Title: Faded Gray Lines

Series: Carrera Cartel #2

Author: Cora Kenborn

Genre: Mafia Romance

Release Date: June 28, 2018

Blurb

Oh, and she
and autocorrect are mortal enemies.

WEBSITE

Blurred Red Lines

Cora Kenborn

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Bite Me Graphic Design

Nothing’s deadlier than sleeping with the enemy.

Eden 

In the wrong place at the wrong time, my life is forever altered when I witness a botched cartel hit. Kidnapped and held against my will, I find myself thrust into a longstanding cartel war as some sick consolation prize. I’ll make it out of here, and when I do, everyone from the drug lord to the bottom-feeding trigger man will fall. 

That is, if I can stop myself from falling first. For him. I should hate him. He holds me prisoner, but I'm the one who refuses to leave. 

Valentin 

My name is whispered in fear. As the heir to the Carrera Cartel, I’m determined to defy my legacy and do things my way. When an innocent man’s death put a witness on my radar, I try to convince myself I’m keeping her prisoner to discover her secrets. It’s a lie. I want her, but this dangerous attraction risks both my empire and our lives.

I’ve spent my life in a solitude of my own choosing, but now that I have Eden beside me, I won’t let her go. If we burn…we burn together.

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"Rise and shine, Danger."

Val twitched once then fell back asleep, his bare ass uncovered by the blanket I'd just ripped off. Irritated at his lack of response, I climbed onto the bed and straddled his back. Extending my arms, I curled my finger around the trigger and repeated myself.

"Val, wake up before I pop a cap in your ass."

Like a lightning bolt shot down from the ceiling, his eyes flew open and he twisted his body until he lay on his back, facing the barrel end of his own gun. Slowly raising his palms, his throat bobbed with a heavy swallow.

"Eden," he said, drawing out my name slowly. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're aiming a gun in my face. Why don't you put it down, and we can talk about whatever's wrong?"

Pretending to think for a moment, I quickly shrugged. "Nah. I like this more."

His fingers wiggled, itching to grab the gun out of my hands. "I'm not fucking around, Eden. Give me the gun."

"I'm not either, and no."

"What is it that you want?" His eyes hammered into me as his nostrils flared.

Good. I'd been waiting for those words.

Slackening my elbows, I leaned into his chest, enunciating every word. "I want you to take me to Mexico City."

Taking advantage of my position, Val grabbed my elbows, flipping me onto my back and somehow wrangling the gun out of my hands at the same time. Unloading the ammo, he tossed the gun to the side of the bed and held my hands above my head.

Well, that ended up the exact opposite as I intended.

"What the fuck was that about?" he roared. "You think that shit's funny?"

No. I didn't think it was funny, but for some reason a chorus of laughter fell from my chest. As I fought for air, I shook my head in protest. "No, I don't. But how else was I supposed to get your attention?"

"Well you've got it now, speak."

"Teach me to shoot."

"What?" He pulled back, his eyebrows raising to his hairline.

"You heard me. Teach me to shoot. I know a little, but not enough to protect either of us if things get crazy in Mexico City."

Releasing me, Val sat up, collecting the discarded pieces of his gun. "You didn't seem to have an issue when you almost blew Emilio's dick off." Cursing, he rubbed his thickening beard. "Stop it with this shit. You're not going. Besides, waking me up with a gun in my face doesn't exactly make me want to do anything for you, Eden."

Changing tactics, I moved behind him, sliding my palms up his back and down the front of his chest. "Emilio brings out the violent side in me." A deep throated rumble let me know I was on the right track to getting what I wanted. "Oh, come on, Val, admit it. You got turned on seeing me hold it, didn't you?"

"No."

Pressing my lips against his neck, I drew circles against his skin with the tip of my tongue. "No? Not even a little?"

"Maybe."

"Just think what it would feel like to see me shoot one, to stand behind me and feel me pull the trigger, Val. All that power. All that force squeezed in the palm of my hand."

Another groan and a shudder, and I knew I had him.

Grabbing his pants at the foot of the bed, he shoved one leg in before moving out of my hold. 

"Get dressed."

Cora Kenborn writes twisted romance novels about damaged bad boys, feisty heroines, and unpredictable plot twists. While she may take you on a crazy ride to get there, Cora is a sucker for a happily ever after and will always deliver one for her readers. 

