me.

“Yep, it’s all good.”

“Think my mashage helped?” Emerson asks from behind me.

She can’t pronounce some words, and I kinda hope that’ll last longer, because it gets me every time.

“It definitely helped,” I tell her.

I tweaked my shoulder at practice yesterday, and Cora noticed me wince when I was taking out the trash last night. She worries about every sinus cold and bruise I get. I can’t blame the kid. Her dad, my brother Matt, died serving in Iraq and her mom passed away from cancer a year later.

“Hey, let’s get your nails painted, Cora,” I say after glancing at my watch. “I’ve only got five minutes til I have to hit the shower.” I turn to Emerson. “Can you go get the nail polish remover, peanut?”

“Okay.” She races from the room, brown curls flying behind her.

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AUTHOR INFORMATION:

Brenda Rothert is an Illinois native who was a print journalist for nine years. She made the jump from fact to fiction in 2013 and never looked back. From new adult to steamy contemporary romance, Brenda creates fresh characters in every story she tells. She’s a lover of Diet Coke, chocolate, lazy weekends and happily ever afters.

AUTHOR LINKS:

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Wattpad | Amazon

Today we are celebrating the release of ANTON by Brenda Rothert. This is a contemporary romance, standalone title, and it kicks off the brand new Chicago Blaze hockey romance series. Purchase your copy now for only $2.99!

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Anton by Brenda Rothert

Chicago Blaze, #1

AVAILABLE NOW

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Book Blurb:

He’s known as Father Anton to his teammates—the brooding, sexy captain of the NHL’s Chicago Blaze has a reputation for…not having a reputation. Just like his diet and sleep routines, celibacy is part of Anton Petrov’s on-ice mojo. Or so they say. Anton stays mum on the subject. If the world thinks he chooses to abstain from sex, so be it. Better that than the truth getting out: there is a woman he burns for, but he can never have her. She’s his teammate’s wife, after all.

Mia Marceau is finally on her own. Now that she and her husband are living apart, she’s finding the peace she was desperate for. She spends her days in classes and late nights bartending, making her own way in the world at last. After what she’s been through, as long as her husband leaves her alone, she doesn’t plan to rock the boat. He still has the power to hurt those dearest to her, and she can’t demand a divorce with such a high cost.

A chance encounter with Mia has Anton hoping for a shot he never thought he’d get. And while she’s drawn to the intense, serious hockey center, Mia’s leery about playing with fire. That’s all Anton has ever known for Mia, though—a living, burning desire that won’t be denied—no matter the cost.

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Anton

My brother’s a fucking asshole. I’ve known this since I first learned how to walk thirty years ago. My mom loves to tell the story about me taking my first tentative steps across our tiny Saint Petersburg apartment, my lips pursed in concentration. That is, until my twin brother Alexei crawled up behind me like a bat out of hell, laughing as he upended me and I fell on my ass.

“How’s that water?” He grins obnoxiously at me from across the table at our favorite Chicago steakhouse, his first glass of Heineken nearly gone already.

“Water’s water,” I say, shrugging. “How’s your liver?”

“My liver’s a fucking champ. It’s scrappy. If there was a Hunger Games for livers, mine would definitely be the winner.”

“You think?”

He arches his brows. “You only live once, man.”

Our server ends the conversation as he approaches with our dinner. Even though I devoured a salad already, my stomach growls as the plate with double portions of grilled chicken and steamed vegetables is set in front of me.

Alexei looks just as famished as he eyes his sixteen-ounce filet mignon and an enormous baked potato loaded with butter and sour cream.

“Another Heineken, sir?” the server asks him.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“I’ll bring more bread, too.” The server picks up the basket Alexei emptied, slathering each piece with butter as I ate my salad. “Anything else I can get you?”

“I think we’re good, thanks,” I say.

We both eat in silence for a couple minutes, until my brother sets down his fork and gives me a stern look.

“You do realize I had the game tonight, right? If Lenz hadn’t been fucking asleep in front of the net, we’d have won. Easily.”

“Here we go.” I roll my eyes.

“Don’t start that shit, Anton. You know I’m right.”

“I know you lost.”

“Lenz practically escorted you to the inside of our net, man.”

“4–2.” I remind him of the score. “A decisive win, I’d say.”

“We’ll have a new goalie by Monday, guaranteed.”

“We smoked you, Lex. The big talking Comets got shut down.”

He glares at me as he puts a giant bite of steak into his mouth and chews it slowly. This is his old trick for thinking of a comeback when he’s got nothing.

My brother and I played on the same team from the time we immigrated to the US from Russia at age five until we both graduated from Boston College, where we played hockey on athletic scholarships. My full-time job in college, in addition to playing hockey and studying for class, was keeping my hard-partying brother out of trouble so he wouldn’t lose his scholarship.

After college, we entered the NHL draft and signed with different teams. There’s only room for one Petrov brother on an NHL team, because while our personalities are like night and day, we’re very much the same on the ice. We’re both first line centers who fight hard and never quit. Both team captains who accept nothing less than one hundred percent. And we’re also both stubborn as hell.

Alexei started out playing for Minneapolis, but now he’s with the Austin Comets and I’m with the Chicago Blaze. No one gives me more shit than my brother, but no one loves me more either. I know for sure he’d walk through fire for me, and I’d do the same for him. Dinner at Robertson’s Steakhouse is our tradition after every game we play against each other in Chicago, no matter how pissed off or beat down the loser feels.

AUTHOR INFORMATION:

Brenda Rothert is an Illinois native who was a print journalist for nine years. She made the jump from fact to fiction in 2013 and never looked back. From new adult to steamy contemporary romance, Brenda creates fresh characters in every story she tells. She’s a lover of Diet Coke, chocolate, lazy weekends and happily ever afters.

AUTHOR LINKS:

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Wattpad | Amazon