Release Day Blitz: Jaded Hearts (Loaded Replay #1) by Harper Sloan

Posted December 13, 2016 by bookstobreathe in Book Blitz/Promo, New Release / 0 Comments

Release Day Blitz: Jaded Hearts (Loaded Replay #1) by Harper SloanTitle: Jaded Hearts
Author: Harper Sloan
Series: Loaded Replay #1
Published by Self-Published
Release Date December 13, 2016
Genres: Erotic Romance, New Adult Romance
Pages: 306
More Info: Goodreads
Purchase From: Amazon US
Purchase From: Barnes & Noble
Purchase From: Amazon UK
Purchase From: iTunes
Purchase From: Kobo
Signing with Brighthouse Records was supposed to be everything we ever wanted—our better life. Our chance at everything we never had but always wanted. All our dreams would finally come true and we were on top of the world. It was our chance at the happiness we never had in life.

Our every desire was at our fingertips and the power of that feeling was all consuming. But then it took every dream we thought would come true and it slapped us in the face with the cold hard reality.

Dreams were just that... something that floated on the cusp of untouchable, taunting you with every graze of your fingertips before slipping even further away.

Happiness... that feeling is a joke.

In the end it became painfully obvious that each of us would always have each other, but we would forever be alone.

Title: Jaded Hearts

Series: Loaded Replay #1

Genre: New Adult Erotic Romance

Photography: Perrywinkle Photography

Cover Design: Perfect Pear Creative Covers

Logo Design: Sara Eirew Photographer

Author: Harper Sloan

Release Date: December 13, 2016

Jaded Hearts is the first of four books in the Loaded Replay series. You might remember the band from Unexpected Fate when the girls, and Chance, went to their concert. Jaded Hearts will feature Wrenlee and Chance. Yup, you read that right. Chance is jumping the Hope Town ship.

Prologue

Signing with the record company of our dreams should have been the best thing that ever happened to us.

And it was… for a short while anyway.

While the glitz and glamour of the fame’s promise was shining as bright as our stage lights we could forget where we came from and live in the glory.  The money bought us every happiness we ever craved.  Those false securities that you think will make your life better.  The instant friends, lovers—you name it—would do whatever we asked just to spend a second in our presence.

We had it all.

The only problem was when we had those quiet moments in between the insanity.  When we were slapped in the face with the reality that all we really had—all we could count on—was each other.

My brother, Weston, is the only constant I’ve ever had in my life.  He’s the person that I know will never let me down and will always be my biggest support.  We grew up with parents that hated us.  Really…it sounds ridiculous, the notion that parents could hate their children, but ours did… no, do.  They made no secret of it when we were younger.  And they continue to attempt to pick at our very souls like the vultures that they are.

My earliest memory of them is somewhere around third or fourth grade.  That was the year that they seemed hell-bent on reminding us that we had ruined it all for them.  Constant screams and verbal lashings.

According to them, they were on the edge of fame and then we came along and it all went down hill.  Even now, I still can’t understand how they came up with that logic.  How we were to blame for their reckless behavior.  The same reckless behavior that, in reality had ruined whatever path they might have traveled.  It has nothing to do with us, but to them, we were essentially their bad luck.

When we hit middle school it got worse, but only because they knew that they could leave us for long periods and we wouldn’t die.

Our parents, like us, were born to be stars… or at least they assumed they were and they had no qualms about reminding us that fact daily.  Unfortunately for them, they lacked the drive and ambition to never back down until they had everything they ever wanted.  The first challenge that was thrown in their path they decided to take the low road full of scavengers and sinners.

Like I said, vultures through and through.

Our dad knocked up mom in the early eighties, when big hair rock bands were all the rage and theirs was seconds away from signing the record deal that would make their careers.

Then they found out about us.

The twins that ruined it all.

And all those long nights performing in whatever local hole they could find, bouncing from town to town just waiting for their big break was washed away.

Mom was no longer the singer that men would lust over.  Not when we ruined her body.  And our dad was so deep in the bottle I’m not sure he realized he was swimming in it.  Again, something that was blamed on us.

When their band fell apart, they decided hating us was almost easier than hating each other.  They had a common goal in their blame and right or wrong, to them we would never be anything other than a reminder of why they aren’t living their dream.

Their band mates obviously didn’t share the same bond that Weston and I have with Jamison and Luke.  God forbid I ever found myself in a position like my parents had been in, I know my boys would band together and the show would go on.

Because for us, this is it.

This is our future’s promise of a better life and even if for me it’s starting to look like more of a curse than a promise, it’s something that we would die before we gave up.

Unfortunately for me, I’m pretty sure that there are a few people that would love to make that happen.

I’m getting ahead of myself.  You’re probably wondering who am I.

I’m no stranger to you.  I’m on every magazine cover.  You open social media and I guarantee you there is a sponsored post about my group.  Turn on the radio, boom – there we are.

I’m everywhere.

I’m Wrenlee Davenport, lead singer of Loaded Replay, and I’ve learned the hard way that there is plenty of people in the world that would love to have a piece of me, but they don’t give one shit about the person behind the voice.

They see the persona.  The fake me that the record label loves to market as the sexy singer with the body of a sinner and the voice of a saint, but for me—I’m probably always going to be that stupid little girl that believes that my prince charming will come riding in on his black horse—because really, black horses are so much more bad ass than white ones—and prove to me that every little jaded piece of my heart is worth loving.

