Friday, March 29, 2013

Best Selling Author Bernadette Marie has a New Release



Available from 5 Prince Publishing www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com
Genre: Romance/Contemporary
Release Date: March 29, 2013
Digital ISBN 13:978-1-939217-22-6 ISBN: 10:1939217229

Unexpected Admirer
The bright lights of stardom are sometimes too bright.

Jesse Charles, the chart topping, pop-sensation has fallen head over heels in love with small town biology teacher Melissa Mathews. However, not only does their age difference worry her, she’s a widowed mother of a young son who needs her attention. But her unexpected admirer isn’t one to give up so easily. He’s willing to give up everything just to make them a family and settle in her home town—but his manager and mother have a different opinion.

Jesse will have to convince Melissa that he can be the perfect husband and father before he loses her—and loses his career over stories circulated by the easily persuaded media.


Bernadette Marie Bio:
Bernadette Marie has been an avid writer since the early age of 13, when she’d fill notebook after notebook with stories that she’d share with her friends.  Her journey into novel writing started the summer before eighth grade when her father gave her an old typewriter.  At all times of the day and night you would find her on the back porch penning her first work, which she would continue to write for the next 22 years. 
In 2007 – after marriage, filling her chronic entrepreneurial needs, and having five children – Bernadette began to write seriously with the goal of being published.  That year she wrote 12 books.  In 2009  she was contracted for her first trilogy and the published author was born.  In 2011 she (being the entrepreneur that she is) opened her own publishing house, 5 Prince Publishing, and has released contemporary titles and began the process of taking on other authors in other genres. 
In 2012 Bernadette Marie found herself on the bestsellers lists of iTunes and Amazon to name a few.  Her office wall is lined with colorful PostIt notes with the titles of books she will be releasing in the very near future, with hope that they too will grace the bestsellers lists.
Bernadette spends most of her free time driving her kids to their many events.  She is also an accomplished martial artist who will earn her conditional second degree black belt in Tang Soo Do in October 2012.  An avid reader, she enjoys most, the works of Nora Roberts, Karen White, Megan Hart, to name a few. She loves to meet readers who enjoy reading contemporary romances and she always promises Happily Ever After.




PUBLIC AUTHOR CONTACT INFO:
@writesromance on Twitter




Unexpected Admirer Excerpt:
A crowded arena on a weeknight was not where Melissa Mathews wanted to be. She’d spent her day teaching thirteen-year-olds the fundamentals of biology, attended a staff meeting, and drove an hour to Grand Junction. She was beat.
But when she looked over at her son, who stood next to her, his grin as big as the sun, she knew she’d recuperate. After all, it was her fault they were standing with thousands of people who chanted Jesse Charles’s name. She’d won the tickets to see the pop star on the radio. The show had been sold out for months, and she didn’t have the funds to take her son anyway.
It was a mystery to her why he even wanted to go. Jonah was a huge Jesse Charles fan, but Melissa wasn’t. Oh, he seemed to be a fine role model, but between her son playing his music morning and night and the kids at school incessantly talking about him, Melissa could care less about the man.
And the night was just beginning. No, she couldn’t have just won some general admission tickets. She won the whole package. A nice dinner at a local restaurant. Front row tickets to the show. And what would a night like this be without meet and greet passes for later.
Jonah was in heaven.
Melissa was in a teenager-fueled hell.

Jesse Charles paced back and forth in his dressing room. He’d been performing since he was ten, professionally since he was fourteen. However, stage fright was a real thing and he had it bad.
His assistant, Bryce, was busy taking notes and talking on his cell phone in the corner. He’d thought his manager would take the time to fly to Colorado to catch the show, but again, he was busy with his own, fantastic life.
Jesse let out a sigh. His career was nothing less than spectacular. He was the number one recording artist in America, and the world had taken note.
But at twenty-five, Jesse Charles was tired.