Raised in North Carolina, Cora grew up on sweet tea and front porches and was taught the real meaning of “bless your heart." She instills the same values in her three children and uses her Southern charm to con her husband into believing Hot Pockets are an acceptable family dinner.

Cora proudly admits to being a domestic rebel, is deathly allergic to laundry, and tends to be more dangerous with a hot glue gun than any weapon on Earth. Oh, and she and autocorrect are mortal enemies.

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The Wit & Wonder Agency

Shallow

Cora Kenborn

COVER REVEAL

SHALLOW

BY 

CORA KENBORN

Hosted By: Chance Promotions

Release Date: November 28th, 2017

Cover Design: Bite Me Graphic Design

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SYNOPSIS

Shiloh

Only the good die young. But I’ve never been good.

I’ve lived a life most people only dream about. Famous men, expensive booze, and the finest drugs money could buy. But every vice has its price, and living a life of excess has finally dragged me down, forcing me back to the one place I swore I’d never return.

We met in high school, but we were far from sweethearts. I ruined his life and then walked away. Losing everything is bad enough, but crawling back to people who wish you were dead is a nightmare.

Some say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Not always. You either forgive and forget, or fracture and finish.

Cary

Seven years ago, Shiloh West was my world. I gave up my future for her. Then, I spent every waking moment hating her for it. I’ve followed her train wreck of a career in the tabloids since she drove out of town with her nose in the air. The woman is toxic.

The fact that a judge has court ordered her back to town means nothing to me—except maybe the payback I’ve waited a lifetime to collect. I’m going to build her up and tear her down.

A better man would walk away. I'm not a better man. She thinks she has the upper hand.

Think again, Starshine.

Beauty is only skin deep, but revenge goes straight to the bone.

EXCERPT

“I don’t scare you?”

“No.” She lifts her heavy lashes, tears pooling in her eyes. “You’ve seen me at my worst, and you could’ve ended me right then. Anyone else would’ve, but you didn’t. You don’t scare me, Cary. You’ve seen the ugly, yet you’re still here.” Raising the back of her hand, she swipes it along her forehead and chuckles. “I’m not sure if that makes you a saint or really stupid.”

“I’m no saint, Shiloh. I’m not the boy you kicked around in high school. That boy died when you…” My voice trails off, and I shake my head, refusing to rehash the past right now. “Anyway, I’m just a guy trying to make the best of a bad situation. You have to be here, and I have to deal with you being here. Being dicks to each other isn’t going to make the next three years pleasant for either of us.”

“Agreed, but I still don’t understand why you did all of this.” She motions around the empty arena. “You say you’re no saint, but, I’m no angel either. So, where does that leave us?”

I’ve asked myself the same question at least a dozen times since bringing her here. I can’t forgive her for what she did to me. The hate I’ve carried with me is too deeply imprinted to forgive and forget. However, the twisted need I have to play with her emotions makes me no better than her.

So, if we’re both demented as hell, then her question is valid. Where does that leave us?

But why does it have to leave us anywhere? We are who we are and not a damn thing is going to change that. Both of us have done some fucked up shit that’s caused pain and suffering. Maybe for one day we can block out the world and pretend we don’t hate each other.

“Even sinners and fallen angels take a break from anarchy, Shiloh. All work and no play makes us very dull criminals.”

I skate a step, or maybe it’s four or five. Hell, I don’t know. I’m too enthralled with the fiery look on her face to notice that she’s pressed right up against me, chest to chest, and stomach to stomach. The frigid air in the arena heats, and the minute I tip her head back, I know I should stop this, but I won’t. I can’t.

“Ask me again,” I whisper, the cold air clouding around my breath.

Her chin trembles in my hand. “Why did you go to all this trouble for me?”

“I went through seven years of detox, Shiloh. But one goddamn hit of you in a bathroom and I’m a junkie again. You make me crave more. It’s never enough.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cora Kenborn writes twisted romance novels about bad boys and damsels NOT in distress while shocking readers with unpredictable plot twists.

A true Southern girl from Eastern North Carolina, Cora grew up on sweet tea and front porches, and knows the real meaning of “bless your heart.” She’s the mother of three hyperactive and occasionally adorable children and the wife to a husband who she’s conned into believing Hot Pockets are a perfectly acceptable family dinner.