And he will love me for me.

For Wren.

Not the Wrenlee that, for more times than I care to admit, has to drink herself stupid just to face this fucking life I’m living.

Yeah… fame and fortune is far from everything I ever dreamed it was.

It’s my own personal hell and I pray that there’s something or someone out there that can prove to me that the world isn’t screwed because the majority of humanity is too busy licking the windows on the outside to see the beauty behind it.  All they care about is what’s at face value when what matters is skin deep.

I should feel bad for prince charming. My knight in tarnished armor. Because he’ll have one giant battle on his hands to make me believe that there might be someone left out there that doesn’t just want a piece of me.

Excerpt

Goddamn, that smile is dangerous.

Who am I kidding?  He is dangerous.

I do my best to ignore him, but it’s impossible.  The steady brush of his arm against where mine is resting on our shared armrest constantly reminds me how much my body wants his touch.  The scent of his delicious cologne hits my senses, making me want to climb in his lap and rub my face over his chest to get a potent lungful of it.

I can’t even remember the last time I was this horny, which is pathetically sad, since it was probably around the same time I actually got laid.  Years.  I think.  Close to three.  Maybe that’s why I’m a hot mess lately.   I turn my head to study the side of his face and wonder if I can use this situation to my advantage.  I mean, afterall, we are in a ‘relationship’ now.

He turns and gives me a questioning arch of his dark brows, but I brush it off in favor of playing Disney Emoji Blitz on my phone.

By the time we had hit cruising altitude, I could hear the other men around me snoring away but not Chance.  He’s fiddling with his phone, completely ignorant of the fact I’m about to start humping his leg.

“Excuse me,” I breathily say, unbuckling my belt and standing to move around him.  I stand there, my head bent slightly because of the overhead, and wait.  He doesn’t move, though.  Instead, he drops his phone to his lap and gives me his complete attention; his eyes even dance a little like he’s finding this whole damn thing funny.  “Excuse me,” I repeat, no longer breathy, and seconds away from coming.

No, that’s a lie.  I’m still breathy and very much seconds away from soaking my panties even more than they already are.

His large hands grab my hips, and heguides me down on his lap with no resistance from my treacherous body.

“Not what I meant,” I say through clenched teeth, trying to sound harsh and offended, but I just sound dazed and turned on.  I wiggle in his hold, trying to get free, but he’s too strong for me.

He leans up in his seat, his chest hitting my back and buries his face in my neck.  I’m sure anyone who saw us would see a loving couple who just can’t keep their hands to themselves.  He’s playing a dangerous game, though, because the second the solid, hard length of him presses against my backside, I forget this is supposed to be a game and squirm a little more.  His teeth nip at my shoulder at the same time his groan hits my ears.

“Stop moving, Wren,” he demands, tightening his fingers on my hips.

“You’re the one who put me on your lap.”  I curl my fingers over the empty seat in front of me and squeeze my eyes shut when I feel him growing harder under me.

“Yeah, because the flight attendant who just walked by had her phone out and pointed right at us.  She’s doing a shit job of making it look like she’s doing something with her paperwork.”  His hand comes off my hip, and he cups my jaw, turning my head to the side just when I was about to look up at where I last saw the attendant, forcing me to shift until all it would take is me throwing one leg over his body to be face-to-face.  “Do not look at her,” he stresses; the sudden movement of twisting my body makes me bounce slightly in his lap, rubbing my legging-clad ass against his erection.  His eyes drop to my mouth where I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and groan.

“Give me a reason not to look,” I dare him.

“You don’t want to go down that road, Wren.  I’ll protect you from the world, but you need to protect yourself from me.”

“No one is asking you to.”

Not even knowing if we’re still being watched, I twist my torso the rest of the way, pulling my legs up until they’re bent at his stomach between us.  Now that I’m facing him completely, I bring my hands up to curl them both around his shoulders before dragging them up to wrap around the corded muscles at the sides of his neck.  His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t stop me.  I give him the chance, but it never comes.  Dropping my head, I press my lips to his.  I explore his lips with small pecks and little licks of my tongue, learning his mouth before pressing more firmly.  He sucks in a breath when I open my mouth and slowly drag the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip.

And then his control snaps.

His hands—still at my hips—lift me effortlessly until my legs are no longer folded between us, but now digging into the hard armrests with my knees pushing into his thighs, my back hitting the seat in front of me.  His mouth opens, and his tongue meets mine, no hesitation whatsoever, as he deepens the kiss.

Our breathing echoes around us, making it sound like everyone on this plane could hear us, but I know it’s just because our faces are so close.  I let out a moan, one that he swallows, that turns into a whine when he pulls back.

“That can’t happen again,” he softly scolds, just as breathless as I am.

What the hell?  I might not have been into this whole fake-boyfriend-slash-bodyguard thing before, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to take advantage of the situation.  Especially now that I know how alive he makes me feel.  Three years since I had pleasure from anything other than my own hand, and if that kiss is anything to go by, what Chance could make me feel is ten times more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt in my whole life.

I’m not passing that up.

Nope.

No fucking way.

“We’ll see about that.”

About Harper Sloan

Harper is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author residing in Georgia with her husband and three daughters. She has a borderline unhealthy obsession with books, hibachi, tattoos and Game of Thrones. When she isn’t writing you can almost always find her with a book in hand.

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