Melissa fidgeted with the backstage pass around her neck. The woman at the radio station had told her to keep it under her shirt. She’d seen people mobbed over them. It was killing Melissa to have it pressed against her skin, but the last thing she needed was to have it ripped from her neck. Jonah hadn’t been happy about tucking his in either, but he’d done it. What did it matter anyway? He was going to meet his idol. All Melissa could hope for was to be in bed before two a.m. and that maybe Friday would be quiet for the middle-schoolers she’d have to teach—but she knew better than that.
The lights in the arena dimmed, and the crowd around her went wild. She looked over at her son. An enormous smile permeated his lips. He hadn’t been so happy in a very long time. Melissa owed him this night. She put her arm around him and gave him a squeeze just as the arena filled with lights of all colors. A whine of a guitar pierced her ears, and from the center of the stage in a smoke-filled cloud, Jesse Charles emerged in all his glory.
She had to admit, the atmosphere was infectious. Girls swooned and screamed. Jonah clapped his hands and sang along with the songs she was familiar with, but she didn’t know the words. Never would she have expected to enjoy herself, but among Jesse Charles’s fans, she was happy too.
The show was loud and spectacular—and never ending.
Melissa looked down at her watch for the third time. The show was moving into its second hour, and the man hadn’t taken a break. He’d sung and danced the entire time—he had endless energy. She, on the other hand, was exhausted.
Melissa scanned the crowd. She was sure she was the only person aware of the time. She looked back up at the stage, and at that moment, she was sure her eyes connected with Jesse Charles’s. The very moment hit her.
She diverted her eyes. Certainly he was that good of a showman to make the entire audience feel as though they were the only ones in the room.
It wouldn’t be long before she’d be right in front of him, shaking his hand. But that was all for Jonah. She wasn’t interested. She was sure he’d say hello, sign a picture, and move on to the next person. Yes, that would be how it would go. She told herself there really hadn’t been any eye contact. Thousands of scantily clad girls screamed his name. If he had seen her, it was probably a look of disgust for someone so average in his crowd.
Jesse Charles went about belting out the song of the moment. He danced his way to the side of the stage, motioned to someone, and without missing a beat, he was back at center stage making the crowd go wild.
A few minutes later, Melissa felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Ma’am, would you mind coming with me?” An enormous man with a security shirt was standing next to her.
“I’m sorry,” she yelled over the music. “Did I do something wrong?”
“If you wouldn’t mind just coming with me.”
He was trying to guide her away from her seat. “My son!”
She reached for Jonah and grabbed hold of his arm and then quickly picked up their coats.
As she followed the man, another security guard stepped in behind them. Jonah moved up closer to her.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.” She reached out for the man in front of her as they headed toward the side of the arena. “Sir, where are we going?”
“I’ve been asked to take you backstage.”
Melissa let out a breath. “Is this for the meet and greet?”
“No.” The guard narrowed his gaze on her.
“Oh, we have passes.” She pulled the pass from under her shirt.
“No, ma’am, this has nothing to do with that. Mr. Charles would like to sing to you. He’s requested you on stage.”
Certainly there was some kind of mistake. The radio station hadn’t said anything about getting on stage.
Her heart pounded faster than the rhythm of the song blaring thought the arena.
Jonah had grabbed hold of her hand. “Mom! He wants to sing to you!”
“I don’t like this.”
The men were leading them down a corridor The music was muffled, but as they turned the corner, she could see the stage and Jesse Charles was only a few feet in front of them, performing for thousands.
“What if I don’t want to do this?”
The security guard gave her a shrug.
Jonah stepped between them and looked up at her. “Mom, this is fun. Go.”
When did a ten-year-old tell his mother what to do? But then she noticed the glimmer in his eyes and the smile that still turned his lips up at the corners. She couldn’t let him down.
She handed Jonah her coat, straightened her clothes, and ran her fingers through the wild curls which went every which direction. This had to be some kind of a joke for the superstar. What a mother wouldn’t do for the joy of her child.

Friday, March 22, 2013

Launch Day for Jaded Book 2 of The Butterfly Memoirs



Jaded
By
MJ Kane
Book 2 of The Butterfly Memoirs

Available from 5 Prince Publishing www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com
Genre: Fiction/African American / Contemporary Women/ Romance/ Contemporary Women/ Contemporary/ Interracial Romance and Women’s Fiction
Release Date: March 22, 2013
Digital ISBN 13: 978-1-939217-36-3 ISBN 10: 1939217369
Print ISBN 13: 978-1-939217-37-0 ISBN 10: 1939217377

Jaded
A devastating breakup leaves Yasmine Phillips in shambles. Unable to trust another man with her heart, she focuses on the one thing she can control—starting her own business. 