Cora can usually be found taking notes during true crime shows, effectively freaking out everyone in the room. She proudly admits to being a domestic rebel and plans to pen future self-help books including: “Microwave Dinners For Dummies,” “Allergic To Laundry and Other Common Household Dangers,” and “When Hot Glue Guns Attack: A Mother’s Nightmare.”

Oh, and she and autocorrect are mortal enemies.

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Title: Blurred Red Lines

Series: Carrera Cartel #1

Author: Cora Kenborn

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Release Date: April 4, 2017

Blurb

Sometimes, there’s nothing more deadly than sleeping with the enemy.

Eden

Meaningless flings, a steady stream of alcohol, and two dead-end jobs fill my days until my world flips upside down. In the wrong place at the wrong time, I witness a botched cartel hit, and my life is forever altered. With nothing left to lose and motivated by revenge, I vow to make those responsible always remember what I’ll never be able to forget. Then I’m kidnapped, and before I know what’s happening, I’m thrust into a long-standing cartel war as some sick consolation prize. I’ll make it out of here, and when I do, everyone from the top drug lord to the bottom-feeding trigger man will fall.

That is if I can stop myself from falling first. For him. The one I should hate myself for wanting. He’s the one that holds me prisoner, but it’s me who refuses to leave.

Valentin

My name is whispered in fear because of the ruthless reputation I’ve built for myself. Being the heir to the Carrera Cartel comes with its perks, but I’m determined to defy my legacy and do things my way. A prisoner with a temper as fiery as her hair and a rival cartel are the only things standing between me and complete domination. Murder is business in my world, but when an innocent man’s death puts a witness on my radar and in my basement, I try to convince myself I’m keeping her safe to discover her secrets. It’s a lie. I want her, and with my enemies closing in, I need her now more than ever.

This dangerous attraction between us risks both my empire and our lives. I’ve spent my life in a solitude of my own choosing, but now that I have Eden beside me, I won’t let her go. If we burn…we burn together.

ADD TO GOODREADS

VAL

Returning my attention to the bar, I strained to hear her conversation with the random drunks gawking at her. Loud Mariachi music blaring in the background and annoying yells of over exuberant patrons made eavesdropping almost impossible. Trying to act bored as hell, I slipped into a seat at the end of the bar and leaned forward.

“I’ll be with you in a minute.” Tilting her chin in my direction, she kept her focus on the sugary frozen concoction she created. Puckering her red lips, she blew a piece of hair out of her face that escaped the sloppy bun on top of her head.

A sloppy, candy red bun to match candy red lips.

The kind of lips that could tell a man any lie they wanted and he’d gladly buy any shit they sold for just a taste.

My dick twitched, reminding me it’d been a few days since I’d gotten laid. It didn’t help matters Emilio found it amusing to dress the bartenders in the tiniest denim shorts he could find, with black tank tops drawn across their chests so tight that the Caliente logo disappeared under their arms.

Well played, Emilio.

I’d never been one to chase women. I didn’t have to. They fell at my feet, crawled in my bed, and blew my phone up with calls and texts I never returned. But I found myself intrigued and unable to turn away as I watched Emilio’s new bartender flip through her texts, frown, and bite her lip, smearing the bright red lipstick that still had my pants in an uproar.

I watched her eyes glaze over as she muttered something under her breath and stared at the liquor bottles in front of her. With a long, drawn out sigh, she snuck a sweeping glance around the bar. Immediately, I dropped my eyes down to my phone, suddenly engrossed in a blank screen.

Do it. Be bad.

Satisfied no one watched, she bent down and pretended to tie her shoe, taking a bottle of vodka with her to the floor. Tucked safely underneath the sink, I shifted over the bar to get a better view of the show as she reached up with a slim, milky white arm and snagged a glass. Pouring two large shots, she downed them successively, grimacing at the eighty-proof burn.

Well, damn. She just became much more interesting to me.

I arched an eyebrow and fought a smile. “Bad day?”

“Bad life,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes and licking the remaining cheap vodka off her lips. Screwing the cap back on, she pushed off her heels and slipped the bottle back onto the counter.

