Sunday, March 30, 2014

Complete Abandon is now released! $.99 for a short time!

Six months after having her baby, Laura finds that her relationships have cooled, even as her naughty desires heat up her eReader. When their best friends take the baby for an overnight, Mike and Dylan show Laura just how alpha they can both be, as Laura surrenders herself to them with complete abandon.

In this novella that continues the New York Times bestselling series, Her Billionaires, Julia Kent explores what happens when Happily Ever After means learning that lust, trust and love are processes that need to be practiced...over and order to grow.

****This novella was originally published in the Unraveled boxed set. Includes a sneak preview of a surprise novella that continues the story! Coming soon!****



I'll post when more bookstores carry it -- $.99 for a few days! If you already bought the Unraveled boxed set, you already own this, though! Not a new novella, but for readers who didn't get the Unraveled boxed set, this is your chance to see more of Laura, Mike, Dylan, Alex and Josie!

Monday, March 24, 2014


As you (may or may not) know, my book Random Acts of Fantasy is part of the 27-author, 27-book series, Invitation to Eden. Darla, trevor, Joe, Sam, Amy and Liam all learn on the island that you better be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it. ;)

SIGN UP for your own INVITATION TO EDEN, a brand new series from 27 of the biggest names in Romance.  Sign up for a chance to win a $100 Amazon Gift Card and a ton of awesome prizes from the authors in the series by joining our Eden Newsletter, Facebook Page, and Bookclub Page!  We look forward to seeing you on the  island paradise of Eden, where anything … and everything can happen!
(Note: this contest app is not mobile compatible and you must enter on a regular computer!) 

Friday, March 21, 2014

Trevor has something he wants to tell you -- from Random Acts of Fantasy

Here's a little something to perk up your Friday morning. Trevor, from Random Acts of Fantasy, coming April 15:

There are three words no guy in his early twenties ever wants to say to his parents.
Bet you thought I was going to say “She is pregnant,” right? 
(But she’s not, thank fucking God. Let’s not even go there). 
Those three little words are: 
Law school was so much better than I ever imagined. A million times more interesting than undergrad, and high school was like being water boarded by comparison. Sure, the law professors were, by and large, pompous people who thought they were the Flying Spaghetti Monster’s gift to law. And a few were—especially the ones who went on to become senators and Supreme Court judges. 
The rest—especially the theorists—were just assholes. And then there was the international law expert who was a secret Brony. Let’s really not go there. 
Quirky people weren’t new to me. Look at my girlfriend. And my, uh…whatever Joe was to me. We had a man-code agreement that we wouldn’t—couldn’t—name each other. No labels. No boxes (except Darla’s). If we didn’t call it something, it didn’t have any power over us. 
And power was a tricky topic between me and Joe. 
He had less than I did, and he hated me for that. What the hell was I supposed to do, though? Not headline the band? Not go to Harvard Law? Not be the one to stay in Boston with Darla? A thousand little choices we make every day led us to this moment, and Joe had made one big choice—moving to Philly to go to Penn Law—that led to the imbalance of power. 
Not that I minded, because I had a sweet deal. All the ass and tits I wanted, plenty of sweet sugar from Darla, an interesting future career and right now, a case about whether a guy who shoved his cell phone up his ass had a claim against the cell phone carrier for legitimate damage that was under warranty. 
Seriously? You couldn’t make this shit up, could you? 
Researching tort law and contracts should be dry. Boring. Ennui on top of brittle despair, and yet…it lit me on fire. My mind went down so many legal mazes and what-ifs, like playing chess with my brother Rick, except real life, real laws were at stake. 
I loved every fucking minute of it. 
Ding! The doorbell rang. Who rang my doorbell but didn’t text first? Darla was at work, plying people with sweet talk to get them to sign up for the threesome dating service where she worked. Joe was in Philly. Liam and Sam were—who the fuck knew where. Taking their clothes off for random strangers as strip-o-gram dudes and making bank doing it, I supposed. 
A glance at the clock as I stood and went to the door to buzz the person in told me that they couldn’t be stripping. Maybe— 
“Mr. Connor?” a sultry woman’s voice asked. My dick twitched a bit. Don’t blame me. Dicks do that when they hear the female voice, like Tom Brady cries when he loses. 
“Yes?” I tried to keep the sex out of my voice, my cock failing me. When did Darla get home? 
“I have a special delivery for you,” she crooned. Ah, fuck. This was Stacey the delivery chick. The one who wore that tight little brown uniform like she was dressed for a quickie porno video job. 
Bzzz. My finger reached for the button to unlock the door as if guided by my now-throbbing cock. Not my fault. The penis did it. When it doubt, blame my pants.
The thump of her footsteps made my palms sweat, my heart palpitate, and as I looked through the apartment door’s peephole I felt like a pervert in the back of a sex-toy store, peeking at a nudie show. Yes, they still have those. 
Knock knock knock. “Hi, Trevor,” Stacey’s breathy voice intoned on the other side of the door. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and steeled myself as pulled the door open, arm flexed and occupied, the grip on the doorknob about as strong as the grasp of Darla’s hand at the root of my cock when she— 
“Someone has been a very, very good boy,” she whispered. Doe eyes the color of brown silk stared up at me from under silken eyelashes, and her long, straight hair was puled back in a ponytail that made her look about sixteen. Athletic calves flexed as she bounced in place, pulling up to her tiptoes in running shoes, breasts bouncing like melons caught in a giant popcorn popper. 
Agony. She was sexual agony in a brown paper wrapper. 
Could you fuck a woman sideways? Because Darla was getting every orifice for the next three days. And two dozen roses. And all the takeout Thai and Ethiopian food—her new favorite—she could handle if she’d just stay naked and in bed with me. 
“I’ve…what?” I muttered. Her last words hung in the air between us. 
She reached toward me and handed off a thick delivery envelope. The movement of her body made the scent of cotton candy and lemon fill the air. God, she smelled like a candy shop. Which made me think of lollipops. 
Which made me imagine her licking one. 
“You okay?” she asked, taking a torturous step forward, breasts leaning toward me, her cleavage on display. What a uniform violation. I’m sure the delivery company she worked for didn’t allow the edge of a rosy nipple to jut out. What a bad employee. A bad, bad girl. 
She needed a spanking. 
“Yeah.” I took a step back and ran my hand through my hair. It made me look down. Sweatpants, going commando, and Stacey didn’t mix well. My erection could have stood out so straight and hard it could have signed for the fucking package by itself. Who needed a stylus? 
“You groaned.” She lifted the stylus to her lips and worried the plastic between her tongue and teeth. “Something troubling you?” 
Bzzzz. My phone was in my loose pocket and vibrated against my unleashed cock like something out of an Adam & Eve catalog. 
“Holy fuck!” I shouted. 
Stacey snickered as I fumbled for my phone. Joe. Texting. I ignored it. Something about an invitation. 
“Here,” she said, sidling up to me, rubbing the edge of her breast against my arm. Darla Darla Darla, I chanted inside my head. Stacey licked her lips and held the stylus out for me to sign her little brown box. 
Er…you know what I mean. My stylus wanted to go on…in…her little brown box. 
Bzzzzz. Joe again. Whatever. 
“Trevor, I saw you perform down at that festival last summer,” she rasped, her breasts taking on a life of their own, as if they had eyes. And lips. Vertical lips. 
Bzzzzz! I grabbed the phone out of my pocket and flung it backwards onto the couch. The thwack it made after it bounced off the cushion and his the end table shook me out of this Tucker Max-like experience. 
What was I doing? She was just some random chick, like all the random chicks who hung on after performances and wanted to blow us for some kind of groupie street cred. This time, two shaking hands whipped through my hair as I realized I was way, way in over my head. 
Both big and little ones. 
I thumbed toward my apartment, my left hand occupied by the thick envelope she’d delivered. “That was my girlfriend, probably wondering who I was doing—uh, what I was doing.” 
She made a snorting sound from the back of her throat. “Girlfriend? That big blond beast who slobbers all over you and your bass player at concerts?” The noise of dismissal that came out of her mouth made my blood run cold. 
So that’s how it was. 
I shot her a grim smile, one corner of my mouth curling up in what I knew was a sneer, but she took it as agreement. 
“That big blond beast,” I murmured, tipping down and whispering in Stacey’s ear as I carefully placed one hand on her shoulder, her scent now nauseating me, “has me. Cock, balls, heart and all.” I pulled back and turned away. 
“What a waste,” Stacey shot back. 
“The only waste,” I answered, my chest expanding with anger at her mischaracterization of Darla, at the notion that someone would think it was acceptable to trash-talk the woman I was in love with (even if we hadn’t said it yet), “is this conversation, Stacey.”
Too many snapbacks. Too many angry words were right there, ready to be thrown out at her. 
But why bother? She wasn’t worth it. The bitchy ones never were. 
I’d already given enough of my energy over to her. As her ass sashayed down the hall, though, my little devil dick gave a final-death-throes shudder. 
It felt like a reverse orgasm. 
After stepping back in the apartment, I closed the door and ripped the envelope open. Weird. A fancy invitation, on graduation or wedding paper, was all that was in there. I started to open it—was yet another classmate bowing under the pressure of the parents to marry? It seemed like open season as we all slipped from twenty-two to twenty three, undergrad years gone, degrees earned, and expectations high. 
You have a life list, right? Twenty-three is the perfect time to check marriage off, for those who’ve been dating each other since high school. 
Just as I was opening the linen envelope, my phone buzzed again. Shit. I leaned over and found my phone under the end table, along with Amy’s lost bullet thermos she’d been bitching about for the past two weeks. Sam had torn the place apart but never found it. Cool. He owed me now, and Amy would give me more than a wan smile next time she came over. 
Nineteen text messages. Joe, Joe, Joe, Darla, Darla, Joe, Joe, Darla, Darla, Darla, Darla, Liam, Darla, Darla, Joe, Sam, Joe, Joe, Darla. 
Was the fucking world ending? 
And then the door flew open, and my big blond beast stood there, wild-eyed and clutching an envelope that looked exactly like mine.