When her computer crashes, taking months of hard work with it, she must rely on computer genius Zachariah Givens to save her. A complete opposite of men from her past, she doesn't expect the passion that ensues. But just as she finds happiness, she learns the truth about the other women in Zachariah's life. 


Bio for MJ Kane:

M.J. Kane stumbled into writing. An avid reader, this stay at home mom never lost the overactive imagination of an only child. As an adult she made up stories, though never shared them, to keep herself entertained. It wasn’t until surviving a traumatic medical incident in 2006 that she found a reason to let the characters inhabiting her imagination free.  Upon the suggestion of her husband, she commandeered his laptop and allowed the characters to take life. It was that, or look over her shoulder for men caring a purple strait jacket. And the rest, as they say, is history.
No longer a television addict, if M.J. isn’t reading a book by one of her favorite authors, she’s battling with her creative muse to balance writing and being a wife and mother. She resides in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia with her high school sweetheart, four wonderful children, and two pit bulls. MJ can often be found hanging out at the local library where she is director of a local writer’s group, or online connecting with readers and other authors. Other activities she enjoys include: creating custom floral arrangements, assisting her children in their creative pursuits of music and art, and supporting her husband’s music production business, 3D Sounds.
You can find MJ on social networking sites, sharing writing tips, talking about music, life, and family. She’s always excited to meet new people. Connect with her via the websites below. 

Author Contact Info:
MJ Kane:


The Butterfly Memoirs Series:


EXCERPT For Jaded:
Dear Diary,
I’ve been called a slut, a ho, easy… and a few other words that I refuse to even write on paper.
Since middle school, people have taken one look at my light skin, grey eyes, and the shape of my body and assumed that’s who I was.
Assume.
The first three letters of the word described them. How dare they judge me? Nobody is perfect.
It has never mattered what I’ve done in my life. Being the daughter of a bi-racial marriage has always haunted me. With my fusion of graceful features I’d inherited from my white mother - the slender nose, cat-like eyes, vibrant smile - and the take-no-shit attitude of my black father, people didn’t know how to deal with me.
Guys in school wanted to date me as if I were a trophy. Girls hated the color of my eyes and the texture of my hair.
Things got worse as I got older. Why? Because I love my body and I love sex.
But I never used either to earn money or favors from any man. I am a confident, educated woman who goes for what I want, regardless of what anyone around me has to say. If that means I want a good lay every now and then, I’m damn well entitled to it. But one thing I’d never be is a home wrecker.
My philosophy on love and relationships is simple: sex isn’t love, but it’s nice while you’re waiting.
Well, that’s what I used to think before the man that I fell in love with trampled all over my heart.
And raped my best friend.
Love will never happen for me. No man will ever understand me. The real me.
Not my parents, not my brother, not even my best friends.
My life, my experiences – both good and bad - are what define the real me.

Yasmine 

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

New Release-The Italian Job By Phyllis Humphrey




Available from 5 Prince Publishing www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com
Genre: Fiction / Romance / Contemporary
Release Date: March 21, 2013
Digital ISBN 13: 978-1-393217-40-0 ISBN 10: 1939217407
Print ISBN 13: 978-1-939217-41-7 ISBN 10: 1939217415

The Italian Job
SYDNEY COOKE, a California magazine writer assigned to describe a tour of Italy, meets TAYLOR MITCHELL, an artist/computer consultant, on the flight to Rome. They click, but sometimes he’s mysterious. Just her luck if an eligible man has skeletons in his closet. Nine days later, a false accusation, plus a problem from his past forces Taylor to leave the tour. Can Sydney find him, and--in her unique, resourceful fashion--heal old wounds and bring about a happy-ever-after?


About Phyllis A Humphrey
Phyllis Humphrey’s writing credits include thirteen romance novels, a mainstream novel, a memoir about her husband’s aunt and a non-fiction book. In addition, she’s sold several short stories and many articles to national magazines, and her two 30-minute radio plays were produced by American Radio Theatre. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America, where she was a Golden Heart finalist. Another novel won the San Diego Book Award in 2002, and she’s a member of Mensa.