“I would’ve gone for the Grey Goose myself. Drinking that shit is just asking for the day to get worse.” I should’ve stopped talking. I considered small talk to be a waste of time.

She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. “I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

“Can I get a gin and tonic, please?” A man two seats down from me wore a pissed off impatient look I didn’t care for and waved a credit card in her face. My jaw ticked, but before I could put him in his place, pale blue eyes that could start a war pinned him to his seat.

“Here,” she drawled in a marked Southern accent as she threw a basket of chips on the bar. “Fill your mouth so shit stops coming out of it. I’ll get to you in a minute.”

Normally, that’d be cause for termination, but she amused the hell out of me. I couldn’t stand weak women, and this girl had enough fire for a room full of them. Plus, the asshole had it coming. I began to understand why Emilio spent so many nights at the cantina.

Catching my eye, a wicked smirk lifted the corners of her mouth as she placed her forearms on the bar and leaned in close enough for me to catch the scent of citrus and vanilla. It was a bizarre combination that lit a heated trail straight from my nose to my cock.

“So, what is it you want?”

You. Naked and spread out on this bar.

“I doubt you could handle it.” I refused to blink, holding her stare, making sure she understood the double entendre. I wanted to push her to see how she’d react, but honestly, I knew the answer to both meanings.

Nobody had been worth a fuck yet. I didn’t see why this would be any different.

My challenge seemed to piss her off and invigorate her at the same time. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Haven’t had any complaints yet.” Spreading her fingers wide on both hands, she slid her arms out and narrowed her eyes. “Give me your best shot.”

I’d give you my worst. I’d wreck you and leave you broken.

“Añejo tequila. Straight shot, in a stem glass—not a highball—room temp.” With her bizarre, intoxicating scent still fucking with my head, I realized she was knocking me off my game. I didn’t like it. So, being the ass I was, and remembering Emilio’s tendencies toward cheapness, I leaned in as well and towered over her. “And if it hasn’t aged at least three years, shove it up the owner’s ass.”

She brushed that damn stray hair out of her eye again and winked. “I’ll do my best.”

Swinging her hips all over the bar, she glanced my way a few times, making a big production of bending over unnecessarily to pick shit off the floor. More than once, I made silent deals with my cock to find it some uncomplicated pussy, if it’d calm the fuck down and stop trying to get a look at her ass too.

Before it could agree, a stem glass appeared under my nose just as I requested.

That’s a first.

Raising a questioning eye up at her, she smirked and nodded to the drink. “Well? Are you going to drink that or wait until Jesus turns it back into water?”

A full-chested laugh I barely recognized came from my mouth as I reached for the glass. “I think that was wine.”

She shrugged and waved her hand. “Whatever. Sunday School wasn’t my thing.”

As she watched me carefully, I hoped for the best and downed the shot with low expectations. The moment the liquid hit my tongue I knew I was fucked.

Dios mío, was I fucked.

By the smug look on her face, she knew it too.

Twirling the empty glass in my fingers, I studied the captivating woman with renewed interest. “How is it that you’re the only bartender in Houston who can get this drink right?”

Still grinning, she licked that damn lip again and returned the bottles to the shelf, the motion causing her tiny tank top to ride up and expose her flat stomach. “It’s not rocket science. Hell, some people would say I’m a hit or miss on making anyone happy.” Wiping down the counter, she shot me a look with untold pain hidden behind it. “Some people would even say I’ve never gotten anything right.”

“Some people don’t deserve to breathe your air.”

Fuck, I meant that. What was wrong with me?

Her face broke into the first genuine smile I’d seen from her all night not hidden behind a smirk or condescension, and my chest warmed. My fucking chest warmed, and it wasn’t from the tequila.

“So, you got a name, Danger?”

“Danger?” I tried for a flat tone, but my voice raised an octave, betraying my interest.

Damn.

“Yeah, you know…as in, tall, dark, and dangerous?” She squinted her pale blue eyes and silenced an incoming text on her phone. “You look like you could get a girl in a lot of trouble.”

I wanted nothing more than to wipe that damn grin off her face. She looked so smug. So sure I wanted her.

Fuck, I wanted her. “You have no idea.”