You can pre-order Random Acts of Fantasy now on Amazon, and it's coming soon on other bookstores!

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Deliciously Obedient and It's Complicated just $.99 -- plus, Random Acts of Fantasy on pre-order


(regular price $3.99)

Grab your copy NOW while it's on sale, and spread the word!

The final book in the Obedient trilogy asks whether being authentic means losing everything in order to gain yourself…

Ego bruised but spirits lifted by her relationship with Jeremy, her ex-lover's best friend, Lydia Charles comes home to her family's campground in coastal Maine with a new boyfriend, some old anxieties, and one big question: where's Michael Bournham?
Mike's spent the last month incognito, living at the Charles family campground and sorting through his past to make sense of his future. Dropping out of the media spotlight was the best choice he could have made, and with Lydia safe in the job he created for her, far away in Iceland, he has plenty of time to think about how he hurt her…and how to win her back.
Jeremy followed Mike's instructions to the letter: take care of Lydia. Falling hopelessly for her, though, wasn't in this free-wheeling globe trotter's plan. Meeting her parents and settling down triggers his own issues, and when a sudden tragedy hits one of Lydia's beloved relatives, he finds himself confronting his own past…and shaping the future.
It's all in Lydia's hands now as she breaks every rule in an effort to learn whether the rules ever mattered at all.

Get it on Amazon



Google Play

for just $.99 through 3/20 -- act fast!

IT'S COMPLICATED for just $.99

(regular price $4.99)

If you've read the Her Billionaires series and haven't gotten around to It's Complicated yet, now's your chance. On sale for just $.99 (regular price $4.99) through 3/21 -- act fast!

Get it on Amazon


 Google Play

 and iBooks

And don't forget! Look what's next!

Random Acts of Fantasy on April 15, the third in my Random series, and this one features Darla, Joe and Trevor! Read all about it here and now you can get it on PREORDER!