How to contact Phyllis:
Twiiter: @ PhumphreyAuthor






EXCERPT of The Italian Job:
I landed the assignment to go to Rome—not because I was the best writer on the staff of L.A. Life Magazine, nor because I could speak Italian (because I couldn’t). My incredibly important skill was availability. Time was short. Jason was on his honeymoon. Pamela was very pregnant. And no less than three staff members were out with the flu—or so they said. In May, go figure. Or perhaps it was because no one else was willing to fly 3,000 miles on two days notice. Shows what a stunningly bad social life can do for you.
Even so, my boss, Mr. Hardcastle, the first part of whose name should give you an idea of his personality, hesitated long enough before giving his assent to grow mold on my sweaty palms.
“You aren’t going to mess up again, are you?”
Like I planned to. Like climbing into the window of a strange person’s hotel room on my previous assignment for the magazine had been a well thought out decision. In truth, it was nothing but a fluke, the unavoidable result of making a serious miscalculation. Which, I fervently vowed, would never happen again.
“No, of course not.” I straightened up to my full five feet, six inches and shook my head. Which unfortunately set my ponytail swinging, not a good thing.
Hardcastle frowned. “So go already. My secretary will give you the tickets and itinerary. Take your laptop and be sure it works this time.”
I’d only made that mistake once so he had no call to remind me. And anyway, even without the laptop, I’d remembered almost the entire interview from that assignment and my article was highly praised in some circles.
“And, Sydney, don’t forget this is your last chance.”
He meant that threat, so I smiled and hurried from his office before he could change his mind about Rome.
The next day I found my never-used passport, had my hair trimmed, and packed my itinerary, tickets and laptop. I planned to record every minute of my first European experience into my journal and tucked it into my seriously overpriced handbag. I went to bed before nine in order to catch a very early flight out of Los Angeles the next morning.
However, as so often happens with me, I couldn’t fall asleep for hours. My brain wanted to replay the episode of the window, perhaps to reinforce in my conscious mind that the entire thing had not been my fault.
I’d been given the assignment to interview a minor local politician running for office in the next election, and I sat opposite him in an armless chair in his hotel room. I asked questions and he answered politely but softly, in what I later realized he considered a sexy voice. As I leaned forward to hear him, my skirt hiked up over my knees. I attempted to pull it down, dropped my notebook and bent to pick it up, and suddenly he was all over me like a case of hives.
I managed to get out of his clutches and protested in no uncertain terms, but he would have none of it. We did a little cha-cha around the sofa, and then, after slowing him down by pushing an end table in front of him, I grabbed my purse, dashed into the bedroom, and slammed the door.
Yes, that might sound like a foolish thing to have done, but I knew that old hotel. The windows were actually French doors and led to outside balconies. My aim was to get out there and call for help.
Much to my surprise, he didn't follow me. Maybe he had a phone call, or he fell over the end table, or someone came to the door, but my problem remained. It was dark—he had set the interview time for evening—and the balcony was two stories above the street, too far for jumping even if I were an Olympic athlete instead of someone whose only exercise is changing the sheets on her bed.
However, the next balcony being merely a foot away, I decided to swing over to it, enter the next room by way of those French doors, and return to the hotel hallway. The next room, which I could only see through a crack in the closed drapes, seemed dark and empty. I paused but reasoned that even if someone were staying there, chances were slim it would be another man bent on hanky-panky.
So I hiked up my skirt, swung my legs over the two balcony railings, and gently tried the handle of the door. It was jerked open from inside, and suddenly I was face to face with a fledgling actor who was in town to audition for a part in an upcoming film.
Of course, I didn't know his occupation at the time. That came in the next day’s newspapers. Even so, it could all have ended unobtrusively except that someone had apparently called a paparazzo, who flashed a bright light at me. I froze like a safe-cracker with his hand on the dial. Mr. Actor pulled me into his room, and I found myself among a dozen people watching a film clip on the room’s DVD player.
I was labeled a “groupie,” handed an eight-by-ten glossy signed by the actor, and laughingly sent on my way.
     Except that, while climbing over the balcony, my handbag slipped off my shoulder and the paparazzo found the magazine's business cards. That wasn't the end, of course, the photographer had taken pictures and released them to the newspapers. As a result of the sudden publicity, Mr. Actor got a role in an action-adventure film. Nevertheless, Mr. Hardcastle was not amused.
I wrote up the interview as if none of that had occurred because I preferred to think the politician, perhaps, had never behaved that way before. Also, I learned a long time ago that I have plenty of faults of my own, so I lean toward forgiving others for theirs.