Moments passed between us as we stared at each other in silence. That shock of red hair grabbed my attention again, and I couldn’t help but wonder who, or what, happened in her life to cause it. Nobody just did shit like that on purpose. Candy red colored hair just didn’t happen. It pissed me off that I even gave a shit. I wasn’t a good guy. I wasn’t even a decent guy. I didn’t ask girls their names, much less their stories.

“So, that’s it?” she asked, chin tilted and one hand resting on a cocked hip.

Shit, had she been talking to me this whole time? “What’s it?” I asked, trying to force a bored look.

“You really have no name?”

I shot her a pointed look, mentally slamming the door on her inquisition. “Danger works. I like it.”

I did. I liked it too damn much. And I hated nicknames. I thought they were childish and reserved for those annoying assholes who sat on the same side of the booth at restaurants. The ones who called each other ‘honey’ and ‘baby’ and fed each other bites of their own food and switched plates in the middle of dinner.

“Of course, you do,” she snorted in an unladylike, but oddly sexy way.

The bar started to get crowded, as patrons shoved bills toward her and demanded drinks. I watched them curiously, wondering what she’d do. To my pleasure, she held up a finger to them and kept her eyes on me.

Those eyes were what did it. Those pale blue eyes that tried to hide exhaustion exposed by the dark circles under her eyes and sadness well beyond her years. They sucked me in and broke one of my cardinal rules. “What about your name?”

“Hey, what about my drink? You think you could take a break from your date over there to do your job, honey?”

Her eyes flickered relief for a moment, then darkened, becoming void of emotion. “Duty calls. Glad I could meet your expectations, Danger.” She reached for the shot glass I held, and I grabbed her hand, my out-of-character reaction surprising both of us. Hesitating a moment, she lifted her eyes and met mine in a battle of wills.

I could tell we were both at war with what would happen next; I contemplated the consequences of fucking one of Emilio’s employees. He seemed fond of this one, and the moment it was over, I’d have no choice but to have her fired.

Shifting her weight, she made the decision for both of us when she released her hand from my grip and pointed toward the douchebag two seats down, now glaring at us. “Let me know if you want another.”

As she poured the asshole that cock blocked me a gin and tonic, I pulled three, twenty-dollar bills out of my wallet and placed them face down on the bar. The exorbitant tip wasn’t a handout, as I suspected she’d think after I left. I generally enjoyed her company. Which was exactly why I had to leave and never talk to her again.

She called me dangerous. If I was dangerous, she was fucking deadly.

My life revolved around the cartel, stray pussy, and money. I had no time for complications of anything else, and candy hair was a walking, talking complication. I knew in one touch, I had no business being near her. A woman like that could cause the destruction of a man like me.

While she argued with the dickbag about the amount of gin she shorted him, I slipped around the long end of the bar, through the kitchen, and out the back door. I cut myself off like a junkie jonesing for his next hit of short shorts and a-size-too-small tank top. After tonight, I knew I couldn’t afford the distraction.

Perfect drink or not, I was done with that girl.

So, I gave my business to every other bar in Houston and walked out of them pissed off and sober as hell for two months before I caved. However, I never returned to a barstool. Always sitting at one of the tables, I allowed young, annoying waitresses to serve me while I watched her flirt with a new man month after month until it got to be too much to take and stopped going altogether.

Some women were storms who blew into a man’s life and ruined his plans for the night. That woman was a hurricane who uprooted and flooded the very foundation of everything a man thought he knew.

Cora Kenborn writes contemporary and romantic suspense novels with lots of danger, snarky banter, lovable bad boys, and damsels NOT in distress. She loves delving into the twisted mind of a dark villain as well as writing light-hearted romcom.

Cora gets a kick out of talking about herself in the third person and is a true Southern girl from Eastern North Carolina, who grew up on sweet tea, front porches, and the simple life. She says “y’all,” “fixin’ to,” and should you deserve it will “bless your heart.” She’s the proud mother of three hyperactive and occasionally adorable children, and wife to an understanding husband who tolerates her chaotic writer’s cave.

Although reading is her passion, she can usually be found taking notes during true crime shows, effectively freaking out everyone in the room. Cora admits to being a horrible cook, an even worse baker, and believes she’s more dangerous with a hot glue gun than any weapon on earth. Oh, and she and autocorrect are mortal enemies.

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