All the best,

Thursday, March 13, 2014

The first Random Acts of Fantasy excerpt!

A first look at Random Acts of Fantasy, now available for pre-order on Amazon. Coming 4/15!

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Josie had sent me the link with a cryptic comment: Don’t get bird flu. 
What the hell did that mean? I clicked and read:

Hockenfield Times, May 3, 2013
Hockenfield, Mass.
By Janet Simkin

Naked Man Steals Chicken, Evades Local Police

Hockenfield Police Chief Bart Jansen has issued an alert for a white male, early twenties, with blond hair and blue eyes who stole a chicken from farmer Mike Kemper’s coop this morning at 2:33 a.m. The man is completely naked, and while unarmed, is considered a potential threat to public safety. 
“I heard rustling and figured it was a fox,” Kemper explained. “Instead, I got an eyeful. Naked guy, young, wearing a collar around his neck like a dog. And a guitar. Nothing else. He kept calling my laying hen ‘Mavis’ and hollered he was eloping with her.”
After a brief scuffle, during which the chicken scratched him, Kemper let go. The man shouted, “I wasted my only answered prayer!” and fled. 
Kemper called 911 immediately, though the cruiser was delayed as the operator struggled to understand the nature of the call, but local police arrived within eleven minutes. 
Too late. 
“The suspect escaped on foot with the allegedly stolen chicken under his arm, headed for the Mass Pike,” said Jansen. "Concerned citizens with any information are advised to contact the Hockenfield Police at our non-emergency number at 413-555-1000, and travelers on I-90 or any other interstate should not, as always, pick up naked hitchhikers by the side of the road.”

