
Author: Alessandra Torre
Publisher: Self-Published
Release Date: July 4, 2016
Genre: Contemporary Romance, Erotic Romance, Romantic Suspense, Sports
More Info: Goodreads
Purchase: Amazon US
Purchase: Barnes & Noble
Purchase: Amazon UK
Purchase: iTunes
Purchase: Kobo
Baseball wasn't supposed to be a game of life and death...
The summer that Chase Stern entered my life, I was seventeen. The daughter of a legend, the Yankees were my family, their stadium my home, their dugout my workplace. My focus was on the game. Chase... he started out as a distraction. A distraction with sex appeal poured into every inch of his six foot frame. A distraction who played like a god and partied like a devil.
I tried to stay away. I couldn’t.
Then, the team started losing.
Women started dying.
And everything in my world broke apart.
Title: Moonshot
Genre: Erotic Sports Romantic Suspense
Author: Alessandra Torre
Release Date: July 4, 2016
Cover Design: Perfect Pear Creations
Cover Model: McKinli Hatch
Photographer: Perrywinkle Photography
Trailer
What authors are saying about Moonshot….
“The perfect summer read! Love, angst, passion, heartache, and one killer twist. I loved it! 6 stars!”
~ Mia Asher, Author
“Hands down, Moonshot is the most addictively clever story I’ve read all year!”
~ Whitney Gracia Williams, NYT Bestselling Author
“I LOVED Moonshot! It’s the perfect summer read: sexy, suspenseful, and shocking. Moonshot is Alessandra Torre at her best!”
~Ella James
“I absolutely loved this one-devoured it. Every bite was a perfectly balanced taste of romance, suspense and heart-pounding sensuality. Alessandra Torre has outdone herself and I know this one will be a reread favorite!”
~Rebecca Yarros, Author of the Flight & Glory Series
Prologue
Pittsburgh
When my foot first stepped up, high and hesitantly, onto a team bus, I was seven. I liked My Little Ponies and Hanson. A brand-new coloring book was tucked under my skinny arm, a Lisa Frank backpack high on my back, full of my Most Important Items.
He stood at the top of the steps, one hand on the rail, the other on his hip. His jeans were stiff and dark, the bright yellow T-shirt tucked into the top of them. I raised my eyes from the neck of the shirt, past his scruffy jaw, his mouth, and landed on eyes that I had rarely seen.
“Hi Tyler.” His mouth lifted in a smile, and I tried to match the gesture.
“Hi Dadtdy.”
His smile broke a little, his mouth tightening, and he took the steps between us quickly, awkwardly sticking out a hand. “Let me take your backpack,” he said, his voice gruff.
I moved obedient arms through the straps, and carefully lifted one pink plastic shoe up another dirty step, then a second, depending heavily on his hand, my small palm gripping it tightly, our progression up the short flight an awkward dance of strangers.
When I got to the top, I stopped, a long aisle stretching before me, a chorus of male faces, strangers’ faces, staring at me, an uncomfortable hush settling over the big bus.
“Go ahead, Tyler. Find us a seat.” My father pushed gently on my back, and I took my first step down that aisle.
It was April of 2001, and six days after Mom died.
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