Bird flu. Haha. Motherfucker. 
Sitting here at the reception desk at work, I found myself wondering what I was supposed to do with that piece of information. Torture Trevor some more, sure—but, um… he stole Mavis? The man stole a chicken from a henhouse while naked and high? 
Random Acts of Crazy indeed. Living out here in the Boston area meant seeing him and Joe plenty enough, even though everyone—Uncle Mike, Mama, hell, even Aunt Marlene, the resident slut of Peters, Ohio (and it took a lot to earn that title, if you know what I mean…)—thought that moving out here meant I’d find myself chained to someone’s basement wall and erotically tortured within an inch of my life, then sold off into some underground of sexual slavery where cellulite was worshipped. 
Hey. Wait a minute. Maybe that would have been better that sitting here with a letter opener and an anti-virus program malfunctioning on my new computer. 
Me, Joe and Trevor had some talking to do. 
Tucking that into a dark corner of my mind to be dealt with later, I looked around the small office and marveled that I was getting paid to work somewhere that didn’t require a polyester vest and a pile of sawdust next to the mop bucket in case of vomiting customers (or their dogs). Office jobs that paid $40,000 per year just didn’t happen for people like me. What a life change these past three months. 
Meeting Trevor and Joe. Moving to Cambridge. Starting my job at Good Things Come in Threes. Enrolling at Harvard. That one had been at Joe’s urging—he’d so carefully walked me through how to take courses at Harvard’s super-secret night school (super-secret to me, at least—Harvard letting me take a class seemed like inviting Kanye West to ghostwrite for Jonathan Franzen), and now here I was, taking an English course and a math class, all on account of my stupidity in picking up a naked dude wearing a guitar back home. 
If it weren’t for stupid choices, I wouldn’t have made any choices. That this one turned out so well was either dumb luck or divine interference, and I didn’t see the hand of God anywhere near these days, so I leaned on the lucky side. Maybe I was part Irish. I’d have to ask Mama the next time we talked, which would be tonight, because lately Mama was so lonely she glommed on to whatever I would give her in terms of attention. Hours alone now what with Uncle Mike on the road meant Mama had been doing double-time on entering online sweepstakes, and the result had been, well… 
I reached back and plucked the ass floss that passed for underwear out of my butt crack. Mama had won me a complete set of underwear from a rust-proofing company that sprayed chemical coatings on car undercarriages. The giveaway slogan was “Don’t Let Rust Destroy What You Love Down Below.” The g-strings had rust spots on the tiny little postage-stamp front cloth and made me feel like I was looking at a medical textbook full of pictures of STDs, but hey—free underwear, right? The guys hadn’t seen them yet, and I did a mental check to groom the lady parts, because right now my muff must look like a dandelion covered in a rust-coated muzzle. 
With a little pink tongue. 
Let’s swing away from that image, because once I start comparing my lady bits to things that require muzzles I need to question my own sanity. Or sex life. 
Or both. 
Leaving Ohio had been the ballsiest move ever. Took even more ovarian fortitude than picking up Trevor that night, all tan and blond and muscled and just plain old yum. Moving away took even more courage than giving in to what I, Trevor, and Joe had turned out to actually want that night at the bar, after Trevor sang me the new song he’d written, just for me. No other man in the band had written a song for their lady…love? Crush? Booty call? Eh. Call me whatever you want. 
Just sing to me. And about me. Because when a naked soul finds you, you find them right back. 
Abandoning every preconceived notion I had about who I was and what I would turn out to be was like killing a piece of myself off and hoping against hope that it would grow back better and stronger. 
I smiled. 
It had. 
I caught a familiar set of golden-haired legs walking down the outside flight of stairs. Even through the thin sliver of window that slitted the main door, I could catch Jack’s approach. 
Jack. Deliverymen with hot legs were worth their weight in gold. Who else could make those brown shorts seem like something out of a GAP ad? 
And then there was that grin. “Hey, Darla,” he said as I put the phone down. Surfer dude mixed with a hint of hot porno actor. He was a pre-orgasm on legs. Toned, tanned legs that a woman could imagine bent at the knee with his head between— 
“Jack!” I gasped, looking straight into his eyes, doing that fake control thing where you will your mind to stop imagining his face buried between your thighs as you hope what you’re thinking isn’t written in three-inch letters in permanent red marker all over your face. 
Even if it feels like it. 
“Hooked up any threesomes?” he asked, waggling thick brown eyebrows that slanted down just a touch at the edges of his eyes, giving him the perpetual look of a hot Jake Ryan from that Sixteen Candles movie Mama made me watch every time it was on TBS.
Sure. How about you, me, and your tongue. That’s three
“Nope,” I said, looking away, wondering if my chest were as flushed as it felt. Like an Arizona forest fire combined with a Bessemer furnace. 
“I’m sure you will,” he crooned. “Something special came for you. Need your signature.” 
“Sure. I’ll take it.” Our fingertips brushed and it was like having a feather dragged across my clit. You’re probably wondering why I’m all drooly for Jack when I have rock-star gods I can have damn near any time I want, and I will join you in your confusion. Let’s sit at the bemused table for a round of WTF discussion. My best guess is that being turned on all the time by Trevor and Joe is like buying a white car. 
(Bear with me here. I do have a point). 
Until you own a white car, you don’t notice all the other white cars on the road. And then, suddenly, they’re everywhere. Invading the streets. Your neighbors own one, your boss drives one, and the ubiquity of it makes you a little dizzy. 
Like Jack. Being with two hot guys made me see hot guys with more acuity, and that meant my clit was at a libido-induced buffet of scrumptious masculine brunch. 
With a big old side of sausage. 
“It’s for you.” The nondescript envelope felt like a lead weight in my palm. 
“You said that.” 
“No. I mean for you. Darla Josephine Jennings. Certified, signature return, blah blah your firstborn baby and all that required. Not for Good Things Fuck in Threes.” Big grin. The joke had gotten old by the third time he said it a month or so ago, but a reflexive return grin stretched my mouth, one side curved up. 
Oh, honey, if only you knew. 
And the man talked about babies, which were conceived by sex, which made me think about his penis and…oh boy. There went my clit. Squirming in my chair, I stood, hoping it wasn’t obvious. Damn, Trevor was about to get rode hard when I got home. Too bad Joe was still in Philly. But he came home soon. Not soon enough.
“Me?” The package he handed over was your standard overnight mail envelope. Sure enough—my full name, with my title. “Operations Assistant.” Josie and Laura decided that was the best way to describe me. I recommended “Grunt” but they vetoed that one. 
“You.” He handed me a little plastic electronic machine thing with a stylus. I signed where he tapped. 
After ripping open the envelope, I found…another envelope. This one felt rich. Rich. The slide of the paper fiber against the pads of my fingers was so alien, as if there were materials on earth I didn’t know could be generated. The luxury spoke of a different world, far beyond the confines of my office, certainly way outta this world compared to my trailer back home. 
I wanted to lick the envelope just to know that some part of my DNA was on something so fine. 

Keep checking back for more excerpts of Random Acts of Fantasy. ;)

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

A GREAT review for "Share Me" on Heroes and Heartbreakers!

Heroes and Heartbreakers has a fabulous review for "Share Me," my new novella in Spring Fling.

Here's what Tiffany Tyler has to say:

Julia Kent starts off with a bang with good girl Emma, whose shaken confidence at being dumped by her college sweetheart and fiance right before graduation leads her to forsaking any inhibitions when she meets not only a sexy Greek guy on the plane to a spring break blowout in New Orleans at Mardi Gras, but also his hunky Irish friend. They are more than enough for her to work out her revenge and the focus here is right where it should be, but somewhere along the way the hot scenes also become emotional, and this menage novella is very well done.
“Where are you lovely ladies headed?” Miki asked, eyes burning into Emma.
“Wherever the fun is,” Melissa giggled.
In bed, Emma thought.
Five sets of eyes suddenly flicked her way. Shit. Had she said that aloud?
Miki's eyes went wolfish and predatory.
So did David's.
And they only had eyes for her.

You can get the book right now, on Amazon, B&N, and iBooks!

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

"Share Me", my new novella, is LIVE! New Adult fun and heat in New Orleans....

"Share Me" is my story in the Spring Fling New Adult Anthology

HOT and fun, with new characters. Emma, Miki and David are...well, you have to see. From the Mile High Club to a New Orleans jazz place, these folks know how to let the good times roll during Spring Break in NOLA!


Saturday, March 1, 2014

Hot Series You Cannot Miss (and a sale on one of my new books!)

Hot series you cannot miss!

Series, like H.M. Ward's astoundingly intense The Arrangement, are the hot new thing. Before I get to my own sales (scroll down to see!), let me suggest three series that will make you feel like you're the heroine, the writing so juicy and intense you won't want to put the books down!

The Revenge series, by JJ Knight

Revenge, vol. 1 -- $.99 on sale, 550 reviews!


Revenge, vol. 2 -- $2.99 -- 160 reviews already!


The Ex Games series, by J.S. and Helen Cooper

The Ex Games #1 -- $.99 and a NYT bestseller!


The Ex Games #2 -- $.99


The Ex Games #3 -- $2.99


The Arrangement, by H.M. Ward

THE hot new romance series by multiple-time NYT bestselling author H.M. Ward. If you haven't read this series, you're seriously missing out on one of the top authors in the book industry. She sold 3 MILLION books in 2013. Find out what all the buzz is about and join the Ferro discussion madness...

The Arrangement #1 -- $2.99


The Arrangement #2 -- $2.99


The Arrangement #3 -- $2.99


And this last one isn't in a series, but I have to sneak it in. My writing buddy Sara Fawkes, the New York Times bestselling author of the Anything He Wants series, has a new romance novel coming soon.

Check out Breathe Into Me and one-click it, because it's going to be AWESOME.


And still more $.99 sales

USA Today Bestseller -- let's help it hit the New York Times!
 Riding Desire -- 14 ALL NEW romances from NYT and USA Today bestsellers and more. Biker alpha males? BRING IT ON! STILL $.99!


My Own Books on Sale!

My next new release is a novella called "Share Me" in the Spring Fling New Adult Anthology. The PREORDER price is now only $1.99! If you already preordered at $2.99, no worries. Amazon has a price guarantee for the lowest price, but one-click it now!

Random Acts of Trust -- Amazon's keeping it at $.99, but it could change at any minute!